#loss of autonomy

[mothofmyth]

DC x DP

The Justice League summons the ghost king.

Unfortunately, the safest way JLD can find requires a host body to contain the being.

Obviously Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash are out - who knows what this being would do with a super-powered body. They have no idea how Captain Marvel or Green Lantern type magic would interact with the summoning, so not them either. They need Constantine and Zatanna to perform the ritual.

Basically it's down to the bats.

Batman tries to volunteer - better him than one of his kids if anything were to go wrong.

That gets vetoed. As do a lot of his offspring. The safest options (ie the least contaminated by magic, lazarus water, time shenanigans, and everything else) are Red Robin, Spoiler, and Nightwing.

Nightwing pulls rank.

After a lot of arguing, everyone at least agrees to tolerate the arrangement.

Nightwing removes every possible weapon from himself, allows himself to be tied to a chair in the middle of a summoning circle, and waits for JL Dark to complete the ritual.

It's not long before he feels a surge of cold burning through him.

He expected to be unconscious while the Ghost King took over. That's what Zatanna said had been reported the last time this ritual was performed many years ago.

They had all expected a lot of things.

Pariah Dark was supposed to be terrifying to behold - a massive, cruel, FURIOUS dictator who turned to violence at the smallest sleight.

This was... definitely not that.

Dick was present. He had no control over his body, but he could see and hear in an almost dream-like state. Foggy and indistinct, maybe a little warped, but definitely present.

He felt his heart rate and breathing pick up in panic even though he felt mostly calm (or at least no more anxious than he had been, waiting for an angry deity to possess his body and all). It was a strange sensation.

He felt the vibrations of his own voice as it left his throat, high and confused.

"Wha... Where..." It asked, warbling and afraid.

He felt his eyes blink and his limbs struggle against the bindings.

His head tilted down without his say so, and he looked at his own body as if through rippling water, warped lenses.

"I'm not..." His voice came out, still confused. Still afraid.

"Your Majesty?" Zatanna asked from beyond the limits of the circle.

His head whipped up, and he felt his neck click at the abrupt motion.

His breathing picked up again. Dick felt the ghost (pun not intended) of anxiety, like it was leaking from the other consciousness inhabiting his body.

"We mean you no harm. Our associate has agreed to lend you his body for the duration of this meeting." She continued.

Dick felt the king's anxiety again, stronger this time. Other emotions too, guilt, sorrow, anger, and a strange sort of pressing-tugging sensation.

Suddenly, Dick was back in control. He could still feel the king's consciousness, stronger now than before, but he could also move and speak freely.

"What just happened?" He mumbled, speaking to the ghost, not the audience of heroes.

"Nightwing?" Someone called from outside the circle, but he ignored them for the moment, feeling instead the consciousness inhabiting his body push back fear, guilt, and apology.

"Yeah, it's me. He's still in here, though." Dick frowned, trying to figure out how to interact with the being.

He heard a voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like him. It sounded different. It was younger than him. It was small and afraid. It was neutral and quiet and him. But it wasn't. It was speaking. It was silent. It was emotions and thoughts and nothing.

"Oooookay, this is really weird. I think we're communicating. I don't know how to talk back, but if he's in the same situation I was a minute ago he should be able to hear us just fine. Is that right?" Nightwing tried.

The 'voice' (he figured he'd call it a voice for now. He wasn't sure what else he could call it) responded in the affirmative. Like a hand outstretched, flipping up and down in a 'kinda' type of gesture. Like a nod and a hesitant smile. The feeling of victory by default.

Dick beamed.

"Okay yeah he can hear us." He announced for the benefit of their audience. "Why didn't you stay where you could speak? Wouldn't that have been easier?" He looked at his own chest, as if he could somehow find a way to see the presence inside of him.

Disgust. Guilt. Fear. An unexpected step at the bottom of a staircase. Falling off a pier into tempestuous water. A stranger pinning your hands above your head.

"Oh." Dick breathed. "Thank you, but I can handle it."

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

"Okay. It's alright. You can speak through me or we can manage like this." He soothed.

"Nightwing, report." Batman demanded.

"Uhh, right. I think he's trying to be courteous? To me, I mean. From what I can gather, he doesn't want to possess me or take over. He seems pretty repulsed by the idea, to be honest. I think he can see and hear and generally experience everything I'm experiencing, he's just more passenger than driver? I can feel him, and he's communicating, he just can't speak through me without taking my autonomy again, and he really doesn't want to do that." Dick explained, looking at the various states of thinly-veiled bewilderment across the faces of the heroes.

"Ask him if he's Pariah Dark, High King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Rage and Destructio-" Constantine begins, before Dick cuts him off

"I just said he can hear everything we're saying. Ask him yourself."

Constantine huffs. "You heard me, mate. Are you him?"

Denial. Contemplation. A battle. Single combat. A crown made of black thorns and green flames. A throne too big for he who sits in it. Victory. Desperation. Insufficiency. A question.

"I think..." Dick starts, trying to understand. "I think he's the King... but he's not Pariah Dark."

Agreement. Apology. Questioning.

"He wants to know if we're looking for Pariah Dark, or if we're looking for the High King of the Infinite Realms." He glances between Zatanna and Constantine, uncertain of the answer himself.

Constantine pales.

"Whatever is inside you defeated the ancient of Rage and Destruction in single combat, Nightwing. It's a powerful motherfucker, and a total unknown." He warns cautiously.

"Get him out of there, now. Send it back." Batman demands.

TERROR. Pleading. Unbearable suffering. Shiny metal dripping with green blood. The end of love. Unfathomable loss. Death without release. Unending torment. Begging.

"NO!" The voice tears its way out of Nightwing without his consent.

Cowering. Apology. Apology. Guilt. Apology.

Dick clears his throat. "I don't think he wants to leave."

"All the more reason to send it back." Batman growls.

"Don't." Dick protests. "I know it's a risk, and there's a chance it's manipulating me. But, something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Ghosts are well known for their skills regarding manipulation, mind control, and emotion tampering." Zatanna cautions.

"According to those dehumanising rags maybe," Constantine scoffs.

"Every source we have-"

"Two sources, Love. Both of which have a bit of a vested interest, wouldn't you say?"

Fear. FEAR. Frustration. Heartbreak. An unheard voice in a crowded room. A layperson lecturing an expert. Mockery. A spectacle of suffering. Lies. Hurt. Fear.

"He agrees with Constantine." Dick pipes in.

Exasperation. Reluctance.

"I don't think he's too happy about it." He laughs.

"Of course he agrees with Constantine, he's giving him what he wants." Red Robin huffs.

"He's afraid." Dick's voice cuts through the argument and the heroes turn to look at him. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but he's terrified of being sent back."

Zatanna sighs. "Let's do what we came to do, and then maybe we'll talk about letting him out."

(Something goes wrong and Dick and Danny end up stuck like this for a while.

Dick moves back into Wayne Manor while they try to figure out how to remove Danny from Dick's body without hurting either of them.

Everybody starts referring to Phantom as Dick's little passenger.

Eventually they repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and find out all of the trauma Danny's been through via talking and dream/memory bleeding between him and Dick.

When Danny does finally manage to tumble out of Dick he is promptly adopted into the Batfam (what did anyone expect, he's a traumatised young teenager with black hair and blue eyes and barely any sense of self preservation).

In the meantime, however, Dick is happily going about his daily life with his little passenger, and Danny is still very traumatised but he's also contentedly curled up in Dick's chest, thrumming with happiness whenever Dick takes care of him.

Once or twice when Dick gets into Big Danger while vigilante-ing, Phantom forcibly takes over Dick's body to save him, using his ghost powers to fight the bad guy and escape the scenario. He cries afterwards because even though he needed to save Dick's life, he knows how terrifying and violating it feels to have someone else controlling your body (thanks Circus Gothica) and never wants to put anyone else through that.)

**IF YOU CAME HERE FROM THAT ONE TIKTOK PLEASE REPORT THE VIDEO. I DID NOT CONSENT FOR AN AI VOICEOVER TIKTOK ACCOUNT TO STEAL AND PUBLISH MY WORK WITHOUT CREDIT.**

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar

Complete

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

[carnage-cathedral]

I really hate being the "everything I do is gonna make people mad at me no matter which choice I make" trauma holder

[kronoose]

no need to say goodbye part 2

TW past child death cannibalism religion bodily mutilation loss of bodily autonomy 

Arthur shuddered at the noise he takes a few moments to recompose himself glad he couldn't see “can you call off the other bugs “ 

“A grin has spread across his face he is making his way towards the barricade”

“May I have a hand moving this barricade it seems this arm doesn't quite work right “

Arthur moves over to help move the barricade 

“he is watching us far too close for comfort“ 

Arthur nods slightly as he starts to move the furniture grunting with effort wincing slightly as something shifted wrong under the strain of effort and exhaustion

“Are you alright favored”

“Fine os- scratch “he said with slightly more bite then intended 

“He has tilted his head slightly like a curious dog you've almost move enough for him to slip through”

Arthur chuckled softly “that should be good enough”he raised a fist to his mouth to cover a yawn that escaped 

“He's moved to the opening you've cleared”

Scratch stepped through the door closing it behind himself leaving it open just a crack, as if leaving the invitation open for Arthur to follow an invite that was left unanswered as Arthur collapsed into a chair.

“I don't think I can drive but I also don't know if Oscar can drive ”

A deep laugh escaped from John “scratch has been trapped for 30 years I doubt he would be able to drive anyways “

Arthur laughed softly “probably not”his head jolts up as a series of thuds followed by sickening squelching 

“🎶a hunting I shall a hunting I shall go my favorite has ask me so a hunting I shall go🎶” an eerie mixture of Oscar and scratch’s voice floats through the cracks of the door 

Arthur shuddered “i don't think he's sending them off the way I ”he trailed off as his head drops down 

“you’ve done good Arthur you can rest now” a soft smile graces John's face as he keeps an eye out for scratch glad he can't hear much when Arthur sleeps

Arthur opened his eyes and glanced around the familiar office. It took him a few moments to realize he could actually see “john?” he waited a few minutes, the lack of response unsettled him deeply 

“Who's John papa?”a small familiar voice asked 

Arthur quickly turned towards the source he recoiled at the sight of her blue tinged skin her hair still damp resting on her shoulders “a friend Faroe dear” he stuttered out 

“You ok?”a bit of water falls from her mouth as she spoke oh so softly looking up to Arthur 

“Yes I'm fine“ he looked around trying to take it all in trying to spot if anything else was wrong, when he looked back he did a double take as he watched the colour drain from her skin turning to stone “FAROE!?”

“you have failed Me dada” a far too old voice for the body it's coming from answered “and for that you shall pay when I get him back you will never wake from the hell I will put you through “ 

“What are you”he glared down at this being using his child’s image 

“I'm a being of fear that will make your time in the prison pits seem like a luxury vacation” a dark smile graced her lips “and there's nothing that petulant king or that blood soaked demon will be able to do about it”

Arthur scoffed “I'd like to see you try”

“Would you like a taste of what I'll do to you when I hunt you down in whatever realm you find yourself in” 

With that she waved a tiny hand and the scene changed to a church Oscar stood behind the Dias palm facing the sky as he spoke “Take and eat this is My body” he lifts his severed arm and bows his head to the arm he paused for a moment before setting it back on the golden plate he raised a crystalline goblet the red liquid sloshing lightly “Drink from it, all of you. This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” he bows his head to the goblet. He set it down and nods to the man standing off to the side. Arthur turned to look over the man he'd not payed any mind to as he was a bit lost in admiring how hot Oscar looked in the robes 

A large man with graying brown hair who moved to lift the goblet as Oscar continued with the blessing of the blood and body 

Oscar turns to look Arthur dead in the eyes as he digs his fingers into his dismembered arm ripping a decent chunk of flesh away with a sickening noise he moved the bit of meat in the gesture of the cross over the goblet before dropping it in 

Arthur watched in horror finding he couldn't move or look away 

Oscar continued staring into his soul as he rips of a second piece repeating the sign of the cross before placing the bit of flesh in his mouth Oscar moves around the dais with his arm Arthur felt his legs moving as he started towards the dais he cups his hands with palms up 

“The body of Christ “ Oscar holds up a bit of his arm 

“Amen” Arthur respond without thinking allowing Oscar to place the bit of flesh in his mouth he chewed it as he went back to his original position he falls to his knees as he watched the not quite right patrons eat of the flesh every time the taste started to fade from mouth he was forced to return to accept this fucked up communion once more

It was the silence that woke Arthur “John?”he called out with a shakily there was a long pause 

“You're awake already?”the shock evident in the entity's voice “you should try and rest more it's only been an hour maybe two ”

“Where's Oscar i assumed he'd be back watching over us ”he shuddered slightly 

“he hasn't returned I heard him moving around a while ago “

Arthur nods “we should keep an eye on him who knows what we may have missed”he pushed himself out of the chair

“You're right but you still need sleep” john spoke firmly but with a gentleness 

Arthur said nothing as he made his way to the door 

“The bugs Arthur they're gone i can see marks of some kind i cant tell if they're claw marks or dents “

Arthur shuddered and moved his head slowly side a gesture that would seem like he was scanning his surroundings but hes blind so more accurate would be letting his demon scan the area “see him?”

“Not yet the hall looks less ominous in this lighting”

Arthur paused at the top of the stairs tilting his head listening for any movement from scratch

Both man and god are shocked at the smell of burning which prompted Arthur to take the stairs two at a time as they head towards the kitchen where they were greeted by the smell of burning worms

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober day 4/prompt 4, mechanization

ohhh boy this is a long one fkaldjkf

@mechtober-2024 - - - How They All Came To Be - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw roughly in order; heart issues, heart failure (i am no doctor so this might not be super accurate), gun mentions, blood, blood loss, memory issues, alcohol mentions, fire mentions, implied/mention death via fire, loss of autonomy, i just had a lot of thoughts abt brians morality switch ig, minor character death (bertie), unethical science(? doc turning tim into a mechanism at jonnys request but w/out tims permission), loss of limbs/loss of wings, infection, exhaustion, a bit more minor character death (mostly unnamed characters), impromptu amputation, probably more, feel free to ask to tag something

------

Jonny wasn’t sure how to feel. He was free, finally, from that hellscape that haunted him and dragged him down, kept him sunken and afraid and obedient. He was free.

All thanks to the Doc. (He didn’t even know vampires were real before meeting her.)

He was ecstatic, his shoulders felt lighter than they had in years, he was afraid, he didn’t know what he was doing and a part of him wished he had the familiarity and certainty of that damned place, and he was so confused as to why he missed that hellmouth.

But he was at least mostly happy, so he managed to push his fear and sadness and even maybe regret to the back of his mind. Focus on the present, focus on the overwhelming joy and excitement of being free.

He had to return the favor to her somehow, had to help her in some way like she did to him. To show her how much her provided escape meant to him.

So he helped her around her–their, because it was his home now too, because she insisted it was theirs and they were in this together (she actually wanted him around)–space shuttle, small and maybe a little cramped with the two of them living on it almost constantly, one of the three bedrooms converted to a lab that the Doctor never allowed him in. He cleaned, he did the repairs he could do with his little knowledge of mechanics, he sewed and patched up their clothes when they went long stretches between planets, he did whatever he could to show the Doctor how much the escape meant to him.

  Though he never truly outright said anything. Growing up in that hellhole, he knew any sign of weakness could make everything flip on a dime and he wasn’t risking the best thing he’d had in years. He was going to savor every moment, every moment and every drop of kindness from the Doctor, before it sours. The Doctor promised she’d never do anything to him that could hurt him, promised that she’d love him until eternity ran dry.

And for once, he believed her. He trusted her, he knew she wasn’t lying. But that didn’t change that he couldn’t show weakness, it didn’t change the beliefs and fears ingrained in him from years growing up in the hell house that was his childhood home and planet. But he still knew that she was being honest.

She was someone he could trust.

So he wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t tell her before it got this bad.

His heart felt like it was going to explode, like he could barely breathe. Everything hurt but his chest hurt the most. He could feel his heart, beating fast-too-fast, and he needed help.

It happened sometimes, where if he walked around too much or ran around a lot, he had to lay down as the world spun and his heart tried to beat itself out of his chest. But it usually passed, he was usually back to running around like normal within a few hours–a day at most, and on bad days his heart being all weird made it so that he was bedridden for a few days even if he generally felt fine. But this time it wasn’t going away, something was wrong.

Something was wrong and he was terrified.

So he stumbled off to find the Doctor, collapsing as soon as he did.

“D-Doc,” he wheezed out, as the vampire rushed over to him, “D-Doc there’s s-something wr-wrong with my heart…”

Tears pricked at his eyes, even though he was trying really hard to be strong. The Doctor grabbed his shoulders, gently, bracing him up.

“S-somethin’s wrong…”

“Jonny-”

He tried to keep the tears at bay, but they started flowing the moment his name left her lips, her voice thick with gentle care and concern. “S-something’s w-wrong a-and I’m sc-scared… M-mom I-I’m scared,” Jonny struggled to get out a wheeze through his sobs, the difficulty breathing making him sob harder. With as much strength as he could he grabbed Doctor Carmilla’s arm and held on like she was his lifeline. “M-mom, I- I don’t- don’t want to- to die,” he sobbed. He was so tired. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision as his tears blurred the image of the Doctor in front of him, the Doc holding onto him just as tightly as he held onto her. Everything hurt and his chest hurt so much, like someone was ripping him open and squeezing the frail organ beating wildly. If he listened to it, he could hear it skipping more and more beats and with each beat missed the more afraid he grew and the faster his heart beat.

Something in her demeanor changed, though. The Doc squeezed him and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m not going to let you die, Jonny,” She said, words comforting and cutting through the fog of sobs and darkness lingering around Jonny. “Never, okay? You’ll be fine. I promise.”

And he believed her.

And he trusted her.

And he woke up who knows how long later without a heart, but a steady tick-tick-tick replacing it and a cold, metal plate over where his heart should be.

—--

The first few years were hard to get used to. To the ever present tick-tick-tick where his heart should be, to having to ask the Doctor to perform maintenance on it at least once a year when the ticking got too irregular and painful, to the knowledge that he couldn't die. But the Doctor was there for him, there with a warm drink and a shoulder to lean on when everything became too much.

And sometimes he needed to step away from her for a little while, hence why he volunteered to hijack them a bigger, better ship while they were passing through Cyberia. For some reason the Doc had her eyes set on a specific one, but Jonny wasn’t going to question her. And so he went and found the starship, earning the ship in probably the most unhinged game of roulette the soldiers had ever seen or experienced, while the Doc went off to do her own things.

He got to know the star ship he’d won from the Cyberian soldiers. She was the Aurora, and once upon a time she was not a starship. The Cyberians stripped her of her body and her life, but she was free now, with Jonny and the Doctor. Jonny was happy to be that freedom for her, like the Doc was to him. And so their little crew grew that day from two to three.

And soon they grew from three to four.

Jonny protested, at first. He didn’t wish this undying life on anyone, it was painful, it was long, and there were only a few people who could truly relate. But the Doctor insisted it was the only way to save her life, she was too far gone. And so she proceeded, and their crew grew again, from three to four.

Anastasia Nikolaevna Rasputina was not happy about being mechanized, at first. Jonny wasn’t happy either, so he really couldn’t blame her for that. She disappeared into one of the rooms of the Aurora. And she didn’t emerge for longer than a few minutes at a time for at least a year or two. That was fine, Jonny would give her all the space she needed. It was a rough adjustment, and everyone had different ways to cope.

But eventually she started coming out of her room more, opening up to Jonny and Aurora and the Doc. And their crew grew from two to three to four. Jonny’s family wasn’t perfect or normal, not by any means, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—--

Ivy didn’t remember being mechanized. Ivy didn’t remember if she asked to or if she was brought into the Aurora without her permission.

She was scared to find out. She didn’t know if she’d like the answer.

But knowledge was power and power was valuable no matter where she was.

Ivy didn’t know anything about her past, just gasps as she woke up and rebooted for the day, just gasping and fear pulsing through her body as she tried to remember what her nightmare was about, tried to remember why she was so afraid.

She made up for it with the ability mechanization had given her, her ability to remember anything and everything even if she was detached from those memories. But still, she sought knowledge and information and anything she could about her past. Anything that she could grab on to, even if it wasn’t anything concrete or certain.

Ivy didn’t remember what caused her to be mechanized, didn’t remember if she asked or if the Doctor revived her against her will. She didn’t know if she wanted to know, didn’t know if she would like the answer.

There was a 22.1% chance that she wouldn’t like the answer. There was a 24.65% chance she would. And a 53.25% chance that she wouldn’t have a strong leaning either way, that she wouldn’t know how she felt.

When she asked Jonny, he didn’t want to tell her.

But she pushed and pushed until he agreed to tell her a bit.

They found her in a large library, a large library that was burning and burning quickly. She was dying, choking on the smoke and from injuries Jonny didn’t dare specify or describe. Jonny and Nastya protested, when the Doctor brought her unconscious body onto the Aurora. But the Doctor continued anyway. Aurora was the main aid to her the first few weeks as she was adjusting to her new mechanism, when she couldn’t retain anything for longer than a day and couldn’t recognize anyone. It wasn’t pretty.

“Knowing the Doc, your brain might be around here somewhere,” Jonny said, giving her a shit-eating grin, “might find it next time you go in for maintenance.”

Ivy rolled her eyes and left him to his whiskey and misery. She had an answer, mostly.

She didn’t know how she felt about the answer.

—--

Ashes O’Reilly was filled with a burning fire, that’s why the Doc picked them, Jonny guessed. She seemed drawn to people with an inner chaos, and inner violence. Jonny wasn’t fully sure what exactly it was that the Doctor looked for whenever she got the itch to take someone, but he guessed it was probably something similar to that fire Ashes was full of.

Out of everyone so far, Ashes had taken their mechanization the best. They rolled with it, finding joy and a new spark in a pile of dry kindling with their newfound immortality. Often literally, taking advantage in order to burn as much as they desired. They didn’t care too much if they got caught in the crosshairs of their own fires, so long as it got the job done and left whatever it was they were burning a charred pile of soot. They seemed to roll with the punches easily, keeping up with the chaos by not letting it smother their fire but instead letting their fire change directions with the wind.

Jonny wasn’t sure how he liked them. But he definitely didn’t hate them. They were fun, if confusing. They carried themself with a confidence, a gravity that seemed to draw everything around them into orbit. They were fascinating. Jonny thought himself lucky, being able to watch as their story unfurled. He supposed that’s what their gravitational pull tends to do. Makes you believe that you’re lucky to know them. Still.

Ashes was filled with a brilliant, burning fire, and Jonny couldn’t wait to watch it consume whatever they desired.

—--

Brian was the one everyone rioted against. There were a number of reasons why everyone didn’t want the Doctor to make him a Mechanism, but most of them agreed that it just seemed… Cruel. Whatever left him floating out in space was cruel, but not letting him rest seemed almost crueler, somehow. But she was insistent.

Brian wasn’t sure how he, personally, felt about his mechanization. It changed from day to day. From mode to mode.

He did hate his morality switch, he knew that for certain. No matter which mode he was on; what ends justified giving him something that could completely rewrite the way he approached things? Something that could completely rewrite how he viewed himself and how he viewed the world? It was wrong to try and control how another views the world, how another experiences the world and its many ups and downs, it does not justify any possible ends.

The switch was always jarring, too. Not that the others seemed to notice, switching it back and forth constantly like a game or just because they didn’t like how he approached a situation. Apparently he only ever stalled for a minute or two at most whenever his morality switch was flipped. It never felt that short, it always seemed to take hours and hours as his body screamed and his mind changed and everything about him was rewritten and recorded over and changed.

Sometimes he tried to justify the morality switch to himself.

He was a very complicated– thing. The technology needed to mechanize him was very complicated and the Doctor didn’t have everything, saying that she had to use some of the technology that they’d found with him to revive him, to keep his heart pumping. Brian didn’t truly remember making any of the machinery or technology that they’d shown him, that they had found with him, but somehow he knew that it was his before they told him. He wasn’t sure any of the machinery he’d made was any more complex than the beautiful works of art that the Doc had ever made, but she used it for his revival so it must’ve been something masterful. And because the mechanics of his brass body were so complicated, then maybe the morality switch was because the remaking of his brain was just as complicated, if not more so because of how confusing and finicky the mind can be. Maybe it was just a necessary evil.

Although Ivy had a similarly mechanical brain to him, and she didn’t have anything equivalent to his switch. She may not be able to emotionally connect to her memories, and she may have terrible nightmares, but she didn’t have a morality switch. Brian had horrible nightmares, too, he’s had them for his entire life (he thinks. He can’t be fully certain, but something in him knows that the nightmares that are always just a bit too real and a bit too close to events that happen or have happened have followed him since long before his second first death. That the nightmares and the songs that follow them are the one sure thing he has from the past he barely remembers).

But she had to have added it for a reason. Because there had to have been a reason she added the dreaded thing when she revived him, reconstructed his body with brass and iron and copper.

He had to believe she wasn’t just being cruel to him for cruelty's sake.

She gave him this new body of brass and iron and copper, this body that always felt just slightly off and slightly wrong and didn’t always register as his when he saw it; she saw whatever his mangled corpse looked like and decided to pity him and give him a third second chance. So she couldn’t have just been… It couldn’t have just been a decision on a whim. It had to have been for a reason.

Though, if he was being honest, as it’s wrong to lie, he was scared of the reason. He was scared that whatever her reason was cruel or to keep him in line–he saw how the other Mechanisms acted often, they didn’t respect authority half the time and they didn’t often like to listen to her. Compared to them, he was like an obedient little pet, because he often kept his issues with everything going on behind tightly closed lips. If asked, he would be honest about how he felt, but everyone very quickly learned not to ask. He hardly ever had any tact in his honesty, after all. At least on Means Justify Ends.

Of course, he truly didn’t think that was the reason for the switch. He truly didn’t believe that her reason for adding it was as malicious or as heartless as the reasons his own mind presented. But it didn’t mean that he wasn’t full of dread at the thought of asking her. And so he didn’t, because he simply didn’t want to know the answer. Perhaps he would, if someone asked and he was on the right mode, but he didn’t want to know. She gave him a gift, something that he should be grateful for. A new chance at life after whatever happened that led to him getting launched into space. He wasn’t going to ask about the caveat that came with it.

—--

The Toy Soldier was odd.

The crew picked it up while Jonny was in jail for Crimes (thanks, Ashes), and it seemed to seek them out all solely to help them. To do things for them and please whoever was nearest.

Jonny thought it was annoying. It was so helpful, it changed its opinion at the drop of a hat, and it just wouldn’t leave. It was always around, even if he tossed it out of the air lock or into deep space.

Jonny thought it was so terribly annoying.

It’s voice, too, it’s voice was awful. It was haunting.

But the story attached to how a wooden thing got such a beautiful, haunting voice was alluring. It was the one reason he was allowing it to be aboard. Even though everyone would get it back if it didn’t come back on its own.

The Toy Soldier was annoying, and odd, and had a hauntingly beautiful voice that was not its own once upon a time. Perhaps that’s why it fit in so well with the Mechanisms and the Doctor.

—--

Tim was the best thing that ever happened to Jonny. In the tunnels, dark and muddy and reeking of blood constantly. He was having an amazing time, deep in the darkness and free to cause unthinkable violence and no one ever once questioned his ‘luck’ during the battles because there wasn’t really any way to see in the deep, vantablack dark of the moon tunnels. And Tim was his light in that darkness, kind to a fault and caring and stuck in a war he should not be in. He had a violent streak of his own, he could be ruthless and merciless and thoughtlessly reckless. And that’s why Jonny was–fascinated? Yes, fascinated–by Tim. Because he was kind and considerate despite everything, he tried so hard to take care of those he considered friends, and yet he could be bloodthirsty and vicious in battle. He showed Jonny unrelenting care and kindness between bouts of misery and bloodshed.

Tim was the best thing that ever happened to Jonny.

And really, Jonny could say the same to Bertie, too, because Bertie had that same endless well of kindness and compassion as Tim, because Bertie was Tim’s unmoving and unchanging anchor. Bertie was the anchor to Tim’s ship weathering the violent storm of war, and Jonny was just a passerby, a viewer. A stowaway, perhaps.

They were probably the best things that ever happened to Jonny.

But then Bertie died.

And something in Tim snapped, something changed. His reckless abandon became even more reckless, his bloodthirsty ways leaving no one spared when he went charging into battle.

It was the most horrific, beautiful scenes of violence and agony and grief Jonny had seen in a while. But it was going to get Tim killed, sooner or later. Tim would not be able to last like this. No mortal could ever last like that; Tim’s beautiful bonfire had turned into a raging forest fire, one that would smother itself out sooner or later.

And smother itself it did, when he was too busy maiming one soldier to notice another lenny lining up their plasma rifle. Of course, by this point Jonny himself had been captured, and had only heard about it second hand, but he could’ve seen something like that coming a mile away.

Of course, what happened next when Tim had been taken into the Kaiser’s throne room, forced to kneel before the man, Jonny admittedly did not foresee. It’s not like he’s Brian, with his weirdly accurate dreams (how does a robot even dream?), he just has a bit of a sense for how things tend to go. And besides, anyone with eyes or ears could tell how this story in particular would end. The set up wasn’t exactly one for that with a happy ending.

But that didn’t mean Jonny expected Tim to blow the moon up.

It reminded him of Ashes, funny enough. Being full of such rage and devastation that it had to go somewhere, and so they light something up and watch it burn. And watch it burn he did, for when Jonny went frantically searching he found Tim with his eyes melted from his skull.

Jonny couldn’t lose him, couldn’t lose the best thing that had happened to him.

He was going to hate him, Jonny knew, but he couldn’t lose him. So he made probably the most rash decision of his immortal life. And so he begged, he begged the Doctor to save him, despite everyone’s distaste at the idea. Despite everyone’s anger, despite Brian’s disappointment, despite Ashes’s ire, despite Ivy’s confusion and Nastya’s dismay. Even Aurora tried to protest against his request. The Toy Soldier didn’t care, it never seemed to have strong opinions. Everyone protested, everyone raged like they had with Brian.

But the Doctor never could pass up a chance to practice her science, could never pass up a chance to try and make her kids happy. Especially with how strained everything had gotten recently. With how the distance seemed to only continue growing no matter how much the Doctor tried to close the gap.

Jonny didn’t care if Tim hated him. He refused to lose the best thing that happened to him.

—--

Raphaella was bleeding, everything around her was covered in blood.

They had taken her wings.

They had taken her wings.

What crime did she commit to deserve that? She hadn’t– she hadn’t done anything, she thought. She was just curious. She just needed to know. That wasn’t a crime, was it?

Of course it was. Why else would they steal her wings.

Everything was covered in a thick layer of dark red blood. She didn’t have a lot of time. She’d bleed out sooner or later, with nothing and no one to properly help her patch up the gaping open wounds. But she could delay it, hopefully, just long enough. Just long enough. And so she did.

She wrapped bandages around her torso as tightly as she could, hoping to stop the bleeding as much as possible, and got to work. She had scattered notes, half finished tests, a stolen prototype and half finished prosthetics to work with, she could do this. She didn’t want to die. So… She wasn’t going to die. Hopefully.

She worked tirelessly, and quickly, because she could feel the blood loss catching up to her and infection setting in from her bound but not cleaned wounds. But she did manage to finish her work, nearly two days after her wings were stolen. She was sluggish and tired and everything was too hot-too cold and the world was spinning. She couldn’t tell if her fatigue was exhaustion or if she really was just her lack of sleep or if it was the infection. She could hear death’s crooning calls, telling her to close her eyes and rest. But she was always a coward.

And the prosthetics, the most advanced piece of technology she’d ever made, were finished, and hopefully they would stave off death for long enough for her to finish her work, would stave it off for her to live a long and fulfilling life.

But first she had to attach the metallic wings to her body before the infection took her.

She didn’t exactly have the right materials to graft the metal wings onto her body properly, but the infection wouldn’t wait for her to get them, and she wouldn’t wait. Couldn’t, she couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to die, and she refused to die.

The process was a blur, and probably took longer than she thought, but her vision was swimming and she was fading in and out of consciousness. When she was finished, she collapsed and everything went dark.

Eventually she woke up, to find the infection cleared from her body, and the wings on her back integrated into her spine a lot better than she was expecting. As she sat up, she tested her wings. She wanted them to move, to open and close, and they did. She could feel, though slightly delayed, but she could feel it and they did what she wanted them to do.

She managed to escape death. Death hasn’t taken her yet.

She grinned, watching as her new prosthetic wings followed the commands she sent through her brain.

She had some science to do, with these new wings of hers.

—--

Byron sobbed, choking as he cried. The rain poured, acid burning his skin as he tried to drag himself to somewhere more covered.

He wanted Thea. He wanted Zeze. Anyone. Anyone. Everything hurt and his skin burned to the touch and his arm– gods his arm… He didn’t want this. This wasn’t ever what he wanted. This wasn’t ever what was supposed to happen.

The Music was so loud.

The Music almost drowned out the pounding and hissing of the rain, drowning out his thoughts of pain and sadness and grief. But by now Byron was skilled at ignoring the Music, keeping it confined to the back of his head.

Dorothea was always so much better at drowning out the Music for him, though. She and Zeze would sing or play an instrument, and their songs were always so much easier to use to drown out the Sounds of the Music that always haunted him, ever since he was young and small. Sometimes he could drown it out himself but his arm was– but he couldn’t play his violin like this. How would he even get it here? In the middle of a battlefield, long since destroyed and abandoned because everyone was supposed to be dead.

Gods, everyone was dead.

Byron dry heaved, his stomach long since emptied of any of its minimal contents. Everyone’s dead and it was all his fault, everything was all his fault.

His arm was crushed and he was going to die just like everyone else and he’d deserve it because this was all his fault. He was the one who planned their attack, he was the one who led the charge despite what everyone else told him. Charging first– with the Music, his impulsivity grasping him in its claws yet again, his hubris guiding his actions.

But by the gods, was he selfish.

He had to cut off his arm, his mangled, infected, crushed arm. He’d die if he left it there. He’d die if he cut it off. He doesn’t know how to make a proper tourniquet. He doesn’t know how to perform an amputation. The Music would tell him, whisper sweet nothings in whistles and flutes and harps, but the Music lies. It has before. Either way, he’d die here, with his guilt and the memories of his family, and his hubris, and the consequences of his own actions.

It’s what he deserved.

But he was selfish. He was afraid and he didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to die.

But the Music was loud, and it was playing a song he’d heard many times before. He heard it with Zeze, he heard it with Dorothea, he’d heard it before the battle shifted ties.

He was going to die here.

He didn’t want to die. The wind blew, and acid rain sprayed into the wounds of his horrid and dangling arm, causing him to screech in pain. Or, well, almost screech in pain. Nothing more than a wheezey gasp escaped his mouth as pain raced through his body. The Music was so, so loud.

Byron finally dragged himself under one of the trees that was resistant to the rain pouring from the sky. A smaller mech was damaged and destroyed, but safe from the corrosive nature of the rain, under the same tree as him.

The Music was so loud and Byron didn’t want to die.

He had a choice to make.

The mecha’s arm was about the right size, it wasn’t horribly damaged, and it would be able to respond to his nervous system. It would be good enough for now.

Byron’s vision swam as he crawled closer to the mecha, tugging its arm free from its own mutilated body. The Music was so loud. He wasn’t fully present as he grabbed one of the mechas weapons, a sword that was long and sharp and the best he could use in this instance. With the sword accessible, Byron tore up his uniform jacket, and used the tears to tie off his arm to hopefully prevent himself from bleeding out.

The Music swelled, screaming and overlapping as if rushing to be the first to witness his selfishness and stupidity.

Byron grabbed the sword and leveled it to where his damaged arm was less damaged, and as the Music screeched and yelled and shouted, and as his vision blurred and everything started blurring into nothing but emptiness, Byron cut off his arm.

He dropped the sword, biting his tongue so hard he could taste blood as he reached for the mech’s arm. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.

He wasn’t going to die today.

And the Music began to change.

And Byron collapsed as he grasped onto the arm of the mecha.

And Byron von Raum died there on that rainy, blood-spattered day.

And Marius von Raum awoke from the carnage of that rainy, blood-spattered day.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar 1

Started a new AU called Affectionate Obsession, with Steve Rogers as the first Character Story Series to be told I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

Story Masterlist

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

  I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

Yeah. Fuck everyone. I was going to make this trip mine.

[badplacetohaveagoodtime]

"Menstrual cramps can't be that bad"

Y'all my mother didn't that she was like this🤏 close to having to push because her cramps were so bad that the contraptions that are supposed to tell you "yo you gotta start pushing" felt like her normal period cramps.

Usually I just feel like I'm being dramatic when it hurts, cause y’know I'm not crippled like some people are, which I am incredibly grateful for and I know that the whole comparing your pain to others is bad and unhealthy but it just be like that, but sometimes I hope that if I ever give birth (not extremely likely, the whole concept of carrying a kid and stuff sounds scary as hell cause your body isn't entirely your own for so long, if not forever and for some people that's fine, but idk if it's for me yknow) it'll be like my mom, and I'll feel justified or something in being in pain yknow.

Yay on having a vagina I guess

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 23: Forced Choice

Public Display + "I'm doing this for you."

2326 Words; Discolored

TW for mind control, loss of autonomy, emotional abuse

AO3 ver

“Hold still, Guppy.”

Branch rolled his eyes as Bella repeated the same warning, claw polish brush held in her paw. His paw rested in hers on the table, his claws spread wide so she could paint over the chipped pink paint with bright silver. Branch had fought her on this, consistently pulling his paws away the moment she had brought out the bottle of polish—

And Bella had ended the argument with a snap of her fingers and activation of the bracelet, forcing Branch to hold his paws out and let her paint his claws.

The bracelet was no longer active, now—but Branch wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

“We took turns naming all of you.” Bella commented, painting the last of Branch’s claws. “I named Dory and Clay, and Daffy named Spruce and Floyd.” She blew on Branch’s claws, capping the bottle of polish. “I never actually got to name you, though—Dory had chased us off before your egg hatched.”

“Fascinating.” Branch commented, scathing. He really wanted to smack his paw against something, smear the bright silver painted over the pink Poppy had painted on months ago—

(the pink that Branch had been hoping to get touched up soon—)

But he knew that if he tried, Bella would probably just use the bracelet to hold him still while repainting them all over again.

Bella hummed as she put the polish away, either not catching or not caring about Branch’s sarcasm. “I would’ve named you Robin.” She continued, grabbing blush. “For your blue shell, and the way it made me think of the snatches of the sky between the bars of the cage.”

Branch shifted uncomfortably. Reminders of the Troll Tree during the days of Trollstice always put a bitter taste in the back of his throat. And his parents had spent the majority of their lives in that caged tree, so unlike his short four years—

“I still think Lily would have been the better name.” Daffy commented, as Bella started applying the blush—as though the fur dye wasn’t enough. “My sweet Belody here was named for Atropa belladonna, and you’d have been named for Amaryllis belladonna if Dory hadn’t chased us off—”

“Dear,” Bella cautioned, “It wasn’t your turn.” She finished up with the blush, leaning back to survey her work while Branch fought the urge to slam his face against the table.

“At least my names had a theme.” Daffy sniffed. He started waving his paws as he spoke, “We could have had Juniper, Spruce, Chrysanthemum, Floyd, and Lily, but nooooo,” his tail smacked the floor, “you just had to go and name our sons after fish and dirt!”

Bella scoffed, makeup forgotten as she whirled around to face Daffy. “Oh, please! The individuality of John Dory, Storm, Clay, Firefly, and Robin would have been so perfect for differentiating them as boy band members—” Her tail lashed out, forcing Branch to duck under it as it swiped past, “but noooo, someone just had to want all plant names!”

“All plant names would have tied the family together!” Daffy argued, leaning in close.

“Elemental names would have worked better for branding!” Bella argued back, her face inches away from Daffy’s. They glared at each other, tails lashing as they pressed in close—

Branch ducked away the moment their lips met, pointedly not looking at where his parents were furiously making out. “I hate it here.” He muttered, wondering if he’d manage to make it to the door without either of them noticing.

Probably not, given his luck.

+=+=+=+=+

“Now, remember the steps, and don’t mess up.” Bella reminded, adjusting Branch’s sunglasses. “And make sure to sing your heart out!” She added, finally deciding that the sunglasses were to her liking.

“Aren’t you just going to control me with that bracelet?” Branch asked. He felt heavy, weighed down by the dye and makeup and fancy vest and pants he had been dressed up in. He didn’t want to be paraded around—but Bella was literally right next to him, bracelet wrapped firmly around her wrist. There was no way he could run now.

“Two minutes to show time!” Daffy announced, taking a peak out onstage. He pulled back, waving his paw in a so-so motion. “Crowd could be bigger…”

“Well, it is his first show.” Bella commented, grabbing Branch by the shoulders to turn him this way and that, looking for any last-minute adjustments she’d need to make. “Our little superstar will be drawing in crowds once they’ve heard him sing.” She booped Branch’s nose, making him recoil and bare his teeth at her. “Once they hear that ‘falsetto made of gold’, they’ll be buying tickets in droves!” She giggled, reaching for Branch’s tail to adjust the bracelet she had put on the end—replacing the bracelet Poppy had given him.

“That’s right!” Daffy crowed, smacking Branch on the back encouragingly. Branch stumbled forwards, and Daffy slung his arm over Branch’s shoulders. “You’re gonna do just perfect, Sprout!”

“Wonderful.” Branch grit out. Maybe he should try running for it; if he made enough of a scene they might cancel the show—

“One minute to showtime!” Bella called out, bracelet lighting up. Branch seized as all the threads in his body went taut, his own bracelet tightening around his wrists. She pushed him towards the curtain, his legs unwillingly walking him over there, and gave his hair one last once-over with the comb.

“Alright, folks!” Daffy announced via a megaphone, “It’s time for the show you paid for! Get your hair and paws ready for Robiiinnnnn Lilyyyyyyyyyy!” The audience cheered, and Branch took a moment to look at the crowd—maybe fifty or seventy Trolls at most. Which actually was pretty small. It looked like it was mostly Pop Trolls, with the occasional Rock or Funk in the crowd.

The music started up, and Branch took the stage, body moving along to the tug and pull of the strings. His mouth opened of Bella’s accord, and he started to sing. “I was there to witness / Candace’ inner business,” He followed the dance exactly as it had been rehearsed, no room for error in the way he was being puppeted. “She wants the boys to notice / her hairbows and harmonies.” He spun, tail flicking to the beat. “She was educated / but could not count to ten / now she’s got lots of different verses / from lots of different men.” Every note ripped from his throat was agony, layering over itself until Branch felt too hoarse to possibly be singing as well as he was. “And I say: liberate your sons and daughters!”

I’m not here willingly! Liberate ME!

“The cage is high / but in the hole there’s water.”

I’m caged! I’m caged inside my own damn body!

Surely there was something in his eyes giving that away, right? Or even just the fact that he was doing this, this whole performance thing, with Poppy nowhere in sight—that had to be a big enough clue that something was wrong, right?

“You can get some / when they give it / nothing’s sacred, but it’s a living!” It felt like his face was going to split apart, skin stretched too wide around his grin. He didn’t miss a step as he danced, and the audience cheered as he hit the chorus.

“Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too high / or a little too low!” Branch was singing his heart out, like Bella had told him too—completely against his will. “Got no self esteem and vertigo / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy!”

Was… was this song about Poppy? This wasn’t the first time Branch had wondered, but it wasn’t like he could do anything else while his body and voice kept going at Bella’s command. It better not be about Poppy—Branch might actually need to whittle a stick to stab his mother with if it was. “Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too loud / or a little too close / got a hurricane at the back of her throat / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candyyyy~” The music slowed down a bit, and Branch’s dancing slowed to match. Then—

“Ring a ring of roses / whoever gets the closest,” The music picked up as the second verse hit—the audience was really excited, now, dancing in tune with the beat like they couldn’t quite help it—which they probably couldn’t. It was a deep-seated nature to dance along; Branch had long struggled to bury that urge during his gray years. “She comes and she goes / as the war of the roses. // Father was a victim / Mother played the system / By dancing quick to Mixton / and singing songs to children.”

Wait. Wasn’t Mixton a district in the Troll Tree? Was this song about Bella? Oh, ewww, now that Branch could see the connection it was so clearly a love song. Not the nicest of love songs, but Branch had seen enough of his parents to know that this was right up Daffy’s alley. Hairdammit.

Can’t you see I’m not having fun? He wanted off this rollercoaster ride!

“Liberate your sons and daughters! / The cage is high / but in the hole there’s water!” One might wonder how Branch had never realized what this song was about before now. The answer was simple: he’d pointedly ignored the words that Bella forced him to sing. “As you will / she’ll be the whole of her love,”

And also he didn’t want to know what garbage his parents were making him belt out—but it was hard not to focus on the words here, when ignoring them or the dance meant focusing on the crowd of Trolls watching him be puppeted around in front of them like it was normal—

“And if it don’t feel good,” It didn’t! Every part of Branch’s body hurt from being wrenched around by the strings! “What are you doing it for?” He was only doing this because his body and voice weren’t his own right now!

“Now tell me: hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too high / or a little too low! / Got no self-esteem and vertigo / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy!” Oh, Troll, the audience was eating this up, as though Branch wasn’t about to cry—not that he could, with the damned strings tugging at his face and pulling it into a grin. “Hey, ho! Here she goes!” The audience was gleefully singing along, now, the whole small theater filled with a chorus chanting, “Either a little too loud / or a little too close / got a hurricane in the back of her throat / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy!” The music didn’t quite slow down, and neither did Branch, his tail keeping the beat as the song continued.

“Liberate your sons and daughters! The cage is high / but in the hole there’s water! / As you will, she’ll be the whole of her love—”

C’mon, please, why can’t you realize—

But it didn’t matter. None of the audience could see past the grin on Branch’s face. They sung along instead, enjoying the music as any Troll would, getting so revved up that Branch wanted to curl up in a hole and cry.

“—and if it don’t feel good / what are you doing it for?” As long as that bracelet clung to Branch’s wrist, his body and voice weren’t his own. The notion would make him feel sick if he didn’t already want to vomit.

“What are you doing it for? / What are you doing it for?” Hair above, Branch felt fake.

“What are you doing it for? / What are you doing it for?” Like some cheap little doll—

“What are you doing it for? / What are you doing it for?” —doing a cheap little dance.

“What are you doing it for?” Troll, Branch wished he wasn’t doing it at all.

“What are you doing it for?” Branch’s tail slapped the stage as the bridge transitioned into the refrain one last time— “Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too high / or a little too low! / Got no self-esteem and vertigo / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy! / Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too loud / or a little too close! / Got a hurricane in the back of her throat / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy!” The song was nearing its end now—it couldn’t come fast enough. “Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too high / or a little too low! / Got no self-esteem and vertigo / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy! / Hey, ho! Here she goes! / Either a little too loud / or a little too close! / Got a hurricane in the back of her throat / ‘cause she thinks she’s made of candy!” The music finally wound down entirely, the audience cheering and clapping as Branch bowed against his will. At least it was over—no, wait, Daffy was lifting the megaphone again and the bracelet was still active—

“Amazing!” Daffy crowed, the general enthusiasm of the audience. “But Robin Lily’s no one-genre hack!” The crowd got a little less enthusiastic as confusion took place. Daffy simply continued, voice carrying across the little theater, “Pop is fantastic, of course! But it’s not the only kind of music, is it?” The Pop Trolls nodded in confused agreement, while the Funk and Rock were a little louder. “No, it’s not! But Robin Lily sees no need to stick to one genre!” Daffy’s voice picked up as Bella slinked onstage to hand a guitar to Branch, who slung the strap over his shoulder at her command, “SO LET’S HEAR SOME ROCK’N’ROLL! YEAHHHHH!”

The music picked up again, the beat heavier, harsher. Branch’s paws found their way to the guitar, pick suddenly in hand, his mouth opening up to sing—

Oh. Oh no. And of course, none of the audience realized he wasn’t doing this willingly—

The song started, and Branch sang perfectly, playing his guitar like he’d been born to play it.

He didn’t have any other choice.

[env0writes]

No Longer Remembered 11.6.23 "A Body; Betrayed"

A spirit of fire and phlegm has taken hold More humour than humorous Sanctimony, each morning prayer to the wind; blown Small wishes from deep within my burning lungs Spit out, left for sidewalk scrying Or other sanguine studies This spirit corrodes, erodes me in waves Washing over each curled up cough Curling up each nerve-ending twine I turn to move, but the sky is blue And my body, does not move Fire spreads, what ample fuel I make Such vile, bile deed I look with eyes inside this body That no longer feels my own Consumed by fire, fights and misuse Disrepaired and disregarded There is a blood flowing through me, And it is certainly made by the heart that beats inside But all ownership of mine is forfeit When each movement feels like combat All left to do is laugh I hear the reaper has a comedic sense If not timing, then perhaps a game of jokes Will win my favor and pour that ocean's edge sand Back into my time Into my body, moving in my troubled night sleep dreams How it once was How it once was I look and feel, but in action-betrayed A spirit – I – trapped within

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist! Photo by @env0

[egot1stical]

What an odd thing to miss. (And a worse thing to lose.)

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar 4

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Dividers by @Strangergraphics

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

The third week of the trip had started to blend into the rest, but the jet skiing adventure gave me a brief escape. The sun was high, the ocean stretched out like a never-ending canvas, and everyone else was way ahead, weaving through the waves like they were born on the water. I hung back, as usual, taking my time and keeping my speed steady.

But just as I started to feel a little more confident, the engine sputtered. My heart dropped as my jet ski slowed to a crawl, then died altogether, leaving me stranded in the middle of the ocean.

"Seriously?" I muttered, pressing a few buttons, trying to restart the engine. Nothing. Great.

I glanced around, hoping someone from the group would notice, but they were all too far ahead. I felt a wave of frustration rising through me. That’s when I spotted a familiar figure cutting through the water in my direction. Lloyd.

He pulled up next to me, his ever-present smirk in place. “Run out of juice already?” he teased, clearly amused by my predicament.

I rolled my eyes with a smile “Obviously.”

Lloyd chuckled and glanced around, his eyes scanning the empty stretch of water. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a gentleman,” he said, patting the back of his jet ski. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

 “Alright, thanks,” I quipped

Since that first night we met, I’d been texting Lloyd more than I thought I would. At first, I was convinced he was just like the rest of them, another one of those rich kids I claimed to be wary of, another piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit with my life. But something about Lloyd was different. Maybe it was the way he joked with that dark humor of his, or the fact that he never seemed to take anything too seriously. Whatever it was, I found myself enjoying our late-night conversations more than I expected to.

When I wasn’t too drunk from another round of drinks with the group, I’d call him. It wasn’t anything deep, just simple talks about random things, how he hated how out of place he felt here, how I felt like I was stuck in a life that didn’t quite belong to me. In a weird way, we got each other, even though we came from completely different worlds. There was something about him that made me feel grounded, like I wasn’t completely adrift.

The more we talked, the more I started to look forward to his texts. It was like a small escape from the chaos around me.

As soon as I settled in, his next question caught me off guard. “So… where’s Steve?” His voice was casual, but the question made me stiffen.

Before I could respond, Steve’s jet ski came roaring up to us, cutting through the water with a spray of mist. The second he spotted me on the back of Lloyd’s jet ski, his entire demeanor shifted. The easygoing smile he usually wore vanished, replaced by something tighter. Possessive.

"Lloyd! What are the chances?" Steve called out, his tone too friendly, his voice louder than necessary as he pulled up beside us. His eyes flicked between me and Lloyd, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to grit his teeth through a smile.

"Yeah, what are the chances?" Lloyd echoed, though the smirk on his face remained firmly in place.

Steve’s gaze lingered on where I was holding onto Lloyd's waist, his hand twitching on the handlebar of his jet ski. The tension in the air was unmistakable, and for a second, it felt like I was intruding on some unspoken battle between the two of them.

"Kiwi," Steve said, his tone softening as he turned to me. "Your jet ski ran out of fuel?"

I nodded, feeling a little awkward now that I was the center of attention. “Yeah, it just... died. Lloyd was helping me out.”

Steve’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he responded. “Appreciate that, Lloyd.” He paused, his gaze hardening as it flicked back to Lloyd. “But I’ve got it from here.”

Without waiting for a reply, Steve reached over, his hand brushing my arm as if to help me off Lloyd’s jet ski. I stopped him.

"Hey, Steve, don’t worry about me," I said, forcing a smile, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like. "I think I’m gonna hang out with Lloyd a little bit."

Steve’s brow arched, and I saw his jaw clench ever so slightly. "You sure?"

I nodded, trying to play it off casually. "Yup. I’ll meet you guys back at the villa."

Steve’s eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, but before he could say anything, Lloyd piped up from behind me. "Cowabunga!" he shouted, revving the jet ski’s engine and speeding off, away from Steve.

The sudden burst of speed made me grip Lloyd’s waist tighter, laughing as we raced across the water. The wind whipped through my hair, the salty spray of the ocean splashing against my face. It was exhilarating. Everything with Lloyd felt easy, carefree, like I could just let go of all the tension and overthinking that usually bogged me down.

We zigzagged through the waves, occasionally catching small jumps that made me laugh even louder. Lloyd would glance back at me with that goofy, boyish grin of his, and I couldn’t help but smile every time.

At one point, he slowed the jet ski down, letting us coast along a more peaceful section of the coastline. The sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water, turning everything soft and warm. We pulled up near a secluded beach, far enough from the main tourist areas that it felt like we were in our own little world.

Lloyd turned around, still grinning. "Not bad for a day out, huh?"

I chuckled, adjusting my grip on his waist. "Yeah, not bad at all. Way better than being stuck at the villa."

We sat there, just drifting along, talking about nothing and everything.

"You know, Kiwi," he said after a while, leaning back slightly so I could hear him over the gentle sound of the water, "I’m glad we’re doing this. I’ve been stuck in my own head since I got here, and you’re kinda making this whole thing... fun."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the sun. "Same here, Lloyd."

The rest of our little jet ski date felt like a blur of laughter, jokes, and moments where we just sat in comfortable silence, watching the ocean stretch out in front of us. For once, I wasn’t worried about Steve or what he thought. I wasn’t thinking about any of the baggage that usually weighed me down.

It was just me and Lloyd, two people who found a little bit of peace in each other’s company.

When I finally made it back to the villa, the air inside felt thick with tension the second I stepped through the door. Steve was lounging on the couch, but there was nothing relaxed about his posture,his jaw was tight, arms crossed, and his eyes locked on me the moment I entered. Natasha was pacing near the kitchen island, her lips pressed together in a thin line. The usual carefree atmosphere of the villa had been replaced by something... colder.

"Where the hell have you been?" Natasha snapped before I could even say anything, her voice a little too sharp.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I was with Lloyd," I replied, trying to keep my tone even, though I could feel Steve’s gaze drilling into the side of my head. "We went jet skiing. I told Steve."

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she threw a quick glance in Steve’s direction before focusing back on me. "Lloyd? You barely know him, Kiwi! He’s a stranger. We don’t know anything about him, and you’re just running off with him like it’s nothing?"

I felt my pulse quicken, a defensive heat rising up my chest. "He’s not just some random guy. We’ve been talking since we met at the villa. He’s... he’s fine."

"Fine?" Natasha stepped closer, shaking her head. "Kiwi, you don’t know what people are capable of. You can’t just trust someone because they seem nice or make you laugh a few times." Her voice softened a little, but the frustration was still there. "You have no idea what his intentions are."

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my cool. "I’m not some naïve little girl, Natasha. I can take care of myself. I know when someone’s bad news, and Lloyd isn’t it." My voice wavered slightly as I spoke, but I held her gaze, unwilling to back down.

Natasha hesitated, glancing again at Steve. He hadn’t said a word, but his silence spoke volumes. He was pissed, that much was clear. The quiet anger radiating off him made me feel uneasy, like I had just walked into a trap I wasn’t even aware of. Natasha, noticing Steve’s lack of response, seemed unsure of how to proceed.

Steve finally stood up, and the movement sent a ripple of tension through the room. His eyes flicked to Natasha, silently dismissing her. She stepped back, arms folded, still watching me with that mix of concern and frustration.

Steve walked toward me, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. When he finally stopped in front of me, his expression was hard to read. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to explode or just brush the whole thing off.

"You need to be careful, Kiwi," he said, his voice low, controlled. "I don’t want you getting hurt. People aren’t always what they seem."

It felt like a warning, like something unsaid was lingering beneath his words. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "I know," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

Steve studied me for a moment longer, his eyes scanning my face like he was looking for something, an answer, maybe, or some kind of reassurance. Then, without another word, he turned disappearing into his room.

The door clicked shut, and the silence in the villa felt suffocating. Natasha let out a long breath, rubbing her temples. "Look, just... be smart, okay?" she muttered, her earlier fire gone, replaced with a kind of resignation.

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and headed to my own room, my mind swirling with thoughts I couldn’t quite sort out. Steve’s warning echoed in my head, but more than that, the way he looked at me, like I was fragile, like I needed protection, made my skin crawl.

It wasn’t until I was alone in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, that I realized something felt off. The way Steve and Natasha had reacted to Lloyd.

As I lay down, pulling the covers over myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the carefree freedom I’d felt with Lloyd earlier that day was slipping through my fingers.

By the end of the third week, Tony got wind of a party happening at one of the nearby villas, and just like that, we were off.

The villa was buzzing with energy that night, music thumped through the walls, laughter spilled out from every corner, and the air was thick with the scent of tropical drinks and perfume. It was another party, another scene I never quite felt I belonged in, but I went along with it, trying to blend in with the group.

Steve, of course, had stuck to my side all night, possessively hovering like a shadow, making sure I didn’t stray too far. It was exhausting. I excused myself to grab another drink, slipping out from under his watchful eye and wandering into the crowd.

That’s when I saw him, Lloyd, standing near the back patio, his easy smile lighting up his face as he spoke to a group of strangers. He spotted me, and that smile only widened, sending a warmth through me that I hadn’t realized I needed.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite jet ski partner," he teased as I approached, his voice dripping with the playful sarcasm I’d grown to enjoy.

I chuckled, the tension I’d been carrying with me all night melting away in his presence. “You better watch it,” I replied. “I might start to think you actually like me.”

Lloyd’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement, his crooked grin making my stomach flutter. “Maybe I do,” he said, his tone low but light. His teasing was always edged with something deeper, something that made my heart race in ways I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We wandered off to the quieter section of the party, near the beach where the sound of the waves mixed with the distant hum of the party.

“So, how’d you end up with Steve and the wealth squad?” Lloyd asked, half-smiling, his tone playful but curious. “I’ve been wondering that since we met,”

“University,” I answered, not really thinking about it. When he paused, waiting for more, I sighed and gave in to the full story. “I shared a class with Sharon. We sat next to each other, and she needed help with her assignments. So, I helped. Help eventually turned into me actually doing her assignments, and eventually Jane and Pepper’s.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“Natasha never needed help,” I added, almost like it mattered somehow. “Anyway, Sharon thought she could trade friendship for completed homework. And me, being as foolish as I was, allowed it.

Lloyd tilted his head, studying me for a moment. I could feel his gaze, but I kept talking, needing to get it all out.

“During my last year at University, I was overwhelmed, exams, projects, papers. You name it. And for some reason, Sharon couldn’t understand that I needed to prioritize myself. She felt betrayed, like I was supposed to keep sacrificing my sanity for her. So, she dropped me, just like that.”

Lloyd frowned, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece it all together. “That sucks, but… why are you here with them now?”

I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of the answer pressing on me. “Sharon called me out of the blue, invited me on this trip. I declined at first, but things… weren’t going so great at home. I lost my job, had to move back in with my parents, and they were driving me insane. So, I caved. Figured one month in the Maldives was better than staying at home.”

Lloyd nodded slowly, leaning back against the railing, “Seems like you’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, glancing back at the crowd inside. “I guess you could say that.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting when I told Lloyd everything. Maybe I just needed someone to hear it without judgment. Without the baggage of knowing all the players involved. And somehow, Lloyd, with his laid-back charm and sharp sense of humor, made it easier to say out loud.

The silence between us lingered for a moment, comfortable yet loaded, before he spoke again. “Well, for what it’s worth, you don’t seem like the kind of person who needs to be hanging out with people like them.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, well, sometimes you just… end up where you are, I guess.”

At one point, he leaned in, brushing a lock of hair away from my face, his fingers grazing my skin. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, and for the first time in a while, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Before we could go further, I felt it, the shift in the air, like a dark cloud had rolled in. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Steve.

His presence was suffocating, a heavy weight that pressed down on me the moment he appeared. “Lloyd, what a coincidence,” Steve greeted him with that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. There was something colder, more calculated in his tone. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on me. “Mind if I borrow Kiwi for a second?”

"Does she want to be borrowed?" Lloyd’s voice was calm, yet irritated but the tension between them was almost palpable. I could feel his eyes on me, silently asking for confirmation.

The truth? I didn’t. I didn’t want to go anywhere with Steve. But deep down, I knew that Steve had no problem escalating a situation if it didn’t go his way. And I didn’t want to drag Lloyd into that mess. So, I laid my hand on Lloyd’s arm, a silent apology in my eyes as I told him, “I’ll be back.” I threw Steve a dirty look, hoping he'd understand this wasn't going to go the way he wanted.

Before I could move, Steve’s hand was already around my wrist, his grip firm, almost possessive. He pulled me aside, his expression unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.

I yanked my arm back, glaring at him. Steve didn’t flinch, his grip tightening just enough to remind me who held the power.

“What are you doing with him?” Steve’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge that made my skin prickle. His grip on my wrist didn’t loosen.

I yanked my hand back, glaring at him. “I’m just talking to him, Steve. What’s your problem?”

“He’s not good for you, Kiwi-” His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. As if he was holding back.

I stared at him, anger rising in my chest. “You don’t get to decide who’s good for me, Steve. This isn’t your call.”

Steve’s smile returned, but it was colder now, the kind that sent chills down my spine. “Okay,” he said lightly, stepping back. His voice was casual, too casual. “I won’t get in your way.” He gave me a short nod before turning and walking back toward the villa.

I watched him go, relief washing over me, thinking that the confrontation was over. But deep down, something felt off. Steve had let it go too easily.

I returned to Lloyd, “Seems, like he needs a good pegging.” He said his humor cutting through the tension like a breath of fresh air, and I managed to shake off the strange encounter with Steve. For the rest of the night, I focused on Lloyd, laughing and joking as we wandered along the beach. It felt good…natural. For once, I didn’t feel like I was being suffocated by Steve’s presence.

But a few days later, everything changed.

Lloyd stopped texting. No calls, no messages. I tried reaching out, but my calls went straight to voicemail. It was like he’d vanished.

Worried, I went back to his villa, hoping to get some explanation. But when I got there, it was empty. A neighbor mentioned he’d left abruptly, something about family issues overseas, but it didn’t sit right with me. I wanted to believe it was just bad timing, but the nagging feeling in my gut told me otherwise.

Steve didn’t miss a beat. He swooped back into my life, acting as though nothing had happened, as though Lloyd’s sudden disappearance was just a coincidence. He was all concerned and caring, making sure I was "okay." His concern seemed genuine, but deep down, I knew the truth.

That night, I drowned my guilt in bottles, one after another, trying to numb the sick feeling churning in my stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lloyd. What happened to him? Questions swirled in my mind, but the alcohol silenced them for a while, turning everything into a hazy blur.

Eventually, the weight of the night pulled me under, and I passed out, letting the booze take over completely.

When I woke up, my head was pounding, the light creeping through the curtains like needles stabbing at my skull. I groaned, rolling over in bed, but the movement made me realize something was off. My body was stiff, every muscle sore like I’d been through a marathon I didn’t remember running, and my skin felt so sticky.

I tried to stretch, but even that felt like a challenge, my limbs heavy and resistant. My mind was still foggy, disoriented from the drinks and... something else.

Sitting up slowly, I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to will the pounding headache away. The room was spinning slightly, the events of last night scattered like broken puzzle pieces in my brain.

I was in my own bed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

I flopped back down on my bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, trying to shake off the throbbing headache pounding through my skull. Staying in seemed like the best option today. I just hoped Steve wouldn’t give me a hard time about it, especially with how overbearing he’d been lately.

A knock came at the door, and before I could respond, Steve walked in holding a bowl of what looked like soup. I sat up slightly, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Peace offering,” he said with a small smile, placing the bowl on the nightstand for a moment. “I wanted to apologize... for, you know, how I’ve been acting on this trip.”

I blinked at him, unsure where this was going. My headache was making it hard to focus, but his tone seemed genuine.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just... I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Kiwi. You’re a good friend, and I guess I’ve gotten a little... overprotective. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

He was full of so much shit. I wasn’t sure what to say, and in the haze of my headache, I couldn’t really be mad at him. I just needed to make it through this trip, since he refused to let me go back home, so I just played nice.

I gave him a tired smile, the best I could manage with my pounding head. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate that.”

“Let me feed you,” he said suddenly, picking up the bowl of soup again.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, just put it on the nightstand. I’ll drink it when I’m ready.”

Steve shook his head, already pulling up a desk chair beside me. “Nah, it’s best when it’s still warm. You need to get it in you now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue. My head felt like it was splitting in two. I just sighed and let him lift the spoon to my lips. The soup was surprisingly good, and with each sip, I felt the warmth spread through my chest, easing the discomfort.

After a few spoonful’s, I glanced up at him. “Why don’t you take care of your other friends like this when they’re hungover?”

He chuckled. “Because hangovers aren’t a common thing for you, Kiwi. Figured you’re not used to this.”

I nodded. He wasn’t wrong. I rarely drank, and when I did, it was never enough to leave me like this. Reluctantly, I let him keep feeding me until the bowl was empty. My exhaustion was creeping in fast, making it hard to keep my eyes open.

“Get some rest,” Steve said softly, tucking the blankets around me and leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Things are about to get busy soon.”

I drowsily nodded, already half-asleep, as I felt the weight of the day pull me under. I drifted off, wondering what he meant by that, but too tired to care for now.

Our final week in the Maldives felt like a blur. I was constantly drifting in and out of consciousness, my body heavy, my words thick in my throat whenever I tried to speak. Everything felt... off. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but Bruce chalked it up to lethargy.

“You’re just not used to prolonged rest, Kiwi,” he explained one morning when I asked why I felt so sluggish. “This vacation has you in a constant state of rest. Once you get home and start working again, everything will balance out.”

I nodded weakly, hoping he was right. But something deep down told me this wasn’t just about too much rest. I felt trapped in my own body, like I was dragging myself through every day, unable to fully engage with anything or anyone.

Steve, ever the attentive one, waited on me hand and foot, giving me these green energy smoothies every morning. "It’ll help pick you up," he’d say with that confident smile of his. But after days of drinking them, I didn’t feel any better. In fact, I felt worse. I told him as much one day, mentioning what Bruce had said about lethargy and how this constant dragging feeling couldn’t be good for me.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replied smoothly, brushing off my concerns as he squeezed my hand. He kept that hand-holding thing going all week, dragging me around like I was some ragdoll. And I let him. I didn’t have the energy to resist. The thought of doing anything on my own felt impossible. I was just waiting for the vacation to be over, to escape the fog that had settled over me.

At night, I slept like a rock. But when morning came, my body still felt heavy, weighed down like someone had filled me with stones. The soreness lingered, making even the simplest movement feel like a chore.

Before I knew it, the vacation was over, and I was sitting next to Steve on his private jet, heading back home. I stared out of the window, my eyes glazed over, the hum of the plane’s engine doing nothing to soothe the anxiety bubbling inside me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it home. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to stand once we landed, let alone call an Uber or deal with my parents.

The plane landed, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body felt so heavy, and everything around me seemed to swim in and out of focus. I felt myself being shifted, my body moving without me fully realizing it. Someone was lifting me, but it was all so hazy, like I was watching it from somewhere far away.

“It’s okay, you’re fine,” a voice whispered near my ear. Steve’s voice.

I wanted to say something, to ask what was happening, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Everything was slipping away from me, and I could only hope that whatever was happening... I’d wake up from it soon.

When the fog finally lifted, I found myself in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a room I didn’t recognize. The fancy digital clock on the nightstand glowed 10:53 a.m., and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, a pair of arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm body. My heart raced as I turned to see who it was, and there was Steve, eyes closed, snoring softly, his face inches from mine.

I blinked, trying to shake off the remaining haze. “Steve?” I called out, nudging him slightly. “Steve, wake up.”

He stirred, stretching with a loud yawn before cracking open one eye. "Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Where... where am I? What’s going on?” I asked, my voice still groggy but clearer than it had been in days.

Steve stretched again, his arm lazily draping across me. “You knocked out on the plane,” he explained. “So, I brought you to my house. I didn’t know where you lived.”

I sat up a little, still disoriented. “Why didn’t you just look at my ID?”

There was a pause, then a look of realization flashed across his face. “You know, I didn’t think of that.

I blinked at him, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and clarity wash over me. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I glanced down, suddenly noticing that I was wearing one of the nighties I’d packed for the vacation, with no underwear, sticky skin and sore muscle. My eyes darted to Steve, and that’s when I realized he was only in his boxers.

“Steve...” I started slowly, “who changed my clothes?”

He gave me an incredulous look, raising an eyebrow as if the question was ridiculous. “You did,” he said matter-of-factly.

I froze. I didn’t remember that. Not even a little. But what reason did I have to doubt him? My mind still felt like it was piecing itself back together after the past week.

I swallowed hard, nodding slightly, though the knot in my stomach grew tighter. “Okay... then why are you in your boxers?”

Steve smirked, giving a nonchalant shrug. “I usually sleep naked when I’m in my own bed. But I put on the boxers, you know, as a courtesy.”

I nodded again, more out of reflex than understanding. “Right...” I muttered, pushing the covers off me and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Steve pointed lazily to a door in the corner of the room, where the window met the wall. I wasted no time getting up and heading toward it, my head buzzing with too many thoughts to process.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind me, I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I felt a panic rising in my chest. I didn’t remember changing. I didn’t remember much of anything after that last week. And now I was in Steve’s house, in Steve’s bed... with Steve.

I pressed my palms against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, and my eyes were still heavy with exhaustion.

I blinked a few times, trying to process everything. How did I end up here? And in my nighty, no less? It didn’t add up. The last clear memory I had was from the plane. Everything after that was a foggy blur.

"Okay, Kiwi, calm down," I whispered to myself. "You can figure this out."

I shook my head, trying to focus. I needed to get out of here. I needed to clear my head and figure out what was really going on. But as I stared at my reflection, my gut twisted with uncertainty.

I couldn’t just ignore the way Steve had been acting over at the Maldives, how close he had gotten, how possessive he seemed. And now this? Him brushing off that he didn’t know where I lived? When I was sure it would take nothing to figure out.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wake me up from this strange feeling  that seemed to linger. I had to get a grip on the situation.

When I walked back out, Steve was still lying in his bed, stretched out, looking way too comfortable. "You, okay?" he asked, his voice lazy, like none of this was out of the ordinary.

I forced a smile. "Yeah, just needed a minute."

"Good," he replied, sitting up and stretching. "We’ve got breakfast downstairs if you’re hungry."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more.

Steve moved from the bed, stretching his arms with a casualness that made my skin crawl. He grabbed a robe from a nearby chair and slid it on before turning to me, his eyes lingering on me just a second too long. It wasn’t subtle, he looked me up and down before pulling out another robe and handing it to me.

“Here, put this on,” he said, his tone soft but something about it made me feel like I didn’t really have a choice.

I slipped it on, trying not to think too much about his gaze. The fabric was smooth, probably the most expensive thing I’d ever worn. But it didn’t feel comforting; it felt like a reminder of just how far out of my element I was.

Before I could say anything, Steve was by my side, grabbing my hand in a way that was far too intimate. His grip was firm, not forceful, but it left me no room to pull away. He led me out of the room, his massive mansion unfolding before me as we moved through the wide corridors.

The grand staircase was as intimidating as it was beautiful, spiraling down into what felt like the heart of the house. My mind was still spinning from everything, how I’d ended up here, the fog that had clouded my memory for what felt like weeks, and now, Steve’s hand holding mine felt like it was tethering me to this strange reality.

We descended into the dining room, which was, of course, massive. The table was already set, food arranged like we were about to attend a banquet. I could smell eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and some other dishes I didn’t even recognize. It all looked like something straight out of a magazine.

Steve pulled out a chair for me, still holding that unreadable expression on his face. I sat down slowly, trying to process everything. He slid into the chair right next to me, far closer than necessary, and for a second, I felt the weight of his presence more than the meal in front of me.

“Go ahead,” Steve said, gesturing to the food. “You need to eat after the week you’ve had.”

I swallowed hard, my appetite completely gone despite the feast in front of me. But I picked up a fork anyway, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I had no idea how I was going to make it through this breakfast, or what Steve expected from me next.

Steve picked up a small tart and brought it toward me. I reached out to grab it, but just as my fingers brushed it, he pulled it away, holding it in front of my mouth instead, his eyes expectant. The gesture was so casual, like this was normal, so I awkwardly leaned forward and allowed him to feed me. The tart was sweet, but I barely tasted it, my discomfort overpowering everything else.

He set the other piece down and resumed eating his own meal as if nothing strange had just happened. I, on the other hand, felt my shoulders tense up as I silently chewed, trying to make sense of what this morning was becoming.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke again, this time in a tone that made me wary. "So, I have news."

I glanced at him, unsure what to expect. "Okay..." I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I spoke to my father," Steve began, "and unfortunately, he's not interested in hiring for any entry-level positions in his finance department right now."

The news hit me like a brick. My stomach dropped, I had forgotten that I asked him to do that, and though I knew it was good that I didn’t have to stick around Steve, I really could have used that job. My shoulders slumped as that familiar wave of defeat washed over me.

But before I could sink any deeper into that feeling, Steve’s hand was on my cheek, gently caressing my skin. “Hey, don’t look so down. I’m not done yet,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “I managed to get you an opportunity elsewhere. Proper salary, full benefits.”

I perked up, my heart lifting at the words. “Really?” I asked, excitement creeping in. I hadn’t expected a follow-up.

Steve smiled, the kind of smile that felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time. “Yeah, really. You know my father’s been mentoring me to take over his company, right? Well, next quarter, I’ll have a proper position. And with that position, I’m going to need a few resources.” He paused, his smile widening. “Congratulations, you’re going to be my new PA.”

I blinked, the words not quite sinking in at first. “Personal assistant?” I repeated, taken aback. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I thought of a job with a ‘proper salary.’ But then again, I was in no position to be picky.

“Personal assistant,” he confirmed, nodding.

I sat there, unsure of how to feel. The idea of working directly under Steve made me uneasy, especially after everything that had happened on this trip. But at the same time... I couldn’t afford to turn this down. Not now. Not with my parents breathing down my neck, and no other job prospects on the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, this could lead to something more. Soon, enough I’ll find myself in a position where I’ll no longer need Steve and I could just leave.

“So,” Steve said, interrupting my thoughts, “what do you think?”

I hesitated, taking a deep breath before nodding. “Okay,” I finally said, unsure of whether I was convincing him or myself.

Steve clapped his hands together, his excitement palpable. “Awesome. We’ll get you set up before the start of the new quarter, then.”

He picked up the rest of the tart he’d fed me earlier and brought it to my lips again. I leaned forward to take a bite, but a small drop of fruit glaze fell onto my chin. Before I could react, Steve wiped it away with his thumb and, without breaking eye contact, licked it off.

“Welcome to Rogers and Co.”

[lgbtlunaverse]

Obsessed with characters who portray themselves as worse than they are. Who are lying to everyone including themselves about it. People generally assume if someone's lying about themselves they're trying to look better but sometimes they're trying to look worse. They attribute agency to where they had none, add intent to accidents, try to convince everyone that this is something they did instead of something that happened to them.

[fatedprophetess-perfectstorms]

I could not have it said better myself.

[dabunnybuns]

I’ve been workshopping this horror idea of like a monster that makes you forget right

But like not The Silence or False Hydra

Like it makes you forget

Like imagine the horror or realizing something is really wrong, running to your car, and realizing you no longer remember how to drive

For some reason your walks seem so much shorter

If you even remember how to walk

Or talk

[sunnie-angel]

Jason Todd will cockblock himself if he thinks you can’t give 100% informed consent.

A few too many drinks at a gala and you’re drunkenly trying to make out with your gorgeous boyfriend. He’ll stop kissing you once he can taste the champagne on your lips, notices the glassy sheen to your eyes. Jason folds your roaming hands back into your lap and makes you promise to be good. He’ll take you home early and get some water into you before tucking you into bed. He’ll go so far as to sleep on the couch, door open to the bedroom so he can hear if you need him.

Jason remembers what Catherine looked like, coming off of a high and not remembering what day it was. The fear in her eyes and the shake in her voice when she asked if anyone else had been in the apartment.

Jason remembers the early days after the pit. When he’d wake up after blacking out in rage and not remember what his body had done. Seeing the blood on his skin and not knowing where it came from.

Jason never wants you to wake up with that same fearful not knowing. So he’ll sleep on the couch and make sure you’re safe. In the morning he’ll cook you breakfast and kiss you silly. But you’re going to have a talk, the two of you, once you’re sober enough to have a real conversation. Establish boundaries and plan consent for if you do want to fool around if one of you is impaired, or how you want to handle it if you don’t. But it’s not tomorrow yet, and Jason’s tired. He can sleep soundly though, knowing that nothing’s going to happen to you.