#i read through the first chapters and ... yikes

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Well, i have read the sample from Shusters book and what can i say. Now i get what the other anon was saying. Just from two chapters it’s already clear that Shuster is trying to paint Ze like some applause dependent dictator, who doesn’t give a fuck and his kids and wife(As Shuster wrote «Puts his work above everything else»🤡🤡)

Interesting, what you can say about that book because i’m already disappointed…

.

[lildoodlecat]

Immensely disappointed to find there are no wangxian podfics at 20+ hours. What am I supposed to do, record one mysel— *forcefully dragged away*

[dazevi]

PROLOGUE: DREAMS

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: on a quiet afternoon after school, your girlfriend wonders and imagines what the future might look like for the two of you.

content warnings: fluff, impending angst (yikes), established relationship, highschool!vi and reader, eventual 18+ nsfw content in later chapters so MDNI.

wc: 2,294

navigation | series masterlist | ko-fi

note: very excited to share this with u guys! i spent most of january writing the first three chapters—most of them (not including this one) run on for about 10k words!! i also kind of half proofread each chapter so there still might be a few grammar mistakes. but i hope you guys like it!! also lovely fanart by bunimint_ on ig!

YOU ALWAYS LOVED DAYS LIKE THIS.

Days when the late afternoon sun spilled through the open blinds of Vi’s bedroom, yellow rays stretching lazily across her hardwood floor, onto her posters scattered and stuck on the wall. It was just another weekday after school and you found yourself sitting cross-legged on her bed, the worn quilt beneath you with its faded patterns due to years of use. A paperback novel rested in your hands, its pages slightly dog-eared from where you’d paused and flipped back to reread sentences that caught your attention.

Your eyes traced the words, but your thoughts occasionally drifted to the girl sprawled out in front of you.

She was lying on her back, her head resting in your lap, legs dangling off the side of the bed, toes tapping softly to the beat in her head. Her electric guitar—a faded, black and white instrument scuffed and scratched in a few places—rested on her stomach. The amp cord dangled uselessly off the bed, unplugged and forgotten, but she didn’t really seem to mind. Her fingers danced over the strings, plucking out random chords and melodies.

She wasn’t really playing anything in particular, just experimenting, testing things out. Sometimes a particularly sweet combination of chords would make her pause, and she’d strum it again, smiling faintly to herself.

Every now and then, she tilted her head to glance up at you, her light blue eyes softening each time.

You could feel her gaze, even when you pretended not to notice, too focused on the paragraph in front of you. You always found it hard to concentrate with her so close. Her presence filled the room, as it always did. The faint smell of her shampoo mingled with the slightly metallic scent of the guitar strings. You could feel her warmth where her head pressed against your thighs, and her fingers—rough and calloused—moved so delicately now, brushing over the strings like they might break.

“You always look so serious when you read,” Vi murmured suddenly. Her lips curled into a lazy grin as she tilted her head further back, her pink hair splaying across your lap. “What’s this one about? Another tragic love story?”

You glanced down at her, unable to suppress the smile that found its way onto your lips.

“It’s just for class,” you said, holding up the book for her to see the title. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”

Vi squinted at the cover, scrunching her nose. “Is it any good?”

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shrug, running your fingers absentmindedly through her hair. She hummed in approval, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment, like a little puppy basking in attention. “The writing’s good, at least. But you wouldn’t care—it’s not exactly your kind of story.”

“Oh, yeah?” Vi opened one eye, her smirk deepening. “What’s my kind of story, then?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart skipped a beat at the way she was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“Something loud, fast, and reckless… full of action, I guess,” you teased. “Like you.”

“Fair enough,” she admitted with a smirk, plucking out a quick riff that sounded vaguely like a punk song you’d heard her play once before letting the guitar fall silent again. “But I think I’d make an exception for something you wrote.”

Your fingers froze in her hair, and you blinked down at her, startled. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. I like your writing. And… because it’d be you,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her voice was quiet now, and she lifted a hand to trace a lazy circle on the back of your knee. “You make everything interesting.”

You smiled again. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all as you brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.

Vi didn’t seem to mind the silence.

She went back to her guitar, strumming softly, her eyes drifting closed. The sunlight caught the curve of her cheek and the faint freckles scattered across her nose, making her look softer than usual. She looked so at peace, so content in your presence.

You never forget moments like these. With her head in your lap, the soft plucks of her guitar, the sunlight wrapping around both of you—it was all so achingly perfect that you wished you could freeze time and stay here forever.

Vi’s fingers slowed on the strings, the melody she had been absentmindedly strumming fading into silence. She tilted her head back further into your lap, the corners of her lips pulling into the softest smile as she gazed up at you. Like she was trying to memorize the way the light danced on your skin, the way your soft lips moved faintly as you read under your breath.

“I love you,” she murmured too quietly.

You paused, caught off guard, and glanced down at her. “What?”

Vi didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she reached up, her calloused fingers brushing gently against yours. She intertwined her fingers with yours, guiding your hand away from her hair. Her touch was uncharacteristically delicate, and before you could say anything, she pressed a featherlight kiss to the back of your hand.

Her lips were warm, slightly chapped, but the kiss was so soft, so tender, that it sent a shiver up your spine. And she didn’t stop there. Slowly, she trailed kisses along your knuckles, your palm, and then your wrist, her breath warm against your skin.

“I was saying,” she whispered between kisses, her voice barely above a whisper. “That you look beautiful.”

Your breath hitched, and your free hand instinctively reached out to touch her face, brushing your thumb along her cheekbone. Vi leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“You’re making me lose my place,” you teased, though it was clear you didn’t mind.

Vi chuckled, and she finally opened her eyes, meeting your gaze.

“Good,” she said with a grin, her voice still carrying that teasing lilt. “I like having your attention on me.”

Her confession made your cheeks flush, and you tried to look away, but Vi wasn’t having it. She tugged on your hand gently, pulling it to her lips once more, kissing your wrist one last time before cradling it against her chest.

She played with your fingers absentmindedly, her calloused thumb brushing over your knuckles, tracing the delicate lines of your skin like it was something sacred. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the pages of your book and the muted sounds of life outside her window—a car passing through the neighborhood, a bird chirping in the distance.

You glanced down at her briefly. She seemed lost in thought, her thumb lingering on your ring finger as if it had found a home there. For a long moment, she said nothing, and you assumed she was simply daydreaming, unfocused on anything. But then, she spoke quietly, like the question wasn’t meant for anyone else—just for you.

“What’d you think we’d be doing in… I dunno, five—maybe ten years?”

The question caught you off guard, pulling you from the pages you’d been engrossed in. You marked your place in the book with a finger and looked down at her. Her gaze was fixed on your hand, her thumb still circling your ring finger, slow and soft. She hadn’t looked up yet, like she was too shy to meet your eyes after that question.

“Ten years?” you echoed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s a long time from now, Vi.”

She finally tilted her head up to meet your gaze, her blue eyes searching yours.

“I know,” she said with a quiet laugh, though there was an unmistakable seriousness beneath her tone. “I just… I think about it sometimes, y’know? Like… where we’ll be. What we’ll be like. Together, I mean.”

Her voice dipped on the last word, almost hesitant, like she was afraid to hope too much.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, brushing your free hand through her soft pink hair. “After I graduate college, I guess I’d want to be writing somewhere—maybe a bookshop owner, too. That’d be nice, I think.”

Vi smiled faintly, the image of you surrounded by books bringing an warmth to her chest.

“That fits,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “You’d have this cute little shop, and you’d always smell like old pages and coffee… maybe you’ll play that old Al Green record I got for you in the background… with flowers your mom brought for you sitting in a tiny pot by the window…” She trailed off, her smile growing wistful.

“Mhm,” you smile, the picture she was painting in your head almost felt tangible. “Maybe, an apartment nearby. With big windows for the sun to come in… A cozy kitchen to cook in with plants everywhere… A study for me to write in…”

“Do I fit anywhere in there?”

“Oh, definitely.” It’s impossible to fight the smile on your face from growing wider, “All your things would be everywhere, because you never clean… Guitar racks in the corner and a keyboard somewhere in the living room…Maybe you’d wanna set up a small bedroom studio. Oh, and you’re definitely hanging a punching bag somewhere.”

Vi let out a soft laugh.

“We’d probably have that karaoke machine you like so much by the TV… or a jukebox… And we’d have mismatching mugs sitting next to each other on the kitchen counter. Oh, and definitely a bed bigger than this one, since you move around too much—”

You pause.

“But, you’d probably be away most of the time.”

“Away?”

“Yeah,” you look at her with a soft nod. “You’d get your big break—music, touring… all that stuff. Heard Ekko’s all excited for this gig you’ve got next month.”

Vi let out a breathy laugh, “Hah, yeah, lots of other big bands are coming in for the musical festival, so… good start to get our name out there… But, band practice is still on hold until Jayce fixes Loris’ bass.”

“Mhm,” The smile on your face stays as you look at her longingly. “I see it y’know… You’re this big rockstar… posters of your band everywhere, big arenas, lots of fans squealing to get your attention…”

She grinned widely, “You think?”

You nodded in response, “Yeah. You’ll travel all around the world, experience a bunch of new things… and lots girls would have a crush on you, I bet… you’d be living your dream.”

“But it wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t have you to come home to.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t say anything. Vi glanced up, her lips quirking into a sheepish grin like she always does when she says something that gets your cheeks to turn the same color as her hair.

“I’m serious,” she added quietly. “I don’t want to think about a future where you’re not there.”

The softness in her voice made your stomach flutter, and without thinking, you leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll kill you if you use that line on anyone else,” you teased, though the sound of your voice was warm and full of affection.

“I know,” Vi admitted with a small laugh, pulling your hand closer to her lips. She kissed your knuckles softly, her eyes never leaving yours.

Vi didn’t say anything else after that. She just let herself fall into the silence, her guitar forgotten beside her, turning her body to have her arms lazily draped around your waist. She watched you as you shifted back into your book, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the page before turning it, completely unaware of the smile playing on her lips. You were so focused, so peaceful, so beautiful, and Vi couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world to be able to share her space with you.

Her gaze flickered to the faint glint of silver just visible under your collar, and with a careful hand, she reached up to tug gently at the chain around your neck. Her fingers brushed against your skin, and when she pulled the necklace free, her smile grew. Two small rings dangled from the delicate chain, their edges catching the soft light of her room. One was engraved with Roman numerals—she liked it because, well, it had her name on it—while the other glimmered faintly with small, clear stones that sparkled even in the dim glow. They overlapped perfectly, and that’s how Vi wants her relationship with you to be like all the time.

Vi turned the rings over in her fingers, tracing their familiar grooves. She played with the chain gently, letting it slip between her fingers as the rings swayed slightly against your chest.

Her own necklace felt heavy against her, the identical rings resting just beneath her shirt.

Satisfied with the way the rings settled back against your skin, she let the chain fall back into place and smiled at you, her thumb brushing over your collarbone.

Then, you continued to your book, and Vi just sat there, leaning into you, her fingers brushing softly against your thigh as she let herself bask in just being with you.

The future was such a big, hazy thing, full of unknown possibilities she couldn’t understand…. But sitting here with you, your hand still resting in hers, she felt nothing but excitement—hope, even—for whatever the world would throw at her, if it meant living in it with you.

But she didn’t know then how time and space would pull you both in different directions, that the version of forever she dreamed of in that moment would one day feel so far away.

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[hestzhyen]

Oofuri and AbeMiha in the Year of Our Lord 2025?

Help I've fallen into a time warp and my mind's back in 2007/2008 obsessing over extremely passionate baseball dorks again.

They care so much about each other, it's crazy.

And the growth both of them go through to overcome their personal shortcomings is so wholesome.

I was re-reading to catch up, and... wow...

The "guy talk" is one of the best parts about this manga.

Neither Mihashi nor Abe have had a first love yet, huh. And while Mihashi likes women in nurse uniforms, Abe doesn't have anything specific in mind- he doesn't even have fantasies he uses as "material". While they're devoting themselves to each other for the next three years to become one in mind and body. Slowly coming to understand each other while being so passionate about the other guy that they cry over him at least twice each.

Um.

Yeah, the brainworms are back in full force after laying dormant for about 17 years. AbeMiha, my beloveds... I'm rewriting a fluff one-shot I did for them back in 2007 and enjoying the nostalgia (and seeing how much I've improved since then). These silly creatures are still just as charming as I remember them being.

Enjoy this moldy out-of-context screencap from my hard drive.

I wonder if it's because Oofuri is a seinen and not a shounen, but there's a lot of skinship and typical teenage boy banter about sex too. Tajima full-on strips Mihashi at the pool in front of their teammates to show them his uncut dick, for Chrissakes. And Mihashi and Abe always get paired off together; they're explicitly told to cook breakfast for everyone alone to bond together, sleep in the same hotel room, are always trying to understand each other and communicate better...

I love them so much.

I know it's not as fruity to the Japanese, but even so, the ship was hugely popular for a while for good reason. The handholding and mutual devotion alone were kind of a big deal. I don't know where the relationship is at in canon right now (I have over 130 chapters to go to catch up, yikes) but I don't think that teased romance with Shinooka has gotten very far with either of them.

Or maybe it has, I genuinely don't know! It's hard to get a feel when the fandom is basically on life support. A series that has been around for about 20 years will naturally see people cycle out, especially when it comes to creating fan works and shipping, but I feel like I'm walking through a ghost town mostly filled with time capsules from a different era. So many dead LJ groups and broken links to shrines that fell into the abyss long ago... does a series this long need a perpetual anime to keep interest up? Or was it the long hiatus that cooled things off? Both?

Still the gayest and most wholesome battery as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, I'll do my small part to give back by fixing up that old one-shot and see what I'm feeling like when I catch up. Maybe I'll write a "why ship this" essay like I did for HakuHiro too, who knows. Depends on how active the brainworms are and for how long. For now I'm just enjoying the good times and extremely technical matches all over again. The Nishiura boys are all so precious and AbeMiha are the most precious of all.

[mangled-by-disuse]

Realising that, like. I started the fic series in 2018 so I've almost certainly not posted it to Tumblr.

This fic is part 2 of my Gone From the Window AU, which is a full rewrite of Dark Tower in a universe where Roland died and Susan became a gunslinger. The Gunslinger, even.

...there is, unfortunately, a Reason i have not worked on this fic since 2021, and it is: i know what's coming in the next chapter and i am way too fucking white for this

(it's detta walker obviously it's detta walker i do not want to write detta walker)

Updated a fic I haven't worked on since uhhhh jesus christ 2021?

can I get a hell yeah?

[peachesofteal]

hi it's um, ms. clit slurp back, I guess, why wasn't I more normal last time omg. I'm about to reread and catch up on Raspberry Girl and I'm pumped. Was inspired to come back and start to "count the ways" when I began rereading the first chapter - two parts in particular. The beginning section before he introduces our girl, and then his conversation with John fuck god help me John Priceineedhimineedhim and how dare you pick that name for his wife ma'am that's literally m-. These parts illustrate (beautifully and so sexily, your ideas and your writing are both so sumptuously depraved) three of the things I adore so much about this characterization of Simon.

First, while the healed and strongly nurturing aspect of Captain Simon is kind of like best case scenario for his character, in general to me Simon Riley has always seemed so dominant and confident (here dominant can mean like kink specific or just like a stereotypically masculine, loving boyfriend). I do still enjoy reading some interpretations of him where he's not dominant/is neutral, is submissive, lacks confidence, avoids relationships, flounders passively into them, lets his feelings of unworthiness push love away, etc especially when he grows a bit to be a good partner and I get a happy ending because I'm a little baby. Because I can understand how canonically he probably doesn't have much romantic experience, wouldn't feel equipped to helm the ship of a healthy relationship. BUT based on how he's portrayed in the games, I have trouble seeing how (even with the trauma he has) a man as competent, confident, accomplished, unflinching, brave I need to stop before I actually start choking on it yikes as he is would walk away from something he wanted just because it was challenging. I can't see him finding a soft pretty thing he wants so bad and just being resigned to not conquer that mountain. I can see the argument for him thinking he sucks too bad to have something loving and I do find that endearing, but as I was recently discussing with @lisenberry about Simon and John, in my interpretation of canon and according to my personal pussy and heart they aren't good enough men to deny themselves what they need like that aka "give what's needed, get it for yourself" barkBarkBARKBARKBARKKKK.

Second or kind of building off of that, while I again understand characterizations of Simon to the opposite, your interpretation of Captain Riley as a man who craves and enjoys control is again aligned with how I perceived his characterization in the game, and what I enjoy the most. I'm familiar with the fact that people who come from abusive backgrounds like his family; trauma and hardship like his life generally; oppressive environments like the military; stressful environments like SAS; and those who are in positions of power often seek release through submission. BUT the way Lieutenant Riley seems in the game, he reads much more like the people who experience the aforementioned and end up being driven to SEEK control and revel in it. So again both because it's consistent with my interpretation of canon and what my parts personally enjoy, I love how you explain that Simon is exactly that way, and that instead of shying away from or being ashamed of his controlling drive he learned to develop it into something pleasurable in his personal life (I also always see John like this). And that John and Simon see their romantic relationships and their role within them to be similar to their military roles, wherein their strength, competence, and control are essential to a successful mission.

Third and finally for now is that this story perfectly illustrates why IMO the best fics with these men are always a tiny bit dark in that certain power dynamics and kinks are un- or under-negotiated. Again I was chatting about this with @lisenberry lol. It just feels realistic to me, consistent with the kind of men they are - the kind that are used to making difficult decisions and doing what is necessary without handwringing about morality. To me they seem like the kind of people that don't really see their kinks as their own demarcated zones with bylaws - I think they see it as "natural" if that makes sense. Not that they don't value consent, just that... things are best, safest, happiest, when their sweet lil things let daddy handle it, yanno? It's connected both to their egos and to their desperate need to protect and possess - they truly think that if they are the most qualified to "lead, decide, control" then why would anything need to be negotiated? It scratches at the part of my gender essentialism kink I'm a feminist but my pussy and womb are NOT.

Ugh okay I'm insane, love your writing, sorry I'm cluttering your inbox with my unhinged hyperfixations - I've been wishing I could just stop typing the whole time I've been typing but Raspberry Girl is me and I am she, so I'm sure I'll be back same time next week.

This was such a treat to read, thank you so much, I soaked up every word like a little sunflower in the summer.

I definitely agree with you on a lot of things too! 100% you nailed the perspective on Simon (and John), I can't even elaborate on it better than you have. And you're right, the kink is/will be under negotiated, Simon knows what's best and he'll make sure it's provided. I think a good example of this (and the dubious morality you mentioned) is him taking her home after the bar when she was drunk. Clearly, she had no idea what was going on, she was safe and cared for and loved. Simon exercises control in all aspects of his life, and some of those aspects are more pleasurable than others (raspberry girl) but it's an essential part of his being now. I also don't see Simon as a switch or sub, because that's not my cup of tea, and that's okay! I know there are beautiful stories out there with different dynamics, which is one of the coolest things about fanfic, you can take your dolls and do whatever you want with them.

Anyway, I loved this. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions and character breakdowns, this was lovely. Thank you for taking the time to type it all out and send it!

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 6)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Talks of death, Blood.

It was almost embarrassing how productive you’d been yesterday.

Not in a triumphant, academic breakthrough kind of way — more like manic focus masking a hollow ache. You had shut yourself inside your hotel room from sunup to sundown, hunched over the Old hotel desk, surrounded by coffee cups and open books, trying to make sense of centuries old trauma and the woman who somehow kept creeping into your research.

By midnight, you'd written nearly two thousand words about the sociopolitical function of scapegoating in 17th century Puritan Massachusetts. Half of them, you suspect, were thinly veiled projections.

You kept typing the word “hysteria,” then deleting it. Too reductive. Too easy. But weren’t you starting to sound a little hysterical yourself?

You slept restlessly. No dreams you could remember. Just the feeling of eyes on you—watching, waiting, patient.

Now, morning sunlight filters through the gauzy hotel curtains in a washed out gold. You're standing in front of the mirror with a towel knotted around your chest, water still clinging to your shoulders, mentally running through the day.

Call Billy after this. See Irene around noon.  Don’t check Agatha’s address on Google Maps again.

What? Who said that!

You towel your hair dry, flipping it over and shaking it out like it’ll knock something loose. The last time you looked in this mirror — really looked — your skin wasn’t so pale. Your eyes weren’t so tired. And your brain wasn’t so loud.

Not from the research—you loved the research. But something about the way you’d slept, the way your body held tension now like it didn’t trust the air around you… it was catching up.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering over Billy’s contact. A small tightness curls under your ribs.

You should call. You want to call.

But what are you going to say?

"Hey, I think I accidentally developed a fixation on a middle aged woman who might be a witch?" 

You sigh.

Like Billy would judge you. He’s definitely heard worse. And it’s not like he didn’t already hear your first rant about her.

Though… you did tell him this trip was just for a thesis. Not Agatha.

Oh, to hell with it.

He should expect this from you by now.

You hit dial anyway.

It rings. Once. Twice.

You tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder, curling onto the far side of the bed as Billy picks up on the second ring.

“Well, well, well,” Billy drawls. “If it isn't, the cryptid come back to life.” His voice becomes mock suspicious. “Do I need to sage my phone or something?”

You sigh, exhausted already. “Hi, Billy.”

“Dude, it’s been a week . I thought you died.”

“Not far off,” you mutter.

There’s a pause on his end. You can practically hear him cocking an eyebrow. “Okay, so… what happened?”

You rub a hand over your face. “I don’t know where to start…. I found her…Agatha…”

Billy goes quiet for a beat. “Wait, like ghost woman Agatha? She's real?”

You give a half laugh, tired. “Worse. She’s real. Very real. And… I think she’s messing with me.”

“Oh, so the ghost girlfriend has opinions now,” Billy says, amused. “What’d she do, haunt your dreams?”

“She read my notebook,” you blurt. “ All of it. My notes. My dumb theories. The stuff I scribbled at 2 a.m. with, like, chocolate on the pages. Everything.”

“…Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets out a low whistle. “Okay, but how’d she get it?”

“I left it at her place the first day we met without realizing… and—God, she was so smug about it. Like, waving it around like she was proud of reading it.”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead into your palm. “And then she just—started quoting it. Out loud. Like it was funny . Like I was funny.”

“Honestly? A little funny.”

“Billy.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m on your side.” A pause. “Mostly.”

You shake your head, voice dropping a little. “I’m just… embarrassed, I guess. She knows . That I came here for her. That I think she’s suspicious. And instead of denying it or clarifying anything , she just… smirks. Dodges. She won’t answer a single straight question.”

“So she’s hot and mysterious and makes you feel insane. Wow. Your taste is consistent.”

“Billy!”

He laughs again. “Okay, but real talk — why does it bother you so much? Is it just the thesis? Or…?”

You go quiet.

There it is. The real question.

“…I don’t know,” you admit. “I want it to be just the thesis. But every time I talk to her, it’s like I’m on the verge of something. Like if I just asked one more question, or stayed one minute longer, I’d figure her out.”

“And instead?”

You sigh. “She plays coy and calls me ‘hon’ like she’s older than time. Like she’s seen it all. And—god, Billy, I don’t even know how old she is. Her eyes—”

“Oh no,” he interrupts, voice teasing but laced with concern. “Not the ‘her eyes have seen centuries’ thing.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“She’s definitely a vampire. Or a demon. Or like, a forest hag who got a glow up.”

“Not helping.”

“I’m just saying. You went looking for answers and instead you got hot girl gaslit.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Yup. That’s the thesis title now.”

Billy softened a little. “Hey. Jokes aside… are you okay?”

You were quiet for a beat. Then: “Not really.”

“Wanna fly home?”

“I can’t.”

“Because of the thesis?”

“…because of her.”

Silence.

You hated how true it felt. How your chest twisted just saying it out loud.

But before Billy could respond, your phone buzzed against your ear.

A text from Irene:  

Hey, just got home. Does noon still sound good?

You checked the time.  

11:45 a.m.

Shit.

“Billy, I gotta go,” you said quickly, sitting up. “This older woman I met—long story—is expecting me. She might have answers about some of the older trials.”

Billy groaned. “Ugh, fine. Ghost girlfriends and witch grandmas. You really are living the dream.”

You chuckled. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”

“You better. And hey—just… be careful, okay? Mysterious women in creepy houses have a reputation.”

“I’ll add that to my notes.”

“Add m e to the acknowledgements page when this turns into a horror memoir.”

You snorted. “Deal. Bye, Billy.”

---

Irene’s house sat at the end of a winding street, tucked behind a crooked gate and half a dozen rosebushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since the Clinton administration.  

The door creaked open before you could knock.

“Come in, come in,” Irene said brightly, waving you in with a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ polite.”

You stepped inside, immediately hit by the unmistakable scent of old books and something faintly herbal beneath it all — like dried sage or mint tea left too long on the stove.

The house was cluttered in the way only an old woman’s house could be. Not messy, exactly. Just… lived in. The kind of clutter that came from decades of refusing to throw away a good basket, or realizing too late that your cat had claimed the best reading chair. There were stacks of mail, ceramic knickknacks on every windowsill, and faded photographs nestled in dusted frames.

A shawl draped over the back of a chair. A teacup still on the table from last night.

“Ignore the mess,” Irene said, already shuffling toward the kitchen, voice lilting like it was just part of the house itself. 

You smiled despite yourself, shrugging off your coat and glancing around the room.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve seen worse!” you said, following her into the kitchen. “You should’ve seen my grandma on my mother’s side. Now that woman could hoard.”

Irene chuckled under her breath, reaching for the kettle. “Ah, well—there’s a difference between hoarding and holding onto what still works. The trick is knowing which is which.”

She cast you a look over her shoulder — knowing, almost playful — as she set out two mismatched mugs and pulled a tin of tea from the shelf.

“You like mint?” she asked. “Or are you one of those fancy girls who needs three adjectives in her drink order?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Mint is fine.”

Steam curled up from the kettle as she started the steeping process, moving with the practiced ease of someone who made tea as often as she breathed.

“So,” you asked, watching her hands, “what is it you wanted to show me?”

“I brought my laptop and notes, like you told me to…”

You couldn’t help the flicker of anticipation in your chest. Irene had mentioned it offhand at the coffee shop — her late husband, the history teacher, his collection of old maps and books. Stuff that might help you. Stuff no one had digitized or indexed or filed away in some library basement.

“Old maps. Articles. Some books from my late husband, He taught history before he passed. Big on the weird stuff, like you.” 

You’d repeated the words in your head all night. Weird stuff. Like you.

Irene handed you a mug. “Perfect. Go sit in the living room, wherever you’re comfy. Make yourself at home.”

You nodded, taking the warm cup in both hands and moving back toward the front room, the scent of mint trailing after you. Irene, meanwhile, was already in the kitchen again, humming faintly as she sliced into the lemon cake she'd promised.

You sank into the nearest armchair, careful not to disturb the crocheted doily draped over the back. The tea was hot and sharp on your tongue, a welcome shock to your system after the restless night. Irene reappeared a moment later with two chipped dessert plates balanced in one hand, a slice of lemon cake on each.

She handed you one, then lowered herself onto the floral loveseat with a dramatic exhale.

“God, these knees,” she muttered, rubbing one of them as she settled in. “Don’t get old, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

You smiled, curling one leg under the other. “I’ll try to dodge it.”

Irene grinned, fork already diving into her cake. “So. You really flew all the way from Washington for this paper of yours, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing a bite. “I know, it sounds a little unhinged.”

“Mm, not to me,” she said through a mouthful of cake. “My Harry would’ve called that dedication. Or madness. Or both, depending on whether you interrupted his football.”

That made you laugh. “He was a history teacher, right?”

“Thirty seven years,” she said proudly. “High school mostly, then he did some community college stuff after he retired. Couldn’t quite give it up. The man had a brain like a bear trap and no filter whatsoever.”

You sipped your tea, already picturing him: cardigan, chalk dust on his sleeves, a thousand strong opinions.

“He sounds like someone I’d get along with.”

“He’d have loved you,” Irene said simply. “Especially with all this witch trial business. He was obsessed with that era. Said it was where the country first learned how to be afraid of itself.”

That gave you pause. You looked up. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

“He had his moments,” she said, smiling down at her cake. “Used to come home with weird little newspaper clippings or dusty first editions from estate sales. I’d be halfway through cleaning and find something like Witchcraft and Folklore in New England shoved under the sink.”

You laughed again, warming more and more to the space around you.

“Do you still have any of it?” you asked gently. “His books?”

Irene glanced toward the back of the house. A pause. A breath.

“Most of it’s still in his study,” Irene said. “Haven’t really gone through it since he passed. But I think it’s time.”

She stood, slower this time, pressing a hand to her hip with a faint grunt. She glanced back at you, her eyes catching the light — something soft in them, thoughtful, and just a little unreadable.

You offered her a small smile, taking a quick bite of lemon cake with a happy little hum before setting your mug down and rising to follow. Irene shuffled down the hall with the practiced sway of someone who knew every creaky board, and you trailed a few steps behind.

The hallway was narrow, wrapped in white wainscoting that had yellowed slightly with time. A dozen photos lined the walls — some black and white, probably from when Irene was a girl, and others full of faded seventies tones and wide collars. A few featured Irene beside a kind looking man with a thick mustache and a proud posture that had to be her late husband, Harry.

You smiled to yourself. Even something as simple as old family photos had the ability to make your historian heart flutter. Just a glimpse into another time, another life — preserved in paper and frame.

God, if only time machines existed. You’d sell your soul just to skip the guesswork.

Irene glanced back to make sure you were still with her, and something about it tugged at a distant memory — the first time you’d visited Agatha’s house.

Except Agatha hadn’t looked back. She’d just opened the door and walked in, certain you’d follow.

Agatha always seemed to know.

Know what you’d do. What you’d ask. What you were searching for.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until the soft click of a door jarred you from your thoughts. Irene had opened a glass paned door near the end of the hallway, dust lifting in the light as her hand curled around the knob.

“Here it is,” she said quietly.

The room smelled of paper and time. The kind of smell libraries tried to bottle and candles couldn’t quite replicate. It was musty, yes, but it had a kind of warmth beneath the dust — like the room had been waiting, patiently, to be remembered.

Your gaze swept the room — tall bookcases, the edges of volumes just barely visible through the haze of time; a sturdy desk piled with boxes, folders, and notebooks; and more stacks tucked into corners, waiting to be unearthed. You only recognized a handful of titles at first glance.

The sight made your chest ache in the best way.

It reminded you of the library back in Washington — the one you’d practically lived in. You wondered if Mrs. Calderu had noticed your absence. She always gave you that silent, knowing look whenever you missed a day, like a librarian’s version of a guilt trip.

Eight days now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but… yeah. You were starting to miss home.

Irene made her way to the desk, brushing dust from a large cardboard box. “So, Harry was… not exactly what you’d call organized,” she muttered, her lips twitching in a fond sort of grimace. “No matter how much I hounded that man.”

You giggled, stepping deeper into the room and peering into the box beside her as she began pulling out old papers.

“Some moon landing clippings in this one,” she said with a sigh, rubbing her temple. Then she turned with practiced ease and crouched — slowly — beside another box on the floor.

“I’ll help you look for anything about the witch trials. I know there’s a few boxes full. Harry was about as obsessed as you are.”

She tossed you a teasing look over her shoulder — eyes glinting with mischief.

“Except his obsession was with the history ,” she added. “Not a certain mysterious woman.”

Your face burned as you ducked your head, trying to hide the sudden flush. “No—well—maybe,” you laughed, shaking your head and waving a hand at her. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Irene said, smiling as she handed you the first folder.

Irene helped you sift through the first couple boxes, making soft commentary here and there — the way someone might talk to themselves when they think no one’s really listening.  

“That’s from the old newspaper that used to run in the sixties — folded faster than it started.”  

“Yep, that’s Harry’s handwriting — barely better than chicken scratch.”  

“Oh, now this might be something, though it’s mostly speculation. He liked collecting fringe theories. Said the truth was usually hiding in the weird.”

After a while, she straightened up with a quiet grunt, brushing her hands on the front of her cardigan. “Alright, you’ve got your bearings. I’ll leave you to dig. I know how serious you research girls get.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks again for letting me look.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the truly bizarre stuff.”

She waddled toward the hallway, then paused in the doorway. “I’ll be back in a bit. Brought your bag in from the kitchen — figured you might want your computer or your notes.”

True to her word, she reappeared twenty or thirty minutes later, gently setting your bag on the floor beside the desk without interrupting your focus.

You murmured a quiet “thank you” as you sifted through another box — mostly political clippings from the 1970s and some odd astrology magazines.

Nothing helpful. At least not yet.

You kept digging. Some folders held property records, maybe even relevant for local witchcraft accusations — but it was mostly dry stuff. Minutes from old council meetings. Reprints of school articles. A few references to “land disputes” that might have hinted at something darker if you squinted hard enough.

You leaned back, sighing. Glancing down at your hands with a small grimave, your fingers had dust in every crease.

Then your fingers caught on the corner of a heavier box tucked behind the desk, half smothered under an old afghan. You dragged it out, coughing softly at the plume of dust it kicked up.

It was heavier than the others. Marked in faded black ink: 

WITCH / 1692-1694 — underlined twice.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were folders bound with string. Notes scribbled in the margins in different inks. Theories. Names you recognized. Names you didn’t. One old manila envelope labeled simply:

  The Hollow Wood Incident.

And in the bottom of the box, tucked between two larger books, something handwritten. Ink faded. Cover soft from wear. The title had been crossed out and rewritten in different pens over the years, the most recent inscription scrawled in blue ballpoint:

“Witch Lore, Local Accounts (Unverified — H’s Notes)”

You smiled, slowly, as your fingers curled around the spine.

Now this — this felt like a breakthrough.

The cover was soft with age, the paper inside a patchwork of different types — thick yellowed pages, some brittle as if they’d been near a fireplace too long, others torn from notebooks, or scribbled on napkins. No order, no index. Just thoughts, theories, clippings glued haphazardly alongside Harry’s looping scrawl. 

You flipped carefully through the first few pages — passages on local legends, sightings of women vanishing into the woods, ritualistic markings found on trees. Names. “Ann P.—seen at the river with no reflection.” “Martha K.—claim of glowing hands in the tavern.” Half of them sounded made up. The other half? Too detailed to ignore.

And then, something stranger: a loose sheet fell free from the back of the notebook and drifted to the floor. You bent to pick it up.

The texture was different — thicker, smoother. Almost waxy. The edges were scorched, as if it had been near a candle flame. The ink wasn’t black or blue, but brown. Dried blood, maybe. Or just very old.

It wasn’t English.

You held it up to the light. Latin — you thought. Though some words didn’t quite track. At the top, it was labeled:

"Invocatio ad Angthetham"

Underneath, a hand-scribbled note in English, smaller, messier:

“Can’t translate fully. Name unclear — resembles 'Agatha' but no root found in Latin dictionaries. Possibly fabricated. Possibly phonetic.” 

The rest of the text was indecipherable. A chant? A ritual? You didn't know Latin — not really — but you could pick out the rhythm. Repetition. Phrases beginning with veni... aperi... da nobis. 

Come.  

Open.  

Give to us.

You glanced toward the door, as if someone might be watching. The room had gone oddly still.

Tucked behind the page was something else — a photograph. You hadn’t noticed it fall. Black and white, faded. A group of people in front of a stone circle. Too many shadows to make out their faces, but one woman stood at the front.

She looked like Agatha.

Or maybe that was your brain playing tricks again. You squinted — the photo was too grainy to be sure.

You set it down, hands slightly trembling now, and dug deeper.

At the bottom of the box, under another folder marked simply “Misc” , was a bundle wrapped in muslin. You untied it carefully.

Inside were remnants. Objects. A short black candle, burned nearly to the base. A few half melted wax drips clung to it. A matchbook with only one match left inside. A pressed sprig of some herb — mint, maybe, or sage. A dull stone, smooth and egg sized. A dried flower. A brass coin with a pentacle engraved on one side.

And another slip of paper.

"Tested 3/19/85. Results inconclusive. Felt presence. Weather shifted. H refused to try again." 

The words felt heavy in your chest.

You sat back in the chair, blinking. The air in the room felt different. Stiller. Thicker.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

You had no idea what any of it meant — not yet. But you’d found something. Something real.

And if this Angthetha was just a name… or if it was more than that…

You swallowed. Maybe Irene would have thoughts. She knew this town. Knew you well enough already to raise an eyebrow at your obsession.

And if not Irene…?

Well, there was always the forest.

Always Agatha.

You sigh, arms full of findings — the handwritten book, the scorched page, the photo, a few of the stranger objects wrapped in muslin. You cradle them against your chest like you're afraid they might vanish if you let go.

Back in the living room, Irene’s sitting. The lemon cake has been nibbled down to crumbs, and a half empty mug of mint tea sits forgotten on the end table. Her knitting rests in her lap — the same project you’d seen at the coffee shop, the same slow, steady progress. maybe a scarf, maybe a blanket. Hard to tell. She looked up when she heard your footsteps.

"Find anything useful?" she asked, her needles pausing midstitch.

You let out a long breath and lowered everything onto the coffee table, careful not to scatter the contents. "Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Definitely weird."

That got a chuckle out of her.

You picked up the old notebook — Harry’s notes — and turned it toward her. “This was at the bottom of a box labeled 'Witch / 1692-1694.' It’s all handwritten. Half of it reads like folklore, the other half like he was genuinely trying to make sense of it. There’s even a section called The Hollow Wood Incident.”

That got her attention. Her knitting paused again, this time for real.

“Hollow Wood?” she echoed, one brow arched just slightly. 

“I thought maybe it was just a coincidence,” you said, flipping to the burnt sheet of Latin text and sliding it toward her. “But then I found this.”

Irene leaned forward, pulling her glasses down from her forehead and resting them on her nose. She looked over the page without touching it.

“Latin,” she murmured. “Or something trying to be. Not your usual bedtime reading, I hope.”

You smiled faintly, watching her eyes narrow.

She squinted at the title. “Angthetham…”

You cleared your throat, feeling a little silly now that you were saying it out loud. “I thought… I mean. Doesn’t it sound kind of like Agatha?”

Irene didn’t respond at first. Her eyes lingered on the strange name, on the scrawled chant, on the note that mentioned Harry refusing to try again. Finally, she leaned back with a quiet exhale.

“Well,” she said, voice soft. “Harry always said the old names changed. Slipped through tongues like river stones. Wore down into whatever people could pronounce. You ask me, Angthetha could’ve been Agatha once. Or maybe something that came before her.”

You blinked. “Before?”

Irene just gave you a little shrug. “Who knows. Names have long shadows.”

You stared at her for a moment, but she was already knitting again, as if she hadn’t just casually nudged open the door to a hundred new questions.

“Irene,” you said slowly. “Do you think this… I don’t know. Do you think it could actually do something? Like — a spell?”

She glanced up at you with that same dry look from the coffee shop. “Do I look like someone who speaks dead languages and dances naked in the moonlight?”

You coughed on a laugh. “Not exactly. ”

“I think…” she paused, knotting a bit of yarn. “I think Harry believed more than he let on. That’s why he never threw that thing out, even after the fire in the shed. Said some things should stay buried. But he also kept it all boxed up . I think he wanted someone else to find it, eventually.”

That quieted you.

She glanced at you again, her voice gentler. “You think your Agatha’s tangled up in this?”

You nodded, sheepish. “I don’t know. Maybe. It feels like it.”

Irene smiled — soft, but with something bittersweet behind it. “Then maybe you’re meant to find her. Just… don’t go calling up things you don’t understand, sweetheart. Not all of them are interested in being found.”

You swallowed.

Too late, maybe. 

After that, you stayed a bit longer and finished her lemon cake. And true to her word, it really was a mean lemon cake.

But after a moment of silence, a question crept in, unshakable.

You glanced up. “Hey, Irene?” you asked, hesitating. “Can I ask something kind of… personal?”

She looked up, her expression still but open.

“How did Harry pass?”

Irene hummed low in her throat, setting her knitting aside. Her eyes drifted off, brow furrowing like the memory was a wrinkle she still hadn’t smoothed out. “Well… it wasn’t anything medical. No heart problems or cancer. My Harry was a health nut — even when he’d stay up all night with some historic mystery buzzing in his brain.”

You nodded, quietly, urging her on.

“He was found,” she said, voice distant. “Deep in the woods. You mentioned you went to the cemetery? Near the ranger park?”

You hummed in agreement.

“He was just past that. Some teenagers found him while they were camping. Maybe partying, I don’t know. I can’t remember now.”

She picked up the knitting again, though the rhythm had slowed.

“His body was mauled. By… something.”

You didn’t breathe.

“The last thing he told me before he left was that he was going out to do some research. Of course I said it was fine — my Harry never got into trouble… or, well, not that I knew of.”

You didn’t dare speak. You were on the edge of your seat.

Just what was out in the Hollow Wood forests that could’ve done that? 

And you’d been there. At that very cemetery. With that feeling — that creeping, awful sense that something was watching you.

“I thought it was murder, at first,” Irene went on. “Told the police it couldn’t have been some bobcat or wild dogs. I mean… his eyes were gouged out.”

You flinched.

“But the police…” she sighed. “They said animals always go for the soft spots first.”

You gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Irene sighed back, heavier. “No worries. I’m old now. And I’ve heard enough sorries.”

Then she turned to you, face suddenly more serious than you’d ever seen it. “So don’t go wandering near that cemetery again. Not while you’re here.”

You gulped, a chill dragging down your spine. You glanced at the stack of notes on the table… then at the clock ticking in the corner of her living room.

3:23 PM.

“I won’t,” you said, quietly.

You stood, shrugging into your coat, the weight of everything settling deep in your bones. “I guess I should get going. Digest more of this.”

Irene nodded, watching you move. “Take Harry’s things. The Latin. The notebook.”

You turned, surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”

She was already rising — muttering about her knees — and crossing to the table. She handed the items to you, her hands staying on yours just a moment longer than expected. Her eyes were steady, serious.

“I have no use for them,” she said. “Whatever Harry was doing… or looking into… he had to’ve been on the right track.”

She gave a faint, hollow smile.

“People don’t just die.”

---

Later that night, back at the hotel, you’d tucked some of Harry’s things into your bag — others were spread across the desk, waiting for a once-over.

Irene’s words echoed in your head.

People don’t just die. 

You chewed on your nail in thought, eyes drifting toward the window. It was nearing dark… probably an hour left of light.

Irene had warned you not to go back to the cemetery. Especially after dark. 

And she wasn’t the first.

“Though I wouldn’t recommend making late night cemetery visits a habit.” “Well. Don’t go again. It’s dangerous.” 

Agatha’s voice joined the chorus in your head.

Your stomach knotted. Irene knew something. Maybe the same thing Agatha did. They had to have met. Irene had mentioned her — back at the coffee shop.

And if Harry had been digging into this the same way you were…

And he’d ended up mauled in the woods. 

You grumbled.

Your mind wandered to Agatha again — her house, her voice, that look in her eyes last time when she told you to leave. Would she even let you in again?

You groaned and flopped onto the bed, arm flung dramatically over your face.

You couldn’t just show up at her place asking if she knew some eighty year old woman with a knitting hobby and a haunted past. That’d be a one way ticket to being kicked out permanently.

Your gaze slid toward your duffel bag.

There, right on the floor — the T-shirt and sweatpants Agatha had given you. Crumpled on the floor. Still probably smelling like her.

You paused. Took your nail out of your mouth.

…Okay. So maybe you couldn’t ask about Irene.

But you could return her clothes.

A harmless excuse. A friendly gesture. A reason to knock on her door again.

You shot up from the bed like a girl with a plan, grinning as you grabbed the clothes and tucked them neatly into your bag. You slung it over your shoulder, then paused in front of the mirror, giving yourself a onc over.

“You, beautiful lady,” you said to your reflection, dead serious. “Are brilliant. ”

And with that, you peeled out of the room.

---

The walk was quicker this time.

You slipped into the woods with practiced ease, past the cobblestone bridge, a left down the trail lined with old, whispering willows, then over the second bridge — the one that made it easy to cross the stream without getting your Shoes wet.

It was practically muscle memory now.

Your heart gave a small flutter. You were getting giddy. To see Agatha. 

Would she be happy to see you? Annoyed? Maybe a little smug that you'd come crawling right back?

Not that she should be surprised — you’d told her you were leaving for now, not that you were never coming back.

There was a rustle in the trees.

You paused, then brushed it off. Just Hollow Wood wind. Probably.

The pep in your step? Honestly? It should be studied.

Actually—scratch that. They’d find too many disturbing things in your brain.

The sun was sinking faster than you expected, but you were close.

Right on cue, you pushed past the final thicket and stepped into the clearing.

And there it was.

Agatha’s Victorian house. Just like before.

Purple door, ivy trailing up one side.

You smiled, soft and stupid, and marched right up the creaking porch steps like you were an old friend who belonged there.

There was another rustle behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Just wind. Again.

“The weather here is odd,” you muttered under your breath.

You raised your hand, just like you had the first time, and knocked three times on the door.

You hummed. Shifted from one foot to the other.

Nothing.

You thought back to your first visit — how she’d taken a moment to open the door, and how you’d tried to avoid that awkward mid-knock face-to-face. 

So you waited.

And waited.

You sighed, glancing up. The sun was nearly gone now. The porch light clicked on overhead.

You jumped. 

Then immediately giggled at how dumb that was.

You looked back at the door. Still nothing.

Should you knock again?

It didn’t take this long last time.

You leaned in, knocked three times again. Counted to thirty.

Still nothing.

Again.

“What the hell…”

You huffed and leaned toward the side window, trying to peek through. Were the lights on? Was she just… ignoring you?

No lights.

You squinted, searching for movement. Anything. And that’s when—

Rustle. 

Close.

Too close.

Not like wind.

Not like leaves.

Like… breathing.

On the back of your neck.

You spun around fast — heart pounding — eyes scanning the woods.

Nothing.

But something moved. 

Far back, between the trees.

You squinted.

Your pulse thudded behind your eyes.

Not a bunny.

Not the wind.

Something was out there.

Panic spread through you.

Instantly, you knocked harder on the door.

“Agatha!”

Nothing.

You pounded your fist against the wood, harder now. “Agatha, open the door! Please!”

Still nothing.

Silence.

Too much of it.

Even the birds were gone.

You turned, something primal in your chest pulling your gaze toward the trees.

Something was watching you. 

You felt it before you saw it—goosebumps erupted across your skin, your throat went dry. The air turned sharp, metallic.

And then—

There it was.

Between the trees. Half shrouded in shadow, standing too still to be human.

Tall. Lanky. No real shape to it. Like it was wearing a human silhouette like a costume. 

No face.

Just a stretch of black. And eyes—

No, not eyes. Not really. But two pale yellow lights.

Like fireflies.

Faint. Flickering. But locked on you.

You couldn’t breathe.

The scent of blood hit you all at once—thick and iron rich, like a slaughterhouse left out in the sun. You gagged on it, stumbled back.

The thing didn’t move.

Not a twitch.

But it was there. Waiting. 

Your fingers fumbled for the doorknob again, hands shaking. “Agatha,” you whispered, hoarse. “Please.”

The lights blinked. Closer now. Somehow.

You blinked tears. It wasn’t moving. But it was closer. 

The woods around it swayed, but it didn’t.

Then—

The screech split the sky above you.

You ducked, but it was already on you—black feathers, flapping chaos, claws tearing through your sleeve and ripping your arm .

You screamed, hands over your head, stumbling off the porch. The pain was sharp, slicing.

The crow— that crow—was attacking.

Or that’s what you thought. 

You swatted at it, adrenaline flooding your veins. You turned and ran , sobbing.

“Get off me! What the fuck— what the fuck— ”

Branches tore at you. Roots caught at your boots. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. 

Your lungs ached. Your throat burned. Your arm was bleeding.

And behind you—the screeching stopped.

And so did the eyes.

Gone.

The thing— whatever it was —had disappeared. Just like that.

And the crow?

Nowhere to be seen.

Next Chapter

[nepenthean-sleep]

tumblr user nepenthean-sleep's favorite griddlehark fics of all time

hi. i promised a continuation of my griddlehark recs series literally a year ago and never posted it. this is because my life went and exploded in 14 different insane ways and i have been Going Through It. however, as a parting gift to 2024, one of the Years of all time, i present to you, from my personal and extremely picky collection: my all-time favorite griddlehark fics of various ratings.

and if you do, I'll know it's you T - astardanced a short collection of one-shots done in different literary styles: thomas malory, william shakespeare, and jane austen. this fic is so incredibly well done and it made me want to eat drywall. the shakespeare one in particular had me screaming

semi-charmed kinda life E - strangedelight / @griddlebait okay many people already know of this incredible fic nicknamed "sckl" but for those that don't: it's a long multi-chapter fic set in the 1990s. this is probably my favorite fanfiction, of any fandom, ever. my god the dyke drama, the portrayal of butchness, the nuance, the historical (yikes) accuracy, the slow burn, the poignancy, the tension!! the prose is incredible and every chapter leaves me hanging on the edge of my seat.

God Is Dog Spelled Backwards M - labyrinthineRetribution / @thatneoncrisis labyrinthineRetribution is one of my favorite writers in this entire fandom and this fic does not disappoint. it's a multi-chapter modern au where griddlehark are roommates and harrow suddenly adopts this weird dog. it's as much about weird magical dogs as it is about grief and loss and resentment and shared custody of a vibrator. labyrinthineRetribution is, as always, masterful at writing a griddlehark relationship that really channels the weird dysfunctionality and homoeroticism of the canon relationship and stays true to gideon and harrow's canon personalities.

fancy footwork & a bleeding bloodline M - JodsTablet / @jods-tablet this fic has been keeping me awake at 4am lately because i keep rereading it LMAO. multi-chapter professional ballet au. as someone who is dance and theatre-adjacent myself, i just absolutely love this fic so much. it really captures the thrill of performance and practicing and production, and how these emotions heighten the tension (be it positive or negative) between gideon and harrow. there are a lot of parallels to canon as well, which i really love, and i'm so excited to see where this fic goes. also i love g1deon, mercy, and augustine in this fic so much ❤

like the gates of hell E - Ptolemia post-ntn oneshot. this fic made me laugh so fucking hard, the dialogue is amazing. "yorf it" has, unfortunately, made it into my vocabulary. the fic is sweet (well. as much as post-ntn griddlehark can be, considering the corpse stuff) but its also deeply funny and comedic.

and then, for the returning favorites (aka copy-pasted from my previous rec series):

you're still the one pool where i'd happily drown E - valancytrinit / @valancietrinit long post-ntn speculative multi-chapter. i love everything about this fic. i was literally hanging on every word when i read each chapter for the first time. the writing is incredible. there is a shower scene that is legitimately fucking shakespearean. additionally, i absolutely love the way that harrow’s mental health is portrayed in this fic as someone who struggles with similar conditions.

illbringthestrap69420 liked your post E - imalwaysstraight / @nooomagnus long multi-chapter college/uni au. the enemies to anonymous tumblr mutuals to lovers fic. listen. this fic is an incredible experience for dramatic irony enjoyers. this fic is like dramatic irony: the fic. i love this fic so fucking much. another fic that has kept me on the edge of my seat while reading.

We Have Always Lived In The Apartment T - labyrinthineRetribution / @thatneoncrisis long multi-chapter modern au. (deep breath) one of my favorite tlt fics of all time. not to spoil anything, but the writing reminds me a lot of tamsyn's own writing style: there's weird identity shit going on, there's weird homoerotic shit going on, there's weird mystery shit going on. the girls are Heinous and there's bones. what more could you want from a tlt fic.

for better, for worse T - mutterandmumble oneshot. college AU. oh my god this one is hilarious i was crying laughing. two absolutely insufferable lesbians argue in a wendy's drive-through at 2am. one of my favorite fics of all time.

thank you to all the writers listed here for sharing your work with the fandom! i've had so much fun reading and rereading these fics ❤ thank you for all your hard work and thoughtfulness in writing these characters that are so dear to so many people.

[innorogers]

Vigil

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

Warning: Mention of sex / Fluff & Angst / Protective Steve / Jealous Steve /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff / John Walker

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull

It ended just as expected. Steve cummed twice in the shower—once in your mouth, because, damn, he tasted amazing after cleaning up, and again inside you, because you smelled just as irresistible with that jasmine scent in your hair.

So here you are, three cups of coffee later, and about to nap on your desk. The body Hydra gave you was strong, but you’ve been in a car chase, with the Iron Army hunting you down, fought in a nightclub, and probably had four or five rounds of sex with Steve. You honestly don’t know what was more exhausting. You’d guess the mission that had gone rogue, but honestly, the sex just left you breathless.

"Oh, rough night?" Robert handed you a fourth cup of coffee, eyeing the dark circles under your eyes. "Need the adrenaline shot?"

"Um…" You actually considered it for a moment. Your body metabolized stuff like that too fast, though—it would only last for a couple of hours, tops. "Nah, forget it.” You need your brain clear to process everything that happened. 

“I’ve heard…” Dr. Lin’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he leaned casually on your desk, his eyes scanning the room where your colleagues were clearly whispering about you. “That Captain America had quite the adventure yesterday. Right after leaving the UN, too.”

He tsked and pulled out his phone, showing you a few grainy clips. Footage from CCTVs and some shaky handhelds—probably from people who had their phones out at the right moment. “A broken bridge, streets on fire, and…a fight in a nightclub? You’re gonna need more than coffee to survive this shift, I think.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Too late for damage control, huh? Is it all over the news?” You could only imagine the hell Steve was going through with Commander Hill: ‘I gave you 1,278 security protocols, and you ignored them all?!’ Yeah, you weren’t setting foot in the command room today.

“Not quite all over the news yet—mostly social media.” Dr. Lin was clearly enjoying the UN’s PR disaster a bit too much. “I think they’re working overtime behind the scenes to sweep it under the rug. Captain America gets attacked his first time outside the compound during ‘The Reconciliation of the Century’? Yeah…someone’s having a bad day in PR.”

“Anyway…as I was saying…You’re gonna need more than coffee, we’ve got company today…”

“What? Company?” You were surprised. “They’re letting people in?!” After yesterday’s security breach?

“Seems the first New Era Project agent that the UN sent was a fraud or didn’t work. And since we visited them yesterday already, today, they’re sending some new guys.” Dr. Lin looked at you, lowering his glasses: “Yikes, right? So for today, we need to pretend we’re working. ‘Cause we’re not sharing our real stuff…which will make this day unbearable.”

Oh. You grimaced after Dr. Lin turned around and began “working.” Yeah, you knew everything about how the last agent went wrong. But actually, this ‘pretend to be working’ thing was good—you needed to analyze everything that had happened.

You opened a document connected to Tony’s hub and started typing, outlining the details for him in your usual style. (It was your private little system—documents stored in The Crib, or what the three of you called the ‘Geniuses’ Sticky Notes.’) You’d barely finished bullet point five when someone in a crisp military uniform appeared beside you, smiling next to your screen.

“Hi, Doctor—whose phone number is still confidential. Nice to see you again.” John Walker said smiling, quoting the line you’d once used to refuse giving him your number.

Oh dear Lord, he really should have taken a nap with you when he had the chance, instead of those three—no, four rounds of sex you had in the dressing room and the shower.

Steve thought after suppressing another yawn, trying to focus on the screen, where Thadeus Ross was losing his temper again, explaining why the UN had nothing to do with the attack he and you got yesterday.

But who was he kidding? Steve almost smiled. Nope, no way he’d have preferred the nap over the sex. That was exactly what he needed after being hard almost the entire afternoon. And four times weren’t enough—he would have gone on if you weren’t in the dressing room.

For fuck’s sake, when is this over? He couldn’t wait to get back to your private lab-slash-home, have a light dinner, and get in bed with you.

Oh, that’s a nice thought: a sex marathon for the weekend is all he needs after this hellish week. He started thinking of your intertwined bodies, your begging moans that sounded like heaven... Yeah, okay, he needs to focus. Maybe listen to what the Secretary has to say instead of thinking about your messy hair, your heavy breath, your skin that felt like silky sweet milk, and your mouth... Yup, stop. Let’s hear Ross, so he doesn’t get hard again in the middle of a full meeting room.

He felt a glare on him, so he looked around and saw Agent Sharon Carter staring with her eyebrows raised, as if saying, “Gotcha, pay attention.” Steve suppressed a smile and looked down. Oh boy, this was going to be a long day.

“I thought your super friends were going to be attending this meeting too.” Once the screen was off, Sharon smiled at him while picking up the folders and files.

“Well... Hill and Sam are still in Fraser’s interrogation. Tony and Bruce are tracking back the security breach. Natasha and Clint took over my place in training since I’m busy with other things. So...”

Basically, what happened was that when Tony asked who would be taking this mission, everyone stepped back, and I was the only idiot at the front. Steve shook his head internally.

“In that case.” Sharon gave him the usual confident wink. “I’m glad. It’s been forever since we shared a mission.” She grinned. “Last time almost cost me my career.”

“Yeah...um...lucky, things sorted out on that one...” He was a little embarrassed but still grateful for Sharon’s help during the Civil War chaos.

“I’m kidding with you, okay?” Sharon teased. “It’s not like I almost got into federal prison or anything.” She sighed a little, lowering her voice: “Although, I wouldn’t have minded if I had to.” She said with a soft voice and a sparkle in her eyes, looking at Steve with sincerity, which made him stiffen.

“So, how have you been?” Steve nodded and asked with a polite smile, pressing the elevator button for her as they headed to the cafeteria floor. “How does it feel to be at the UN? I heard the benefits are better than the CIA, though unfortunately, you’ll need to deal with us again.”

"Ah, I don’t know what you're talking about," Sharon said with a wink, grinning playfully. "Every agent’s dream, right? Dealing with the Avengers, working alongside the great Captain America... even if, well, my boss would rather face another alien army than deal with the politics of this initiative."

“Well, that’d make two of us.” Steve chuckled, and opened the cafeteria door for her.

The hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes filled the air. The compound’s cafeteria was large, efficient, and—much to Steve’s relief—quiet at this time of day. It was near lunchtime, but still a little early for food service, so the air was full of a coffee’s aroma that lingered from breakfast. They got in line for coffee and a quick snack, and Sharon gave him a sideways glance, her expression teasing as she grabbed a sandwich.

“Oh wow, you guys have affogato as dessert? I could consider getting back to work with you guys just for your catering service.” Sharon said, breaking the brief silence as they moved along the counter.

“Well, if you consider that, I could make my best effort to get your agent’s number back.” Steve grinned, grabbing just a cup of coffee.

“Oh yes, lucky number, huh?” She stopped for a second as she laughed and said, “Remember that place we went to… Venice? What was it called, the best affogato in the world.”

“Benicio’s?” Steve nodded. “Yeah… it’s closed now. I mean, gone during the Blip, hopefully reopened now.”

“You didn’t have the affogato, though,” Sharon said with a playful hint in her voice. “Mr. ‘I don’t know how to relax since I got into a fight with Stark and we’re on the run.’”

“Hey, I was the international most wanted. I think it was okay for me just to stay out of the loop. Imagine if I got caught because of ice cream. That would’ve been…”

“Funny? Quite a story to tell? Best date I’ve ever had?” Sharon shrugged.

“...Embarrassing.” Steve said with a smile. “Or awkward, or even humiliating.”

Sharon shook her head and laughed. They found a table by the window, where sunlight poured in, and Steve took a seat across from her. He could see the curiosity in Sharon’s eyes, the slight hesitation before she spoke again.

“It really was, actually. One of my top three dates.” Her smile turned more serious, her voice low enough that only Steve could hear over the ambient noise. “Too bad it ended so… abruptly.”

Steve wanted to say, "We would never have made it too far", but he only sighed.

He didn’t want to dismiss her feelings, and he couldn’t deny that something had existed between them. It was brief, but also real. A shared history they couldn’t quite forget or ignore.

Sharon was strong, smart, and capable—someone he admired deeply and cared about. He appreciated her confidence and her courage, but that connection, though meaningful, was nothing compared to what he felt for you now.

That had been a stream. With you, it was tides, waves, the entire ocean.

“We made a good team.” Steve said with a smile, being honest and looking directly into her eyes.

Something about it made Sharon hold her breath. 

She could remember moments in the past when Steve had the same effect on her. He would just gaze at her, and her heartbeat would skip or beat too fast.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t pushed harder when it didn’t work. If she had fallen, completely and madly, as she’d wanted to, the power he held over her would have been overwhelming.

She had risked her entire career just to help him, and they were… nothing. Just a kiss, just some kisses or dates. So what would have happened if they’d continued? She couldn’t imagine a life where she had so little discipline about her feelings, mind, or heart.

“I know.” Sharon spoke softly, still holding his gaze. She was taking a leap of faith now. Cause she couldn’t help to wonder—could it have worked?

What if…they gave it another chance? They didn’t have the menace of the universe’s destruction now, the chances of Steve (or her) being a fugitive again were none after Thanos, so what… what if…?

“But…” She began, but Steve suddenly turned as something caught his attention.

It was lunchtime, and the employees began to arrive at the cafeteria, you among them, with Dr. Lin at your right and John Walker at your left.

“Captain Walker, I really don’t need a date. I have a boyfriend, no, um… fiancé.” You said as you picked up a tray and started serving lunch on your plate, remembering how Steve just highlighted this morning that the ring was indeed, a ring.

“It’s John.” Said a very cheerful John Walker, who was not stepping back from asking you out, even though you had been determined and clear about your “NO”s and reasons.

“Well, does this fiancé have a name? And where’s the ring?” he said while picking lunch and placing food, walking backward with a gracious wink.

“OH MY GOD!” You and Dr. Lin said at the same time, your eyes widening as you noticed the ring was missing from your finger.

“Where’s the ring? D…did you lose the ring?!” Robert was panicking. Did you just lose the engagement ring Captain America gave you?!

“I don’t know, it was on my finger...” You were looking in your lab coat pockets and in your clothes.

“It’s a tracking device, equipped with the last of Stark technology, how...how can you lose a tracking device?!” Dr. Lin couldn’t believe it. 

“Your boyfriend put a tracking device on you?” John hmph'd with a laugh. “What a douchebag!” He put a hand on his chest. “I promise, I would never do such a manipulative, controlling freak thing to you.” He winked. “I’ll look out for other guys who come close, of course, but that’s another level of jerkiness. Ugh...a tracking device, what is he, a psychopath?”

“It’s an engagement ring,” you replied, frowning, though you didn’t think of giving out too much information to him. You thought back to the last time you saw the ring, which was before you took it off when you entered the UN HQ.

You pulled out your phone, wanting to send a message to Steve just to confirm.

Some strands of hair curved in front of you when you looked down, and John, who was standing in front of you, couldn’t help but stretch out his hand and brush them to your shoulder. His fingers ran through your hair, and his fingertips touched your ear as he accommodated it for you.

Before you could react, a loud crash echoed through the cafeteria, like the sound of a broken cup or mug.

Sharon stood in shock as Steve slammed his cup down so hard the porcelain shattered. His face was livid, veins bulging in his neck, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

He abruptly stood, the chair scraping loudly behind him, and stormed in your direction.

"I've got it, babe." Steve said. He didn’t miss a moment of the interaction and was at your side in an instant. He took your hand, his eyes locked on John Walker, and carefully slid the ring back onto your finger. “It was in the pocket of your gear.” 

Both captains exchanged tense, serious looks. You could feel the sparks fly between them as they made eye contact, and after a long moment, Steve finally smiled.

“I’m guessing you're here as a representative of the New Era’s Project, Captain Walker?” He said, placing a firm hand on your waist, his grip tightening slightly.

“Yes.” John replied with a polite but sneering smile.

“The knowledge exchanges from R&D have been…quite enlightening. I can’t wait to see what the best of your team has to offer…to me.” He said as he raised his jaw and tilted his head toward you. You could feel Steve’s body tense, like a bow stretched to its full capacity and ready to snap back.

"Take whatever gear or armory you want, Walker," Steve said in a cold, measured voice, as the entire cafeteria fell silent, all eyes locked on the tension between the two men.

"But the best of this compound is far beyond your reach. And don’t think for a second that you could ever put a finger on that." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, teeth clenched. Touch my girl’s hair again, and I’ll cut your arm off.

"Steve." A calm voice cut through the tension as Commander Hill appeared at the doorway. She walked in with steady confidence. "We’ve got news. I need you and Dr. Lancaster in the Command Room."

Steve didn’t immediately move. His gaze lingered on Walker for a few more seconds, with unspoken warnings in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turned to you, gently taking your hand in his, and led you out of the cafeteria. The weight of Walker’s stare followed behind you both, but your focus stayed fixed on your fiance's figure.

No one spoke in the hallway as you walked toward the Command Room. You could see Steve’s rigid expression. He was pissed, his jaw tight, shoulders tense as if holding back more words.

But you were… well, trying your best to hide the curve of your lips. Just like he had back in the car when you sobbed that you’d go to Wakanda and talk to plants for the rest of your life if he ever left you to go back to his gorgeous ex.

Oh, so he was this jealous? Even a little possessive? He got this mad just because a guy touched your hair? Now, if Steve were any other guy, maybe this would seem like a giant red flag, but this was the love of your life, so…

You slid your hand into his palm, pressing your skin to his, and intertwined your fingers with his. 

Steve’s expression softened, and he looked at you, letting out a quiet sigh. He smiled when you mouthed, I love you.

Commander Hill, however, wasn’t in the mood for your lovebird moments. Her face remained stern as she waited for the door to close behind you, sealing the room.

"Agent Frazer was found dead this morning."

The words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. Steve’s hand tightened around yours as his expression shifted from softened warmth to immediate alertness.

You lowered your sight.

Somehow, you had a feeling this was coming anytime soon. It was weird, though. Agent Frazer was not your brother; he just pretended to be for some time (and then actually tried to brainwash slash attack you). But for a moment, you wished that had been true, that your brother was alive, even if he had been turned against you. So now he is dead, and you feel strangely sad.

Your way of dealing with it? Throw yourself into the facts.

“How?” you asked, almost mechanically. “Was it because… his neural synapses overloaded, triggering an energy surge that short-circuited his cerebral cortex in under a millisecond? Like… like someone or something… wired his brain to self-destruct?”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she gave a quick, silent nod.

Steve’s grip tightened, haunted by your words. At that moment, he panicked, cold sweat through his shirt, fear dominating his senses when the possibility of losing you suddenly struck hard in his mind. So, could anyone do that? Snap their fingers and cause you a brain dead? 

His body was merely processing under this thought. He felt the urge to hug you, to feel your warmth and heartbeat under his skin, to feel you entirely safe in his arms. But you were in the command room, so he didn’t move.

“Can we make sure that…” His voice trembled slightly. “What happened to Frazer…” doesn’t happen to you?

Commander Hill noted his panic, so she gave him some time to process.

“Oh no.” You noticed too, so you reassured him, squeezing his hand back: “That won’t happen to me. I’ve only been through one brainwash. It takes more than that—multiple processes, open surgery. And Hydra… they didn’t have the tech to pull it off. Not back then.”

“But…” Your mind raced ahead, piecing things together. “Whoever did this? They’re desperate.”

You rubbed your forehead, and as your hands dropped, Maria noticed it: that look on your face.

The same intense, calculating look Steve wore when he was seeing things no one else could—analyzing every possibility, tracing out the most brilliant, cunning plan, whether on a battlefield or at a table of white collars and power brokers.

“Jarvis, any chance Bruce and Tony are in the crib?” You needed to process your ideas, but you also needed someone who could remember everything you’d said.

“They are on their way here, Dr. Lancaster.” answered the A.I. “Crossing the elevator’s door at this moment.” said Jarvis as both entered the room.

“Please tell me you already have a preliminary conclusion?” said Tony, stepping into the room.

“Okay…” You stood in the middle, your mind moving faster than words as you started laying out the analysis.

“They have access to Hydra files—there’s no other way to explain it. Clearance levels that aren’t just high for regulars; files that were locked, or used to be locked, behind old S.H.I.E.L.D. encryption. And the remains of my file? Only a few could access those after Hydra was dismantled.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, tracking your every movement. Bruce sat at the edge of a table, hands loosely folded, but his furrowed brow betrayed his concern.

“So, leftover Hydra goons or former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Tony asked. He didn't want to say it aloud, but there was also another possibility: a breach, here, inside the Avengers.

“Or both.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives who went dark when Hydra fell. People who know how to stay hidden but had deep ties to the old Hydra infrastructure.”

“Even if they had the files, they’d need money. A lot of it, if they’re working with the kind of tech that got into Frazer’s head.” Bruce said, swiping through the files on the screen.

“Yeah, this doesn’t sound like some underground merc group.” Maria said, standing beside him as she watched the files on the main screen.

“This is serious, billionaire-level investment. Whoever’s backing them has access to bleeding-edge tech. Retinal implants, memory manipulation… that’s not standard black-market operation. The kind of power they’re throwing around is something only the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to—the old S.H.I.E.L.D. when they were still around.”

“So, they’re gearing up for something big, or they’re hitting a wall. What are they trying to accomplish? Why use Frazer as a puppet?” Tony followed the line of thought.

You hesitated: “I think… They’re close to something. A breakthrough, maybe. Or…” You stopped and narrowed your eyes, thinking aloud. “Or they’re failing. Desperate. They’re making bold moves because they need something critical. And that something is… me.”

Steve’s expression shifted. His fingers locked onto yours, tightly.

“The attack was directed at you. Frazer was pretending to be your brother. And to confirm your existence.” Tony sighed, frustrated and feeling a pang of guilt. He hid you all these years, thinking you would be safe. He should have let you out of the New Eras Project. The Avengers had so many ways of detecting enemies without using your powers. Fuck, he should have listened to Steve when he warned him to let you out of the Project.

“Of the twelve of you, you’re the only one with… those powers.” Steve murmured, almost clenching his teeth. He felt the urge to hug you, as if you were going to disappear or vanish in the next second.

“And a success case.” You said, not wanting to scare him but knowing you all needed the entire picture. “The only survivor, the only… prototype. Still alive. In my body is the source code for why these experiments or creations worked.”

“Wait…” Tony’s glare was fixed on you. “If the endgame is to copy your ability… What could they even use that for?” But it was a self-answering conversation. He was just thinking aloud: “…a soldier who could walk into a building and identify every weak point before the first shot is fired. Or worse, detect something we’ve built to be undetectable.”

“Why stop there, Tony?” Maria’s expression was serious and cold. “Why would there be only one? Hydra made a dozen back then, and they didn’t even have half the tech we have now.”

Bruce frowned deeper, his voice low: “If they’re that close, then we’re on borrowed time. They’ve already brainwashed Frazer, and now they’re playing with neural implants and synaptic overrides.”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “And they are so desperate, they don’t care if we know they’re out there now, because they’re so close they can taste it. Once they succeed, they won’t even fear the Avengers’ powers anymore.”

Tony exhaled sharply, his glare cold. “So, they’re building something. A super soldier, or an army of them—enhanced with tech that would let them see through just about anything.”

“And they’re not far from getting there. But for now, I’m still the key to unlocking that power.”

The room went quiet for a moment as the weight of your words settled in.

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic.” Tony applauded, the whole thing giving him a headache. “We’ve got super soldiers with x-ray vision on the horizon. And they’ve got you in their crosshairs.”

“So basically, we need to see what triggered this sudden desperation.” Bruce leaned forward, and his mind began to analyze: “We could scan for energy centralization around the globe. Human creation needs vast electromagnetic fields to power high-level bioengineering, especially when manipulating neural pathways at this scale. We need to track when or where all this is happening. But…”

His voice was tense.

“I’ve got a feeling they’re at the door already. Because whatever they’re building… they’re almost done.”

The way back home was silent. You could feel the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. Steve hadn’t said much since you left the command room. His usual warmth and quiet strength seemed overshadowed by something deeper—fear and anxiety, clunging over him like a dark shadow, haunting him at his heels.

You wanted to speak, but your mind was processing too. You were trying to remember everything you knew about yourself and your siblings, every memory, every piece of paper you’d seen in Hydra labs, every layer of analysis they’d made you go through.

The ride home was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road, even your house slash lab was after all the securities protocols and protective layers Maria had put, he was still alert, as if there were something in the grass and trees of the compound that would attack anytime. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

"Babe there's no need…" You said as Steve moved around the house once you've arrived.

He checked every window, every door, securing them with an almost obsessive care. He paused at the front door, his hand lingering on the lock as if it was the only thing standing between you and the threat he couldn’t control.

You watched him, knowing that this wasn’t just about protecting you—it was about the fear within him.

"Steve, I'm here." You stopped him. Placing your hand on his back: "I'm here. With you."

He turned to you, his face pale. His eyes were haunted, wide with the kind of fear you rarely saw in him. He’s worried.

No, not worried, he’s terrified.

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you like you might disappear if he let go. His grip is firm, desperate, as trying to shield you from an invisible danger that only he can see.

His breath is uneven, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

You don’t say anything at first. Words won’t soothe him. So you just hold him back, resting your head against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently press them on his neck, cupping his face to make him look at you.

"I'm here. And we will be ok." You say softly.

These words made him tremble. Will you? How can you be sure? How could he know? What if…

He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost you.

“I won’t let them take you.” He said, as a sacred oath, tatooed in his soul. “I’m going to set up more protocols.” He muttered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression one of steely resolve beneath the worry. “More security. I’ll have Tony upgrade the system. I’ll have guards outside. I’ll—”

You stayed still in his arms, feeling the rawness of his fear. His body was tense, and you could feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of his panic pressing against you. He wasn’t just holding you for comfort—he was holding you like you were the last solid thing in a world that was quickly unraveling.

“Steve,” you interrupted softly, placing a hand on his chest. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

His eyes locked onto yours. “I can try. And I will.”

"Babe…this is the Avengers compound. This is…the safest place on earth. Or even the universe."

"It took only one protocol. One permission. Approved by me." He said with teeth clenched. "I gave him clearance. One, to bring Frazer in front of you, I won't ever, ever let that happen again." He said with conviction, his expressions somber as he remembered everything you went through.

But beneath his determination, you could see the cracks: the anxiety gnawing away at him, the overwhelming fear that no matter what he did, it might not be enough.

"Steve…"

“You don’t understand…” His voice is strained, thick with the fear that he hasn’t been able to shake since the moment he realized you were being targeted. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve lost too many. If something happens to you—”

He pauses.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. He was a man made of iron will and conviction, but here he stood, vulnerable and raw, stripped bare of all his usual defenses.

“Hey, hey, hey…Listen.” You said, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. I'm here, with you, I'm safe.”

He looks at you and feels a pang of pain to your innocent even naive words.

Safe? Were you safe when he was on the other side of the wall and couldn't do anything but watch as you almost fell under Frazer's brainwash? Were you safe when you pressed a tranquilizer to yourself?

The memory of you in his arms, unconcious and slipping away was so vivid.

His hands tightened around you again at that thought, his grip shaking slightly. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted, his voice strained. “What if I can’t get to you in time? What if something happens and I’m not there? What if…”

“I can’t take that risk.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. “ I can't. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. His blue eyes are filled with a vulnerability you’ve only seen in rare moments— when the weight of the world is too much, even for him.

“Steve.” You say soft but firmly: “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find reassurance in the depths of your gaze. Slowly, he exhales, but he doesn’t let go. That deep-rooted terror of losing you, isn't going away anytime soon.

His arms remain wrapped around you, protective and unyielding, as though he’s made a silent vow that nothing—no person, no secret organization, no force on Earth or beyond—will ever take you away from him.

If only that could be true.

THE End but TBC

Continue to Chapter 10: Eclipse

Alright I'm SO SORRY I'm late!! 2 Full time jobs really is consuming me!! I hope you enjoyed it!! Sooooo I have a really serious question RN, could you doooo me the favor to lmk your thoughts!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[skyward-floored]

Hi new fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52017334/chapters/131545159

Summary:

“Twilight is that a cat?” the Champion asked loudly, and Twilight cringed as the argument stopped, everyone staring over at where Wind was sitting primly on his unhurt shoulder.

“Ah... right. Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he mumbled.

Wind twitched his whiskers.

———

Wind has a run in with Twilight’s necklace. He does not appreciate this, especially since turning back proves to be... difficult.

At least he has claws.

...

Read the fic on ao3, or read it here under the cut :)

Wind came tumbling out of the portal with a shout, rolling down the hill he’d suddenly found himself on for several paces before he managed to stop his frantic descent.

Ow.

He spat a mouthful of grass out when he finally stopped moving, and looked around at where he’d ended up, noting the seabirds flying above his head with a spark of excitement. Maybe he was back home? Maybe he’d get to see Grandma and Aryll and Tetra and everyone again?!

Wind continued to look around, but his excitement faded as he noted the high cliffs and significant amount of land around.

Probably not his.

A sigh escaped him as he looked to his side, and he jumped a little, scrambling backwards from the cliff he suddenly realized he was sitting next to.

Yikes, glad I didn’t roll a few feet further, he thought with a gulp, taking note of the steep drop and rough ocean below. Even if he fell and managed to slow his descent, there didn’t appear to be anywhere to climb up out of the water.

A screech caught his attention, and Wind was abruptly reminded of the reason he’d fallen through the portal in the first place.

He and the other heroes had been in the middle of a battle when a portal had appeared, the dark lizalfos sneering at them before escaping through. Despite Warriors telling them all to stay away from it, Wind had ended up fighting closer, then been knocked through by moblin’s club.

Leaving him here, alone on a cliff with monsters charging towards him.

He scrambled to his feet as several bokoblins and a sizable group of miniblins ran towards him, and he grabbed the phantom sword, which had fortunately come with him.

Wind leveled his blade as the first monster lunged at him, and with a small flourish, he jumped around it and watched as it’s momentum took it straight over the cliff.

That guy obviously wasn’t black-blooded, he thought with a snort, listening to its squeals as it fell.

A distant splash came from below, and the other monsters howled in anger, Wind wiping some dirt from his cheek with a grin.

“Thought you could just shove me off, huh?” he smirked, leveling his blade. “You’ll have to do better than that, ye scurvy dogs!”

The monsters jabbered angrily and charged him all at once, but Wind easily knocked them backwards with a spin attack. He worked on maneuvering himself away from the cliff while he fought, trying to take out as many monsters as he could and not be flung over the edge, and made fairly steady progress.

Their numbers began to thin the longer Wind fought against them, and he only had a small gash on his arm and a few cuts to show for it. His injuries weren’t slowing him down at all as he continued to fight the monsters, and Wind felt a familiar sort of confidence pump through his veins the more of them he eradicated.

Wind even managed to knock a couple more monsters off the cliff nearby, though unfortunately none of the ones that had black blood dripping from cuts.

Those were the ones giving him the most trouble, dodging his thrusts and avoiding his attempts to outsmart them. Wind panted a little as he swiped away two miniblins, and looked around at the monsters. There were only a few left, all infected he was sure, based on the intelligent gleam in their dark eyes.

Well they’re not getting the better of me, black blood or not!

He twirled his sword and grinned at the monsters, but then a loud shout rang out from nearby.

Wind whirled around to see Twilight fly out of the portal, blood on his shoulder.

The rancher hit the ground with a grunt and began tumbling down the hill, much in the same way as Wind had done earlier. Twilight was a lot bigger than Wind though, and the sailor abruptly realized his momentum would likely send him right over the cliff, just like the earlier bokoblin.

Oh no, not on my watch!

Wind took out one of the bokoblins that was flagging, and grabbed in his pouch for his hookshot. Executing a backflip towards a nearby tree, he aimed at where Twilight was rolling, and fired.

He was too far away to use anything else to grab his fellow hero, and hoped he’d aimed well enough not to hurt Twilight too much.

The chain shot outwards as Wind fired, soaring straight for Twilight’s already-bloody shoulder, his pelt and a few other items having come lose in his fall. But the rancher had seen him fire the chain, and right as Wind thought either the hook would gouge right into him or he’d go flying over the cliff, Twilight reached out a hand and snatched the chain.

A relieved sigh escaped Wind’s lips, but as the slack caught up to him he nearly fell over, grunting with effort as he called on the strength of his power bracelets. Maybe Twilight needed to lay off Wild’s desserts, he weighed a ton.

A bokoblin’s screech reminded him he wasn’t alone, and Wind growled in annoyance. He gathered his strength and gave the chain a sharp heave, looping it around a nearby tree branch before turning to block a strike from one of the monsters.

It snarled, more ferocious of a sound than Wind was used to hearing from their species as it swiped at him with its sword, and he suddenly realized the other monsters had disappeared.

He looked around in suspicion as he fought against the bokoblin, wondering if maybe the monsters hadn’t been quite as smart as he’d thought.

Had they just... fallen off the cliff?

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind turned to see that no, the monsters had not fallen off the cliff, but rather taken advantage of Twilight’s somewhat vulnerable state. One of the bokoblins had jumped on Twilight’s back while the remaining miniblins jabbed at his legs with their pitchforks, leaving him weighed down and outnumbered.

Not to mention getting closer to the cliff again.

Wind frowned determinedly, and managed to stab the bokoblin that was bothering him through the middle, sending it to the dirt. As it exploded into dust, he ran towards Twilight, who was struggling to remove the bokoblin from his back while also keeping away the other monsters with his injured shoulder.

The rancher succeeded in kicking back a few that weren’t clinging to his neck, and Wind viciously swiped at them, sending multiple miniblins off the cliff with squealing cries. The other monsters made use of the distraction and a few of them split off, grabbing Twilight’s pelt with mischievous cackles.

Wind growled in frustration, unsure of whether to go after Twilight’s stuff or help Twilight himself, but then the rancher threw the bokoblin that was on his back off himself, and into the sea below.

Wind decided he was doing fine, and charged towards the miniblins, who squealed as they saw him approach. He cut down the one that had grabbed Twilight’s pelt, then ran after two others that had something gripped in their little claws.

As Wind swung at the miniblins, one of them wound it’s arm back and threw something into the air before Wind’s sword struck it, and Wind realized it was Twilight’s necklace.

It went flying right for the cliff, and Wind bolted, throwing himself forwards and just barely managing to snag the cord before it was lost forever in the ocean below. He let out a relieved phew, looking down at the waves. The immediate area had finally gone silent, and there wasn’t a monster in sight when Wind glanced back at Twilight to check.

He grinned to himself, and got to his knees. That was a close one, but both of them, and Twilight’s stuff, were safe.

And they’d won the battle!

Wind held the severed cord up to look at the strange little pendant, orange lines glowing in the faint sunshine.

It was a weird necklace, all spiky and glowing, and something about it felt... off. But Twilight always said he didn’t really like magic, so it must just be a cool rock or something.

Wind got to his feet, still admiring the strange necklace, then set it in his palm to take back to Twilight.

“Sailor no!”

The warning came mere seconds too late.

The moment the pendant touched Wind’s skin, a wave of intense pain shot through him, and he yelped in surprise as he fell back to the ground, black flecking in his vision.

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind tried to reply, but something in his very being seemed to twist, making a response impossible.

Magic flowed through him and around him, bones shifted inside of him, inside out and upside down as another cry was ripped from his throat that didn’t sound right at all and the world suddenly felt like it was falling away—

Darkness overcame him and he knew no more.

(...)

Wind came back to himself slowly.

Loud noises echoed around him, sharp but fuzzy at the same time, and his dizzied brain couldn’t really focus on them when he tried. Especially due to the deep ache that seemed to have settled in every single bone in his body, weighing him down.

Wind tried to raise his head, but the ache increased sharply, and he let it fall with a wince.

A groan escaped him, but the sound that came out of his mouth was not what he expected at all: a strange grumble that didn’t sound even remotely hylian, with a squeaky note to it.

That came from me?

Something cold settled into Wind’s stomach at the strange noise he’d made, and he struggled to open his eyes, blinking up at the concerned (and slightly panicked) face of Twilight.

But something about the rancher seemed... off.

Like, really off.

Twilight tried to give him a smile, but the edges were thin, and despite how strange his vision was (had he hit his head? That would explain why everything sounded weird too—) Wind could tell he was trying not to panic.

Which admittedly, rather made him want to panic, because Twilight never panicked and if he was panicking over what happened to Wind than it must be bad—

“Link, just stay calm, okay?” Twilight said, but despite his even tone of voice, Wind only felt his panic grow at the uncertainty of what had just happened. “You’re okay, I promise, just take it slow.”

Wind tried to sit up then, but his balance was all off and he fell right back down, breathing shakily as he tried desperately to keep calm.

“What’s going on Twilight? What happened to me?!” he cried, or at least tried to.

Instead of words though, all that came out of his mouth were a serious of panicked meows.

Wind slammed his mouth shut, so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to realize that his mouth didn’t feel right either. Sharp teeth pricked against the inside of his lips, and his tongue felt bumpy, sort of like the sensation of sand on bare feet.

The realization of what happened, as unbelievable as it was, suddenly slammed into Wind like a hurricane, and he stared down at the creamy-yellow paws that had once been his feet.

He was a cat.

Somehow he’d been turned into a cat!

Twilight might’ve been speaking again, but Wind was too busy trying to get a good look at himself, taking in his windswept fur and the whiskers he could feel on his face. He even had a tail, stuck right onto his rear end.

A breeze hit his face, brushing his fur and whiskers, and the feel of it was all wrong, so wrong, everything about himself just felt wrong wrong wrong—

Something touched his head, and Wind was so high-strung from shock and leftover panic that he jumped (though it was more of a stumble) backwards, a startled hiss coming from his mouth.

“Wind whoa, I’m not going to hurt you,” Twilight soothed, and Wind realized the rancher had been the one to touch him, probably trying to calm him down.

He swallowed, and managed to ease himself back down, feeling his ears flatten in embarrassment. He tried to give Twilight an apologetic look, and the rancher seemed to understand, giving him a small smile. The hand was carefully extended towards him again, and this time Wind let Twilight run a soothing hand through his fur.

If he closed his eyes and ignored how the rancher’s hand was currently bigger than his head, he could almost imagine Twilight was just giving his hair a fond ruffle.

“Sorry sailor, I shouldn’t have startled you,” Twilight said. “I’m... I’m so sorry this happened,” he said more quietly, looking frustrated at himself. “I should’ve warned you not to touch the pendant.”

Wind blinked at him, suddenly suspicious of why Twilight had a pendant that turned people into cats anyway. What use was that?! And he’d never even seen Twilight use it to turn into a cat before. Plus Twilight didn’t like magic, especially not dark magic.

What was going on here?

“I guess you deserve an explanation,” the rancher sighed, not following his train of thought. “This... it’s leftover magic from my journey. It was originally a curse, but with the help of the Master Sword I was able to use it for my own advantage. It... allows me to become the animal that aligns most closely with my spirit, which...”

Twilight paused, looking a little nervous.

“Which is, well... a wolf.”

Wind blinked, then the pieces of the puzzle clicked and his tail stood straight up in shock.

Twilight was Wolfie!

Wind yowled in equal surprise and excitement, startling himself a little at the sound that came out of his lungs, but it was mostly overcome by his excitement.

Twilight being Wolfie made so much sense, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before— looking back it was so obvious and...

...and why hadn’t Twilight told them?

Twilight seemed to figure out the meaning of his yowling well enough, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m... Wolfie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t sure how everyone would take it, this magic isn’t completely... light,” he said awkwardly.

Wind thought back to the agony that had stretched and shifted his bones only a little while ago, twisting him into a form that was very much not his own, and shivered a little. He could see how it wasn’t exactly light magic.

But despite how achy and weird Wind felt, he didn’t feel like the magic that was in him now was actively malicious. It had changed him, but it had only done that, and apart from the slight pulse of it he could feel in his one paw, it wasn’t doing anything more to him as far as he could tell.

Twilight obviously didn’t mean any harm by it, and used the magic a lot with no bad or evil side effects or anything.

Wind shrugged, as much as he could as a cat, then stood up with a wobble, carefully testing each paw before trying to walk with it. He shakily made his way over to Twilight, then bonked his head against his knee with a small mrrow.

He didn’t trust the magic that had changed him. But he did trust Twilight.

Twilight huffed out a laugh at the gesture, and nodded at him, looking relieved at his acceptance. Wind tried his best to smile back, and felt a little better overall.

Not great though. Just better.

“Okay, our next goal is to find out where the others are, and get the Master Sword from Sky so we can fix you,” Twilight said with a thoughtful frown. “It’s the only way to get you back; when this happened to Legend, not even any of his crazy items were enough.”

Wind shot Twilight a wide-eyed look, and the rancher chuckled a little.

“Yeah, this happened to our veteran. He’d been transformed into an animal before though, so he wasn’t quite as shocked. I never would have expected he’d be bright pink, though.”

That must be why his hair turned pink that one night! Wind realized with a swell of glee, then let out a small mrrow of amusement. He couldn’t imagine how terrible Legend must have been as a little pink cat! ...unless he’d been a wolf like Twilight?

He’d have to add that to his rapidly growing list of ‘things to ask once he got his regular mouth back.’

“Right, so let’s get going,” Twilight said, dusting off his pants. “The portal closed after I fell through, so the others must be elsewhere. Hopefully they came through and we can find Sky quickly, and we won’t have to explain Wolfie to everyone...”

The rancher trailed off, looking a little anxious, and Wind tilted his head, studying him.

So that was why Twilight hadn’t told anybody. He must be afraid of what they would think of him being the random wolf that appeared and helped them out sometimes, and using a dark magic crystal thing to transform into him.

But the others would understand... wouldn’t they?

Wind caught Twilight’s attention and meowed at him, trying to look encouraging. Twilight looked down at him and snorted, shaking his head.

“I have no clue what you just said sailor. But thanks.”

Wind twitched his whiskers in amusement, and watched as Twilight stood up, holding his arm and grimacing a little. The sailor frowned, and when Twilight looked at him he meowed pointedly, looking at the blood staining his tunic.

He could smell the metallic scent in the air, sharper then normal, and it sure looked like a lot of blood to him.

“I’m fine sailor, it’s just a scratch. And I don’t have any potions, so there’s nothing I can do,” Twilight shrugged, wiping blood off his sword before sheathing it. “I’ll clean it once we find the others. I’ll be okay ‘til then.”

Twilight wandered a little ways up the hill in order to retrieve his pelt and a few other items he’d dropped before Wind could try to argue further, and Wind let out a small huff, then teetered after him, trying to get used to his new legs.

It wasn’t easy. He felt as unsteady as when he’d been sailing for weeks on end and finally gotten back to land, his paws wobbly and uncooperative underneath him. He was not used to four legs to deal with, and was unable to help the growl that rose in his throat as he tripped, tail lashing in annoyance.

How could he be helpful when he could barely walk?

Twilight came back to his side then, fully geared up, and Wind made an extra effort not to appear affected by his cumbersome paws. Twilight’s sharp eyes noticed immediately though, and he kneeled down next to him, offering a hand.

“I think you should ride with me for the time being sailor,” he said gently, wincing as Wind tripped again. “Just so we’ll make quicker ground.”

Wind lashed his tail. He could walk plenty fast!

To prove his point, he took a confident step forward, making an extra effort not to trip. But he was so focused on his feet, he forgot to pay attention to the ground, and tripped on a pebble and fell flat on his face.

Twilight winced, then offered his hand again, which Wind looked at grumpily before stumbling over to it.

Twilight gently scooped him up and placed him up on his shoulder, and Wind dug his claws into his pelt, figuring out how to comfortably sit. He finally nestled into a good spot, and Twilight began to move, back up the hill and into the forest beyond.

Wind looked behind them and watched the sea disappear behind the trees, and sighed to himself as a bit of wind blew past his whiskers.

This day was not going the way he’d thought it would.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photography.

Summary for this chapter: Brandy has a spa day with her sister, then spends a weekend at BJs, beginning on the coldest night of the year.

Characters in this chapter: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Amber Miller (Brandy’s sister)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual content, Red Shoe Diaries grade fuckery (trench coat, stilettos, lingerie, and thigh highs lol), oral sex (male receiving),  nipple orgasm, throat orgasm

Words in this chapter: 3,200

Author’s notes: this fills #Coldest Day Of The Year square for @jacklesversebingo 

Thank you @talltalesandbedtimestories @deanwinchesterswitch and @bigmouthlass for the read throughs and green lights.

Spotify Playlist

CHAPTER THREE: The Coldest Night of the Year

“OK, we’re caffeinated, swaddled in spa robes, and sipping,” Amber examines her glass, “cucumber water. What are we talking about today?”

I’m blessed to have friends like Kimiko and Maggie, but sometimes, you need your sister.

I try not to sigh too heavily, but Amber notices and makes a yikes face. “Uh-oh. What?”

“My neighbor.” I shake my head in consternation.

“Who, the merc?” 

“Yeah.” I shift in my seat.

She turns into me with a concerned brow. “Is he harassing you?”

I shake my head. “I wish that was it.”

“Then what is it?” She reaches for my hand.

“I don’t know what to call it, but we’ve... kind of...” I shrug and pick at my cuticles.

Amber’s eyebrows pop. “Reeeally?” She sits back in her seat, appraising me with interest.

I nod and blush.

“Well, what’s the angst? I know you didn’t like him at first and thought he was a creep, but maybe he was just into you from the jump. Guys like that are pretty aggressive.”

“Like a schoolyard bully? We aren’t 12, Amber.”

“But he’s not harassing you. Or... pushing you? What aren’t you saying?”

“It’s- I feel- ugh.”

“Babe.” She leans forward again, concern returning.

“He’s so not my kinda guy, ya know?” I feel like we’re kids again, confiding about our crushes. I always feel that way with Amber. It’s pure and real, and I don’t have to worry that she’ll think less of me or judge me. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. And when we’re together, I’m just- I feel wild.”

Amber nods, listening intently.

“When have I ever been into the Bad Boy?!” I whine. “Never.”

She nods. “That’s my jam.”

“He’s all scars and tattoos, and swagger and chauvinism. He’s probably a Republican.”

Amber rolls her eyes.

“No offense.”

Amber and I are cut from the same cloth but dyed with very different pigments. She and I have never agreed on one single political or social issue; in fact, we didn’t speak to each other for a month after a drunken night arguing about gay marriage. Her ex-husband and father of her children was the Captain of the football team, who peaked in high school and turned out to be a deadbeat. Guys like him made my skin crawl, and still do. 

I always look for the clean-cut guy who does his own laundry and doesn’t attempt to speak on women’s reproductive rights unless he’s trying to agree with me. Amber zeroes in on the alpha-est male in the room; the bolder, the better.

“So, you’re having an existential crisis because you’re attracted to, and, I assume, banging your hot, probably Republican neighbor.”

“Yes,” I admit.

She nods, trying not to smirk. “Well,” she prods, “is it good?” She sips her water.

“Stupid good,” I sigh. “And I want so much to be mad about it.”

Amber doesn’t hold back a cackle. “Thoroughly fucking the memory of that pansy Eric from your memory, is he?”

My amusement stutters. “Kinda, yeah, but,” I look down at my cup of water. “I don’t think about a relationship outside the bedroom. I don’t wanna know what he believes in. I don’t wanna talk.”

Amber’s grin softens with understanding. We’re different women with different desires and needs, but she’s my sister; she doesn’t want me to be unhappy. 

“Maybe you just need whatever it is right now.”

I nod as I meet her eyes. “And... I’m afraid of how much more it might become.”

“Don’t let it. Turn your brain off for once,” she says, like I can just do that.

“I don’t have a brain switch, Ber. I have regrets, and remorse, and shame.”

Amber’s eyes fill with the ache we both know so well — cut from the same cloth of a sexually repressed mother and emotionally unavailable father.

“You’re also the most disciplined person I know. Your willpower constantly amazes me. Maybe this is your chance to figure out a new way to use that power.”

She has always fallen in love so easily, takes the ride, and lets her heart break just the same. I guard my heart, make safe choices, and am terrified of letting go.

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

The spa attendant brings us a small tray of cheese and fruit and two glasses of sparkling wine. She refills our water cups and then leaves us be.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” Amber asks, popping a chunk of white cheddar into her mouth before taking a sip of her wine.

I chew my bottom lip and pull out my phone to find the most recent picture saved to my camera roll. I snapped him sleeping on his side in my bed. He’s shirtless, top leg twisted and tucked in the blanket and bottom leg hanging out over the edge of the mattress. He looks posed in the dim light, his broad shoulders and chest on display, soft hair rumpled, forehead creased, and lips plumped and prominently framed by his neat, full beard.

“Hoo,” Amber exhales, wide-eyed, reaching for my phone. “That’s a man.”

I sigh as she swipes to enlarge and inspect the image. “The manliest. Problem is, men, generally speaking, are trash.”

“Brandy,” Amber groans, handing my phone back to me.

I huff a contrite laugh. “Sorry, my misandry is showing.”

“Yes.”

“Matches his misogyny.” I slip my phone into the pocket of my robe. “We’re a nice pair.”

“See?” she laughs. “En garde!”

Our spa day includes massages, facials, blowouts, and mani/pedis. Amber talks me into a Brazilian wax because “if he’s anything like you say he is, he’ll do things to you that’d make baby boy Eric run crying to his mama.”

At the end of our day, as we part ways to our respective cars, she tells me she’s sending me a link to her favorite “sexy blog.”

“This chick has the best ideas. I never would’ve thought about putting almond oil on my pussy, but, man, does it make them go crazy. And the shea butter on the nipples-” 

“He cannot keep his fingers and mouth off my nipples.”

“Well, you’ve got great tits. It runs in the family,” she mutters, tapping her phone screen, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Just wait at least 24 hours for that Brazilian to settle before letting him loose.”

And letting him loose is exactly what I plan to do.

I arrive home two hours later. BJ’s garage door is closed, so I don’t know if he’s even around. The last time we hooked up, he commandeered my phone while I was answering a text from Kimiko, unbuttoned my shirt, and snapped a pic of my bare breasts before texting it to his phone. So, now I have his number.

The next afternoon, almost 24 hours to the minute, I text him.

Me: hey

It takes him less than two minutes to reply.

Him: hey, Applejack. What’s up?

I send him the best of the 15 pics I took of my freshly waxed undercarriage.

Him: baby that is a thing of beauty

My belly flips because I can hear that reply in his voice. His full, rich, fuck-me-into-the-floor voice.

Me: your place or mine?

Him: give me an hour then get your hot little ass over here

His specific mention of my ass makes my belly flip three more times. 

Amber was right. Eric was vanilla as vanilla gets. We had an OK sex life in that I had orgasms, but he didn’t want to try new things. He was put off by things I suggested, things I had always been interested in doing or trying. I decided that it wasn’t worth pushing the issue, and I settled.

Before Eric, I’d joyfully, albeit briefly, experimented. I like impact, bondage, and being manhandled. I also like being in control from time to time, it’s relative. I once had a boyfriend who worked me up with ass play for a week before finally fucking me, and I’ve never forgotten the way that orgasm felt. He left for the Peace Corps soon after, and I never saw him again.

I take the time allotted by BJ to shower, exfoliate, and moisturize with oils and lotion. I pay special attention to my hands, feet, and lips, per the blog Amber sent me.

I’ve learned that BJ is scent-driven, so I mix a jar of vanilla, sandalwood, and cinnamon essential oils with coconut oil and add it to my bag of other tricks. This process has wound me up, turned me on, and I’m more ready for him than ever. My skin is silky smooth, and I smell like dessert.

Last week, I ordered several pieces of lingerie from various recommended sites. My favorite, and the one I pick to wear over there, is a sheer black set of a bra, panties, garters, and thigh highs from Bluebella. I drop a red silk knicker set from Lunya and a white Fleur du Mal teddy into the bag for good measure.

He’s going to love it.

With a fresh blowout artfully pinned up on my head, I slide my feet into my black patent leather stilettos and wrap myself in my creamy winter-white trench coat, tying a tight but easily unfastened bow at the waist before slamming a shot of Jameson, shouldering my bag, and walking out my door.

It’s freezing outside. Luckily, we haven’t had a lot of precipitation because I would definitely eat it in these shoes. I don't have far to go to reach his stairwell, though, so I’m there in no time and begin to climb.

At the top of the stairs, I take a deep breath and knock.

He opens the door, and my jaw drops. 

His hair is its usual soft, fuckable fluff. He’s wearing black and white camo pants and a black T-shirt; no surprise there. But...

“You shaved.”

He smirks, and my pussy clenches from the imminent possiblity of riding that freshly shaven face and those plump lips. 

“Gotta keep up with you, don’t I?”

He takes a few steps back to let me inside, and I follow his cue.

I didn’t think it was possible for him to be hotter. I hadn’t thought about how sharp his jaw would be under that beard, how much more prominent his lips would be. I am so dumb.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

His place is surprisingly tidy. The decor is simple and masculine. There are no family pictures on the mantle of his fireplace, no plants, no vases, no candles. His walls are adorned with framed professional photographs of outdoor scenes, one of a motorcycle, and one of an anonymous woman’s nude silhouette.

I walk to his dining area and set my bag on the table.

“What’s in the rucksack, Applejack?” 

I roll my eyes at his rhyme before turning to face him. “You’ll find out.”

His gaze drags down my frame to my stilettos before slowly traveling back up to meet my eyes. “What’s under the coat?”

He slides his hands in his pockets and stares.

I hold his gaze as I untie the bow holding my trench coat around me before letting it slide to the floor and pool at my feet.

He licks his bottom lip in between his teeth and saunters toward me. “You know how cold it’s gonna be tonight?”

I nod. “Coldest night of the year, they say.”

He mirrors my nod and purses his lips. “That little ensemble’s not gonna do much to keep you warm.”

I tilt my head. “Isn’t that your job?”

He smirks, stopping short of pushing me against the table. “Honey, I’m gonna make you so hot you’re gonna call the weatherman a liar.”

“What’re you waiting for?” I think I’m challenging him, but he probably expects that response.

He pulls me close, and my heels loudly shuffle across his polished wood floors. His hands roam my body, fingering lace and gripping flesh. 

“I’ll take my time, and yours.” He dips in to press a kiss to my neck and another to my collarbone. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“So do you,” I breathe into his ear, nuzzling his smooth jaw. “God, you make me so wet.”

He tilts back to look at me, drinking in everything from the perfectly placed pins in my hair to my immaculately applied makeup.

“This hairdo’s a little too perfect. Might have to do something about that. Right before I wreck this silky smooth pussy.” One hand travels down to tuck between my thighs, and his fingers tease the sheer fabric of my crotch. “Over and over. But first, I wanna see what I’m really working with here.”

He hooks his fingers inside the leg of my panties, slips them up the back, and groans. “Now I know you aren’t leaving this place until I’ve had every inch of you.”

I spent so much time wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about him, even berating myself for being attracted to him and all he has to offer. But Benjamin James Davis III is filled and fueled by the most exquisite corruption, and now all I want to know is how and when.

His temple nudges my jaw as he mouths the thin skin of my neck, kissing, licking, and lightly scraping his straight, white teeth over my pounding pulse. With his hands at the small of my back, fingers pressed hot into my bare skin, and his hips flush against my body, I’m confident enough to relax my weight all the way back.

He effortlessly supports me as his mouth travels lower to take his time, just like he promised, tonguing the length of my collarbone. He shifts his weight to keep me steady as he reaches up to circle one of my nipples with the pad of his middle finger over the soft, sheer lace of the balconette cup. When his hot, wet lips close over my other nipple, I moan and grip his shoulder.

His tongue swirls, and his fingers rub and pinch. He reaches over to pull the fabric out of the way and blows a cool stream of air across my dampened skin, making my nipples pucker.

“So pretty,” he mutters, laving and flicking my bare nipple as he squeezes my other breast in his large, warm hand.

He works his way up to firmer pulls and sucks, alternating, pulling the lace down to expose my othe nipple. He uses his teeth and fingernails intermittently. My chest and neck heat and tingle, and my cunt throbs and weeps.

“You’re gonna make me come,” I whisper, clutching his T-shirt in my fist. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna.” He sucks hard then soft, flicking and pulling, inhaling and exhaling. “Come, baby,” he breathes.

I gasp and shake in his arms, coming silently, violently with his mouth closed around my nipple.

He gathers me into a full embrace, and I rest my head on his shoulder to catch my breath as he sways from side to side. 

“You were so quiet,” he says, pulling back to look down at me, not questioning, just stating the fact. He’s unsurprised — not smug, but rightfully pleased.

It’s funny because I’m never quiet when I come unless I try. That was something else. I can’t explain it, but I feel amazingly calm and focused.

He caresses my cheek with his knuckles and smiles. “Come sit.”

He leads me to the couch by the hand, cupping his visibly hard cock over his camo pants. He motions for me to sit on the edge of his sofa, and I do so, like I’m floating on a cloud. 

“Now,” he says, unfastening his pants. “Open your mouth, Brandy.”

I tilt my chin up to make sure I don’t miss a second of the look in his eyes and roll out my tongue like a red carpet.

He isn’t wearing underwear. His cock is red and straining hard. He cups the back of my head and guides his tip to rest on my tongue as he brushes my hair from my eyes.

“Stay still and do exactly as I tell you.” His smirk deepens, wicked and dark. “You’re gonna hate how much you love this.”

I nod, my emotions suddenly swirling, causing me to struggle with maintaining the eye contact I need and he clearly demands. I blink and breathe through my open mouth, trying to recenter myself. 

“Breathe through your nose and relax.”

I nod again, and he pushes his heavy, ridged cock along the length of my tongue. He slides forward and back, humming and massaging the back of my head. I keep breathing through my nose and holding his gaze, but my mouth begins to fall closed of its own volition.

He sharply taps my cheek. “Ah-ah. Exactly what I tell you and nothing else.”

His eyes are burning hot, and I blink in acquiescence, drawing a deeper inhale through my nose. 

He nods as he resumes gliding in and out, forging a path into the wet muscle inside my mouth. My jaw trembles, and I whimper. He delivers an unconvincing sound of sympathy before gripping my jaw, clutching the hinge with his fingers and thumb. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

All I can do is grunt and blink. 

He keeps my jaw painfully open as he swells against my tongue and works his way closer to my throat. The third brush of his tip to my uvula activates my gag reflex, and he stills, squeezing my jaw tighter.

“Relax.”

I blink slowly but maintain eye contact and do as I’m told.

When he starts to nudge down my throat, a quaking sensation begins in my gut, and my whole body heats up. My throat opens, and I beg him with my eyes to go deeper. 

My hands fly to his thighs, wanting more, but he swats them away without missing a push to fill me thoroughly. His grip loosens from my jaw, and he easily holds the back of my head with both hands, settling in, holding me still, and smothly fucking down my larynx, solid and deep.

He whispers, “Good girl,” and caresses my cheeks with his thumbs, looking down at me, adoring and commanding. The slide of his cock against my tongue and in my throat and the bump of his pelvis against my chin provokes thoughts unbidden of him fucking my pussy just as smooth and deep.

I want to grab onto him, to pull him further inside. My skin burns with heat, and I’m drooling and whining. Then, suddenly, I’m coming again, powerfully, convulsing with tears leaking from my eyes.

He takes a step back, pulling out, cradling the back of my head, and squeezes the base of his cock. “Baby, breathe. Fuck, I need to come,” he mutters.

I’m gasping as he yanks my head back and spurts hot and wet across my neck and chest.

“Fuck,” I breathe, reaching for him.

He’s chuckling and breathless as he settles down on his coffee table facing me, then pulls me in for a long kiss. It’s intense and warm, and I feel like climbing inside him and never leaving.

“That was so fucking hot,” he whispers, pressing our foreheads together. 

We breathe in each other’s air for a few moments before he pulls away. “You hungry?”

And then he’s up and headed to the kitchen, leaving me blissed out and buzzing in his living room.

Chapter Four

Series Master List | Other Soldier Boy Fic

What did you think?

[ladybug-makes-warriors-gay]

brambleclaw and my issues with the new prophecy

i recently finished reading through the new prophecy, and. yikes. it was actively a chore to read a lot of the time, especially in the later books. a LOT of the plots and decisions the authors and characters made were frustrating and just bad. there were things about tnp that i liked, but they were heavily outweighed by my irritation at everything else.

before i go into it, i just want to say that this post will not be going into the tribe of rushing water and the racism and native american stereotypes present there. those are very important issues, which i will be delving into in a separate post.

first of all, i know a lot of people do not enjoy the earlier travelling books and the amount of walking happening in them. honestly, that didn't bother me too much. i felt like they did a decent job of having enough interesting character moments and interactions that i wasn't really paying attention to it.

crowfeather is one of my big issues with tnp. as a character, i think he's interesting and mostly well done, if a bit annoying sometimes. i wish they had explored his motivations a bit more. however, as a part of two separate romances that i either don't care about or actively dislike, i'm not a fan.

crowfeather and feathertail are one of those couples that are honestly just there. i think you can read interesting things into their relationship if you consider feathertail's experiences in a shadow in riverclan, but as they are in tnp they're just kind of boring. they're a device to make us care about each of the characters more, and to make it more tragic when she dies.

they're also there so stormfur can be mad at them and get over it because he has a crush of squirrelflight that comes out of nowhere and immediately disappears a couple chapters in to his pov. for some reason. this is an especially stupid plot that i think is absolutely pointless. it does nothing for his character and makes us dislike him for being mad at feathertail for no reason, and then immediately becomes irrelevant when he meets brook two seconds later. they didn't even have any weird love triangle or even any conflict with brambleclaw and squirrelflight, either.

stormfur and brook are also a couple that just exists so that stormfur has a love interest and a reason to stay with the tribe. she has zero personality besides "cute" and "interested in stormfur" and contributes more to the native american stereotypes (which, again, i will get into in another post). she does become slightly more interesting in the later books, but it would have been nice to see something else in the earlier ones as well.

back to crowfeather, it would have been a fine end to his arc to grieve for feathertail, name himself after her, and have to readjust to clan life. however, leafpool needs her forbidden romance (for some reason. please please please erins can we just have one prominent medicine cat who doesn't have a secret affair? yellowfang was the og and the only one that was fine, it got old immediately after that and just continues to be worse) so she gets shoved together with him. they have literally no chemistry. the only times they interact before getting together leafpool is annoyed by him and has zero romantic feelings of any kind. the only thing even resembling buildup is cinderpelt warning leafpool about him on a couple occasions where she genuinely was not interested in him and/or wasn't even looking for him. then crowfeather confesses to her and she's immediately in love with him?? like what?? their relationship after that isn't even shown on screen at all. the only scene we get of them being together and in a relationship is in leafpool's wish. after the entirety of tnp is already over. it's ridiculous.

one thing that i do think was done well about that situation was leafpool feeling isolated and left out by the couples and romance around her. that was actually interesting and good setup, but i think that would have been much better suited to be taken in a different direction. leafpool could have thought she was in love with crowfeather because of her desire for romance and affection, or that he was her only chance to get any of those things. she might have realized when they left the clans that she doesn't actually want this, or crowfeather might have pressured her into leaving so they wouldn't be found out. that angle would be significantly more interesting than their pointless and boring romance that we don't actually see any of. i also think that in this scenario, leafpool would be aromantic, and might just be sexually attracted to crowfeather and mistaking that for romance.

the other option i see is for leafpool to run away with mothwing instead, or at least have a forbidden romance with her instead of crowfeather. they have so so so so so so so so so much more chemistry, and an actually established relationship with on-screen time together. even if mothwing wouldn't abandon her clan, leafpool might have gone to riverclan and midnight could have come there to get help or warn them about the badgers.

my biggest issue with tnp is brambleclaw. in the earlier books, he's fine. he's a pretty standard protagonist who does pretty standard things, like argue with someone who he thinks is annoying and doubt everything he's ever known because he's in warrior cats and that's what they do to their protagonists. i don't really like the way he treats squirrelflight, but she's usually just as much to blame for their trouble as he is.

however, the moment that hawkfrost is introduced, he becomes unbearable. he doubts squirrelflight's intentions and constantly blames her valid concerns on his dad, when she has never and will never think that he's evil because his dad was evil. he does not listen when she tries to talk to him about hawkfrost like a normal person, and dismisses her attempts to make up or start a conversation about it. once he has decided that their issues are her fault, he becomes incredibly awful to her at every opportunity, taking out his power as a warrior when she's an apprentice and his assigned deputy powers once she becomes a warrior. he constantly harasses her and ashfur, when he is just trying to make sure brambleclaw isn't awful to her every second of every day.

even when hawkfrost is part of mudclaw's coup and mudclaw tells him what hawkfrost's intentions were, even when he literally trains with him under their evil dad, brambleclaw trusts his half-brother he barely knows over his best friend/love interest who he's known literally his whole life and went on a life-changing journey with. he also. trains with his evil dad. when the whole time he's been accusing squirrelflight, baselessly, of thinking he's like his dad. and somehow thinks that it's fine and harmless???????? even when tawnypelt tries to snap him out of it????? he is ridiculous and stupid and downright abusive.

on top of all this, when he and squirrelflight finally make up, he never apologizes. never! not once. they have a whole thing where brambleclaw is like "i'm glad we're so close again that we just know the other so well we don't have to apologize or even talk about our previous mistakes or acknowledge that they happened at all", which is patently stupid and and horrible to squirrelflight, again. no wonder squirrelflight doesn't trust him enough to tell him about leafpool's kits. also the fact that firestar forgives him for almost being influenced into murdering him so quickly is ridiculous. he should not go unpunished for that, let alone be allowed to continue to be deputy!

in conclusion, brambleclaw is stupid and forbidden romances are stupid and the new prophecy is just bad. in a lot of respects. not in all of them, but many.

[subway-boss-jericho]

Steady Tracks Chapter 2 Snippet 🚂🚂

Snippet Length: 375 words Chapter Length (So Far): 24.4k words Estimated Release: Sometime within the next three days! Fic Link

Emmet double checks his roster.  Chandelure will be staying home- He doesn’t think she’s in good enough shape to meet the new pokemon today. Archeops, Galvantula and Durant had insisted on coming, which makes sense with their door dramatics- And Excadrill had as well. He seemed determined to have a good battle today. He decided to bring along Garbodor and Gigalith to round out the rest of the team, which leaves the Klinklang, Accelgor and Escavalier, Conkeldurr, Haxorus, and Crustle at home.  Eelektross was coming. He was the only one that had already seen the new pokemon clearly, and also Emmet did not want to be separated from his partner pokemon when he already felt on the verge of being dead on his feet. He’s with Emmet now on the walk to work. If he didn’t have work today he most certainly would Not be Here walking through the brisk morning of Nimbasa. He would be curled On The Couch with His Blanket (and maybe Ingo’s blanket) surrounded by All his Lovely Pokemon Friends who would remind him of all the joys of life and also help wipe his tears from his eyes and Also Also sit on basically all of his limbs, forcing him to lay down.  Dragons, he should not be fantasizing about going back to sleep before he’s even clocked in. Emmet has a foreboding suspicion that he is going to be yawning all day. His public image will be in tatters.  Oh well. He’ll just have to convince Elesa to help him raise PR again. That is just his excuse to hang out with her. Emmet doesn’t need any excuse to hang out with her, but he likes making them. It is verrry fun. Y h  aaaAA wwn Damn. Before he’s even unlocked the doors. …Today was going to be very, verrrrrrrrry long. He gives Eelektross a pat along his muzzle, mumbling idly about his plans for the day with a few more words of appreciation in advance. Taking his keys to the door, he gets the front entrance unlocked after only a mild amount of fumbling. With a burdened sigh, Emmet thrusts the door open with a pinch of forced enthusiasm and strides inside. Time to get the party started.

Happy third anniversary! It is my birthday, which means it is also year three since posting the first chapter! Yikes!

Anyway, you all voted for a snippet from the beginning of the chapter! The last several days I've hit a strong second wind, and because of that, the chapter is so close to being done I can Taste It. However, even if I do finish it today it will be After Midnight, and so I am honoring my promise to post a snippet today (it is currently still May 21st in my timezone) in celebration of the anniversary :]

This one is from the second scene in the chapter, but still technically the start! I specifically looked for a point at the beginning of the chapter that was the most cohesive out of context, and I think this one gives fun insight into the chapter ahead while still leaving a lot of room for speculation and imagination. :D I hope you all have fun!! CHAPTER SOON!! SOON!! FOR REAL THIS TIME

I've never posted snippets before so hopefully this isn't too short. It feels like a tease to post so little :< But I hope you guys enjoy and it gives you enough of a taste of the chapter to come to be exciting :D

Thank you for reading!! See you soon! 🌠

Steady Tracks Masterpost

[voltronisanobsession]

Ok I know I’ve been gone for over a month BUT HEAR ME OUT GUYS‼️

I’ve been going through this phrase where I’m reading a lot of yandere content rn (I gobble that shit UP), and idk the toxicity of it all is giving me a lot of inspo lowkey💀

Like imagine a manipulative reader. HEAR ME OUUUTT

No one knows it but reader is a secret spy at camp half blood (love this trope) and grows super close to Percy. Like they grow close really quickly, you show him your deepest secrets and whatnot to gain his trust and he doesn’t even know it.

Percy shares his own secrets and experiences with you because he feels so connected to you!! It’s on a whole different level and he can’t help but slowly fall for you. And you know this. As much as it hurts you (or doesn’t) to gain the trust of this boy who’s obviously fallen for you, you know you gotta do your job.

You begin to know him on such a deep level and you use it to your advantage. You sway and manipulate any choices he has to make.

Im still on the first few chapters of heroes of Olympus so I still don’t know the plot to it sorry💀 so let’s just say reader is manipulating Percy for their own personal gain, or like planning to sell any information they gain from him to monsters, who knows.

Percy has no clue what’s so ever, but Annabeth can sense something’s off with you. The way you cling to Percy, almost like a leech, as her suspicious.

And when she confronts you, tears. Tears EVERYWHERE. And Percy falls for them. He falls for your crocodile tears because it physically HURTS him to see you crying.

He would console you, quickly muttering sweet nothings as he rubs your arms in order to ‘calm’ you down, hugging you, not knowing the dark look in your eyes as you stare down Annabeth.

Lowkey you would start pitting him against everyone around camp. Lying to him by saying how there’s nasty rumors going around about you made by some of the campers. You’re basically the devil on his shoulder, whispering into his ears exaggerated lies and deception.

And Percy believes everything you say! Why? Because he’s too down bad. This dude practically worships the ground you walk on, so when you slowly start influencing the decisions he makes, he doesn’t question it.

He believes that youre only trying to help him😭 that you only want what’s best for him so he blindly trusts your judgement.

He trusts you sm that he tells you everything you ask about. And if it’s after he went into the Styx river, he’ll even tell you where his weakness. his WEAKNESS

Like bro. You even start to realize that you’ve dragged yourself too deep into what you thought was a game. People and monsters would kill to have this information, you could get killed if anyone found out you knew.

You start feeling guilty for taking advantage of Percy. I mean, he willingly told you the one thing that can kill him, it’s such a big weight on your shoulders now that you can’t help the shame from creeping on you.

Idk, this reader seems like the type to run from their problems, so they most likely do. Over the course of a night, you disappear, cutting all contact with Percy, the camp, everything. You would leave nothing but a short and curt note to him and maybe even Annabeth.

‘Percy, I’m so sorry for lying to you. You didn’t see it but Annabeth did. I’m sorry. -y/n’

And that’s it. Percy would be so hurt and confused, betrayed when he finds out everything. He wants to believe that it’s some sick joke but this is his reality.

He gave you all of him and you just threw it on the ground and crushed it beneath your feet. You quite literally ripped this poor dudes heart straight of his chest with zero remorse, how could you do that to him bro?💀💀💀

He definitely holds some kind of grudge against you. If y’all ever cross paths again, MAJOORR yikes.😬😬 after you leave, Percy grows way more guarded and defensive when meeting new people.

Homeboy does not wanna be taken advantage of again after you💀

[smeagol-on-my-deagol]

PART 3

reading 'the secret history' by donna tartt for the first time, here are my thoughts after reading through chapter 3:

[CONTAINS SPOILERS] obviously

— jesus fucking christ richard

— i hate that this chapter not only makes me feel bad for richard, but also makes me actively like henry (which like yikes, my richard-ification era)

— i feel like richard gets roped into the murder plot when he realizes that it'll create an "opening" in the group for him

— cause he still feels like an outsider to me despite spending time mostly with the greek class, but also that could be on purpose to try to separate himself from the fact that he helped/participated in murdering a dude

— the scenes with him looking over the river like "man it would be horrible to fall, to die that way" like ugh

— FUCK bunny corcoran

— trying to avoid being lured into the trap of feeling like they were slightly justified in killing their friend because as much as bunny sucks, i do realize he did not deserve to be murdered

— henry winter, standing in the unheated purple warehouse with a giant hole in the ceiling that richard spent nearly an entire vermont winter in: damn bitch you live like this??

— henry's middle name is MARCHBANKS ????

— also he has a photo of julian on his closet door?? yikes man

— henry not knowing about the moon landing, then hardly knowing about marilyn monroe

— i am shocked at how shocked the twins were last chapter that richard picked up on henry being irritated with bunny like what

— i wonder what francis and henry were plotting at the end,,, second thoughts on murder perhaps??

— does richard know anything about camilla's personality as a separate entity from the group or as more than just a girl he spends time around??

— richard papen they could never make me like you

— no but seriously, i am both charmed by all of the characters and horrifyingly put off by them

— henry and bunny got divorced in italy

[edit to add one more thing]

— why does everyone want richard soooo bad??

[the-bar-sinister]

Black Butler read through Day 1, (chapters 1-15) first impressions:

🖤 the art and aesthetic, which is what drew me to the manga in the first place is absolutely fucking gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. I've been clipping panels to save from basically every chapter.

🖤 Ciel is like if you smooshed Kyoko Kirigiri and Donquixote Doflamingo into one shota. Yikes! I love him. He's very relatable.

🖤 All of the characters are really compelling and interesting, more so than I expected. I knew Grelle through popculture osmosis and didn't expect to like her particularly but I ended up being a huge fan. Psycho mommy <3. Ciel's aunt Francis I'd never seen before, but expected when she was introduced not to like her just due to her character archetype (strict aristocrat lady). Then I spent the entire chapter falling madly in love with her. Wow, seriously reminded me that I was bisexual, holy shit <3

🖤 Sebastian comments on Ciel getting kidnapped a lot and yeah-- there's a lot of hot whump in this manga (at least through chapter 15) and I'm absolutely here for it. I didn't exactly know that was the case, and I'm not complaining at all.

🖤 The manga makes me want tea! I'm going to brew some with the good earl grey tea leaves that we have tonight.

🖤 So far in terms of ships its really just sebaciel. I mean the whole manga is based around their relationship and the inherent romance/eroticism of it, so there's no way I'm NOT gonna ship it. We'll see if I end up with any other ships. There was a page I was absolutely shocked by in chapter 8 where it's framed to look like the two of them are having sex like, NOT subtle. Wow. Very hot.

🖤 Undertaker is adorable and I want to see more of him.

🖤 In general the manga so far is basically peak gothic romance genre. I'm really impressed with how drippingly romanticized every inch of it is, especially the violence and the underworld, as well as the obvious hierarchy eroticism going on. Good stuff.

can't wait to read more.