#se chapter 10

[pink-yuri]

♡ Soul Eater NOT! ♡

[goatsandgangsters]

Writing Patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! tagged by @hosseinis <3

He was greeted at the door not by Mr. Blanding, but by the lady of the manor himself.

The birds were making a ruckus that afternoon, the sky high and bright, the wind a warm rustle in the gleaming green of freshly unfurled not-quite-there leaves.

Sankta Alina, Vanquisher of Darkness.

The chill bite of the night breeze steadied to a tepid nothing as he slowed Kyorvia to a trot near camp.

The conversation broke off abruptly as he entered the parlour.

The fire crackled in the grate, sparking and dancing under the marble mantel in Nikolai’s favorite study.

It was not his idea of a good time.

Miracles did not exist, Zoya knew.

The tracker hesitated in the doorway, uncertainty writ plain on his face as his shoulders shifted beneath his olive drab coat.

It began—as seldom anything in his life had—with a joke. 

tagging: @holy-muffins, @esssteee, @jammerific, @mercutiotakethewheel, @daveyfvckingjacobs

[midnightquips]

Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected se

💫 Dangerously Close Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 2: A Questionable Plan

Part I

Alexei Shostakov isn’t what most people would call subtle. In fact, subtlety might be the one skill he actively avoids cultivating.

So when he notices you and Bucky continuing your awkward, longing-laden standoff—he doesn’t just sigh about it over morning coffee. He starts scheming. Loudly. Dramatically. With charts.

The final straw, in his mind, comes during a routine mission recap in the Thunderbolts war room.

You’re seated across the table from Bucky, absentmindedly twirling a pen and listening to Ava outline infiltration points.

He catches Bucky not listening. He is watching you like you’re sunlight and he’s been living in a bunker for five years.

When you glance over and catch him—he immediately turns away like a teenager busted by his crush.

After the meetings, Alexei holds Bucky back by the shoulder and says lowly. “You in love with her.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at him. “I’m not.”

Alexei looks at Bucky knowingly, “I not even say who and you know.”

Bucky only glares at him while taking a sip of water.

“You are literally drooling.”

“I’m drinking water.”

“Like man in desert, yes. Thirsty.”

Bucky sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple. “You need a hobby.”

Alexei leans back, stretching his arms across two empty chairs. “My hobby is watching you suffer. Is like sport.”

A week later, fate, or probably chaos, intervenes. It’s really difficult to distinguish when Alexei is involved. He is finally handed the missing piece of his puzzle.

It happens during an awkward elevator ride at the Tower. Thor, who had been visiting to see the recent changes, steps into the elevator next to Alexei.

Alexei, never one to miss an opportunity, points at the shiny bottle Thor is carrying.

He attempts to ask inconspicuously, “That drink?”

Thor grins widely. “Ah yes! The finest liquor in the Nine Realms. Aged in barrels carved from the roots of Yggdrasil.”

Alexei raises a brow. “It make you drunk?”

Thor chuckles. “It makes everyone drunk.”

“Barnes too?”

The wheels start turning. It sparks a glint in Alexei’s eye that Thor doesn’t notice.

Thor claps a hand on his shoulder, boasting. “Absolutely. I once caught him giggling at fireworks after two sips.”

Alexei’s grin is slow and terrifying. “Excellent.”

The plan is simple. Well, “simple” in the way Alexei understands it.

For the people involved it can also mean dramatic, intrusive, and poorly explained.

Alexei calls for Bucky’s help about a vague mission documentation. So vague that it takes 10 minutes for Bucky to resolve. 

“This could have been an email.” he says grumpily

Alexiei ignores the tone and slams the bottle down in front of him

“What is this?” Bucky asks, already suspicious.

The bottle of Asgardian liquor comes with a note that says: For Strength and Celebration –T.

“Liquor. From Thor. For success in assist and bonding.” Alexei smiles widely

“I don’t want to bond.” Bucky is about to stand

“Too late. I already poured a shot.” 

“You didn’t ask me.”

“I am not asking. I am pouring.”

“Alexei—”

Exasperated with his stubbornness, Alexei turns serious. “Do you want to kiss her or not?”

Bucky freezes.

Alexei smiles knowingly. “I knew it.”

You’re curled up on the floor of your quarters, legs propped on the couch, reading a paperback and absently munching on crackers from the box.

It’s late, quiet, your favorite kind of night.

Then someone knocks. You glance at the door inquisitively.

Three knocks. Pause. Another.

You frown, setting the book down. You weren’t expecting anyone—especially not in this hour.

You open the door and blink.

In front of you is Bucky Barnes–standing in the hallway, leaning against the frame like he forgot how his legs work. He’s flushed, hair mussed, and holding a mostly-empty bottle filled with a glowing golden liquid.

His grin is wide, loose and downright dangerous. 

“Hey, doll.”

You stare perplexed. “Are you drunk?”

He looks down at the bottle like it surprised him. “Not technically. I’m Asgardian-level tipsy.”

You blink. “Asgardian means it’s from Thor and… your bottle is glowing.”

He holds it up proudly. “Magic.”

“Oh my god.”

“Missed you,” he says casually lazy, like this is a thing he says to you all the time. “You look really cute right now.”

You cross your arms, leaning on the door. “Are you going to say things like that the whole time?”

He beams. “Probably. Can I come in? The floor is really wobbly right now”

You’re considering calling Bob or John to help Bucky to his room. But the way he’s looking at you. Soft and vulnerable. It makes you pause.

You hesitate. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m charming,” he corrects, giving you a slight pout

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Shoes off.”

“Already ahead of you.” He beams, kicks them off in one go and strolls inside like he owns the place.

Bucky sprawls on your rug like he’s auditioning for a centerfold, one arm behind his head, the bottle perched on his stomach.

“You know I think about you way too much, right?” he says casually, as if announcing the weather.

He stops you on your tracks. “...What?”

He gestures dreamily, like he was talking to the air. “Like, all the time. Today? You were licking butter off your thumb during breakfast and I nearly died.”

Your mouth drops open in an attempt of a response. “Bucky—”

“Wait, no, lemme finish.” He then props himself up on one elbow, looks at you straight, eyes bright, voice low and rough. “Then during drills? You bent over to tie your shoes and I forgot how to spell my own name.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“I don’t even like brownies,” he continues, “but when you were baking last week? I wanted to bend you over the counter and fuck you while they cooled.”

“Jesus Christ.” You touch your temple with your forefingers, trying to take in all the information

“And then when you wore that tank top on laundry day—”

“Okay, stop.” You wave your hands to gesture him from continuing as you finally take a seat back on the couch beside him

“—I had to go do push-ups until I forgot how to speak English.”

You cover your face with your hands. “Bucky. Stop. You’re drunk. You’re not going to remember any of this.”

He sits up, actively insisting. “I will. I always remember the good parts.”

Your hands drop. “This is ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous,” He scoots closer until he’s looking up at you, touching your knee. “I’m completely, totally, idiotically obsessed with you.”

Your breath hitches. “You… You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His voice drops, sultry and sincere. “I think about your thighs every time I walk into the gym. I think about your laugh when I can’t sleep. I think about your hands when I jerk off, and don’t even get me started on that damn apron.”

You go completely still.

“I know I’m drunk,” he says, tipping his head like he’s confessing something forbidden. “But I swear to god, I’d get on my knees right now if you told me to.”

“Bucky.”

“You think I just flirt with everyone,” he whispers, “but believe me when I say, it’s only you.”

The air between you sparks. Your skin tingles. He’s so close you can smell the warmth of the liquor and something underneath—something unmistakably him.

He slowly takes a seat beside you and before you know it, your faces are inches away from each other. 

Bucky’s eyes flick to your lips, then softly licks his. 

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, like it’s both a question and a plea.

Your heart stutters. “You might regret it.”

“No,” he says, voice raw. “The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

His mouth crashes into yours like a dam breaking—hot, messy, hungry.

You gasp against him, but he doesn’t hesitate. One of his hands cups your cheek, the other fists in your shirt as he kisses you like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.

And maybe you have, too.

Because the second you respond, everything tilts.

His tongue finds yours, slow and demanding. His metal fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, cool against your skin.

“You have no idea,” he mutters between kisses, lips brushing your jaw, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Bucky—”

“I think about you when I can’t sleep,” he groans, kissing down your neck. “When I do sleep. Every time I touch myself it’s your voice in my head.”

Your breath hitches.

“I wanna be buried between your thighs,” he whispers hotly. “Wanna hear you moan my name. Wanna taste you until you forget anyone else ever existed.”

You’re practically trembling under him, legs parted instinctively as he presses himself between them. You feel everything—how hard he is, how desperate.

“Say something,” he murmurs, lips dragging along your throat. “Tell me you want me too.”

“I—I do,” you breathe, dizzy. “I do, Bucky.”

That makes him groan like a man breaking.

“I knew it,” he growls, kissing you again, harder this time. “I fucking knew it.”

You tug him closer, wrapping a leg around his waist, and he grinds into you with a choked sound, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“I want to take my time with you,” he rasps against your collarbone. “Wanna hear all the sounds you make when I touch you just right. Want you to ride my fingers first. Want to feel you fall apart all over me.”

Your whole body burns at his words.

You want to say something—beg, plead, pull him down and never let him go.

But then—

He stops.

Not a pause. Not a playful tease. He pulls back.

Panting. Red-faced. Staring down at you like he’s in pain.

Your heart jumps. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.”

The words hit you like cold water.

“What?”

“I’m drunk,” he says, like it’s obvious. “This isn’t how I want our first time to be.”

You stare at him, blinking. “You—what?”

“I don’t want to forget this. I don’t want you to think I didn’t mean it. I do.” He pushes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “But I don’t want this to be sloppy. I want it to be real.”

It already feels real.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you sit up slowly, pulling your shirt down, trying to calm your racing pulse.

Bucky stands quickly, like the floor might collapse under him. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

You nod, numb.

He hesitates, like he wants to say something else. But he doesn’t. He can’t look at you because he knows he can never leave if he does so he does what he does best. 

He just grabs the bottle, mumbles a goodbye, and slips out the door.

You sit there for a long time after he leaves.

Your lips still feel swollen. Your skin still tingles where he touched you.

And your heart?

Your heart has no idea what the hell just happened.

Taglist: @killerwendigo @mrsnikolestan @starstruck-cowgirl @staley83 @wickedfun9 @sebastianstan0813 @yellowjm@geekandproud @Knowledgeableknitter @yvespecially @geek-and-proud @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @Biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @jakesimper @danimuhle @marvelloonie

[sunniedesi]

The Decay of Andy and Leyley: the bad, the ugly and the terrible

Now that it’s been a while since I finished the Decay route, I think I’m ready to finally analyse this chapter as a whole. I’ve collected my thoughts and read through a couple of people’s opinions here and there… just to be utterly disappointed. I knew casual fans generally didn’t understand much of the subtext for tcoaal, but damn are they completely lost with this one. Maybe it’s the fact that I only interact with a small echo chamber of the fandom that does get it, but after all the terrible takes I’ve had the displeasure of seeing, I think it’s time I leave my own. There is quite a lot to comment on, since this part of Decay builds upon several plot points of the story: the quarantine, the entity, lord unknown, and namely, the main duo’s upbringing and relationship. While I’d love to pick apart every nook and cranny of this episode, this analysis will only focus on Andrew and Ashley’s relationship, as that alone has plenty of things to dissect for one post. I will also comment on some of the changes done to the previous episodes and what that could mean for the next routes. (More below the cut, this will be a long one).

But before I begin anything I want to start with a disclaimer of the obvious; yes, this game is fucked up and the relationship is toxic, horribly so (wow, who would’ve thunk it?). If things weren’t messed up before then they certainly are now, so I understand why nobody would want to touch this game with a ten-foot pole. In fact, I’ve noticed many let’s players who’ve previously played it either not mentioning it or going as far as to delete every video they’ve made on it (not dropping names here but I had a couple of videos in my watch later taken down mere minutes after I saved them because of this). I often see people saying “it’s just fiction” as a defense for talking about this, which is totally valid, but my view of it is a bit different. It is fiction, yes, but also something that could very easily happen in real life and that a lot of people could (unfortunately) relate to. That’s what makes it uncomfortable and gross, and that is exactly the reason why we should talk about it. As per words of the author “although unpleasant, true [CHAOS AND MAYHEM!!!] can only be achieved by unearthing the root cause of one's issues and addressing the underlying decay.” Even if you think it’s icky and gross that doesn’t disqualify it from existing. Moreover, it calls for analysis as to why it makes you feel gross, which might I add is an impulse reaction to something much deeper than a simple “nooo they’re related,” as there are many layers to this from a moral, ethical and psychosexual perspective.

So… let’s talk about it. 

The Bad: Andy and Leyley

The beginning of the episode tells us a lot about the upbringing of our characters, though most of it was writing on the wall if you paid attention during episode 2. We play as Andrew, examining his psyche and going through the motions of how to be a walking disappointment. As he cooks, cleans, excels at school and sets order in his family, he accomplishes a level of independence many don’t reach until adulthood, all before the age of 10. Yet every single mistake, as small or out of his control as it may be, is a cause for reprimanding. Renee doesn’t spare the emotional rod with him per se, expecting Andrew to go above and beyond for tasks that she should be responsible for. And whenever her live-in maid complains or dares to set an even playing field, such attempts are crushed by repressing him further into his shell. Berating, insulting, belittling him.

Nothing he does is ever enough, and it can’t be,  lest giving him hope of ever meeting others’ expectations, of ever doing better. The more suppression, the less of his independence, say or personality, the easier to control. The less of Andrew the better. And as such, Andy was born: a sorry replacement for Andrew’s essence, easily malleable and capable of becoming everything you want him to be. Many believe Andy is a result of Leyley, but really

Andy was a nightmare of Renee’s own making. And speaking of nightmares, Leyley’s origins aren’t much different. Having a second child as a middle finger to your disapproving family is no good if you don’t intend to raise said child. But what’s the need when Andy is there to do it? Disciplining a kid aching for attention is far too taxing for Renee, especially one with as much attitude as Leyley. So, instead of inflicting more trauma as she’s done with Andy, she lets him pass his own over to her, creating a direct pipeline to the cycle of abuse. It should be noted that in one of the new visions available we see that Renee is an older sister herself, and was expected to also go above and beyond for her sister despite being completely disregarded by her family.

In other words, her treatment of Andy and complete neglect of Leyley are anything but surprising. It’s all she’s ever known. (Not excusing Renee, I hate her with a passion, but it’s important to know where everything is coming from).

Funnily enough, Leyley’s personality isn’t as innate as many believe. It’s easy to see her as the “difficult child,” but in reality, everything she does is a cry for help. We’re dealing with a lonely, undisciplined girl, disregarded by the world as a crybaby and a freak, left to be raised by trash TV and her clueless older brother. The result of this terrible concoction is a self-loathing, marshmallow spine of a boy and a lost, shrieky viper of a girl. Neither can like each other, because they don’t like themselves. And neither can help the other, because they refuse to see themselves for what they are. These are Andy and Leyley, the antagonists of the story.

As much as people have difficulty separating Andy and Leyley from Andrew and Ashley it must be noted that, from a narrative perspective, these are entirely different characters. Andy and Leyley are the immature, worst traits of our main duo personified: Andy is a paranoid pushover garnering resentment every time his buttons are pushed, while Leyley is nothing more than a scared little girl, terrified of abandonment and terrified of change. The more they push and pull, the more they test and bring out the worst in each other, the more they decay. But if these are Andy and Leyley, then who are Andrew and Ashley?

The Ugly: Andrew and Ashley

I believe the cliffhanger route is where we get to see the most of these two, though glimpses of them can be seen in the Shots and Such route. Andrew we know (thanks to his lengthy pov) is a crude and relentless antisocial who can’t stand anyone. He only does so out of keeping appearances, instilled by his mom, but just like her, is incapable of caring for anything. Something Ashley is very quick to point out when they were children.

We also see he’s very manipulative, sly and finds fun in (mentally) messing with people and romanticising the shit of his life, perhaps as a way to feel something other than the misery it bestows upon him. However, not playing nice can only bring trouble, so he hides behind the mask of the innocent pushover (Andy). Needless to say, this is a life full of lies and deception, utterly unsatisfactory. It will never fulfill his true desires and can only push him further into nihilism. But what are his true desires? 

Well, to be seen and understood, the one thing no one’s ever bothered to do. No one except the mess of his own making. Ashley, the girl Andrew raised, is full of wit and charm. As seen in the flashbacks, she’s perceptive and quickly calls bullshit whenever she sees it. She doesn’t play nice, she doesn’t put up a front, she’s everything Andrew could be if he wasn’t afraid to show his true colors. This last bit is why I would argue Andrew is so drawn to her, that and of course all of the trauma bonding. As Andrew says himself, his attraction is pathological, i.e. unreasonable and irrational, a result of his loneliness and conditioning from childhood. And as much as I agree that it is paraphilic in nature, I do believe there is a logical side to his attraction; Ashley is loud, obnoxious and annoying. Carefree and unbothered, the flip-side to his Andy facade. In fact, she hates having to keep up appearances and how everyone around her is a phony. For Andrew, the man that has endured years of suppression and self-loathing, it is a relief, it is liberating to have someone just as bad as him. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid of him. Someone who could meet him at the same level; an equal.

Continuing with Ashley, one of her most emblematic traits is that she’s self-assured and doesn’t care about anything or anyone except for Andrew. This is quite the contrast to Leyley, who is incredibly insecure, selfish and does not care for Andy, only the reassurance he brings. And how do we know Ashley cares about Andrew if Leyley does not? Well…

This flashback is the single most important piece of information we get from the whole chapter. So let’s analyze it from the start. Julia takes Andrew to visit Nina’s grave, bringing back a slew of emotional turmoil he’s still haunted by. He immediately goes home to unpack it with Ashley.

(because god knows he was thinking about her the whole time he was talking to Julia). Ashley shows her first signs of maturity in the conversation that ensues, accurately pointing out the impending doom of Andrew and Julia’s relationship, and being a little more… introspective.

It’s clear that Leyley’s view of relationships is skewed, to say the least. She barely distinguishes romance from platonic love and has a very childish take of sex being "gross and all men want.” I’ve seen many people, before and after this chapter release, theorize that Ashley is asexual, something that’s always bothered me to no end. It’s one thing to just headcanon a character having “x” sexuality for the sake of it, but here people were using a headcanon to explain a critical part of her characterization, one of her Leyley traits. It is reductive and misguided, not to mention a terrible example of what asexuality would actually look like. Because this isn’t an innate characteristic from Ashley, it is a sign of immaturity, and to a certain degree, also insecurity.

Leyley has been conditioned her entire existence to believe she’s loathsome and undesirable, so anyone sticking around would never be out of their own volition. It would have to be a transaction, give and take. If Andy and Leyley marry it would have to be this way, a selfish exchange on both ends. But as she says: “different is fine, sometimes.” This is Ashley talking, taking into consideration Andrew’s needs for once and for all, which is the reason she made a move after he woke up. She understands his needs and is willing to put out for him, thinking maybe it could be good for her too. 

But boy does he fumble hard. Which I don’t blame him for, dude wasn’t in the right headspace at the time. Though this is the moment that set Ashley’s development far, far behind square one. She didn’t take the rejection well. For once she was doing what he wanted, and he pushed her away (mixed signals much). He began being very cold to her afterwards (albeit in a fruitless attempt to repress his feelings, which as we see through the puzzle sequences, the more he crushed his feelings on the outside, the further they spread on the inside). The moment Andrew reached out for her again, a year later might I add, he did it because of Ashley, or rather Leyley, needing to be reprimanded and set on the right track (with the massage parlor job).

This sealed the deal for Ashley that the only way to secure Andrew’s attention was the way that Leyley used to do with Andy: bitch and moan until he pays attention. In other words, it’s Andrew’s fault that Ashley is the way she is… though he’s not entirely aware of it, as seen in parts of his pov. And to a certain extent, Ashley also plays a part into why he’s so apprehensive to the idea of liking her. Her childish nature and refusal to grow up is proof to Andrew that if she were to indulge his desires, it would be to keep him around, but it wouldn’t be reciprocal (which is ultimately what he desires the most). 

This is my main takeaway from the cliffhanger route. I won’t be theorising much on what the outcomes for this route could be (more on why later), though I will be referencing this heavily for the analysis of Shots and Such.    

Also the symbolism in this scene is quite strong (couldn’t fit it into the previous paragraphs but wanted to bring it up anyway).

Her painted nails are trashy, and Julia's nails are painted. Andrew stares in silence as Julia rings away...  

Also:

This is after you destroy the Leyley plushie on the wedding cake scene, to retrieve Ashley's choker (which can later be used to create Andrew's partner... which also grants you a star). Originally, the plushies were watching cartoons, but now that Leyley is gone... something else surfaces. Interestingly enough, if you refuse to destroy it when prompted, the narrator will say "what are you, some Andy?" And if you try again after that, it won't allow to you to tear it apart, saying "you've made your choice." Very strong symbolism there. Let's move onto Shots and Such now.

The Absolutely Terrible: the Decay of Andy and Leyley

A terrible, disgusting, horrifying and necessary ending. Necessary to really discern the differences between Andy/Leyley and Andrew/Ashley, plus why the former will ALWAYS be a pointless, troublesome pairing. They hurt, abuse and tear each other down in the most sadistic and depressive ways possible. Long gone are the days of their playful banter, they are now replaced with just plain ol’ spousal abuse. Even when they try reviving their spark with their quick banter about the vacuums, it is soulless and dry, the damage done to their dynamic far too damming to ignore. 

They are never honest with each other, and they’re always afraid and resentful of the other. The only thing keeping them together is codependency and lame sex that sometimes distracts them from how miserable they feel. The one sex scene in this chapter reads like a dagger to the heart, because it is everything neither of them wanted to happen. Andrew yearned for something reciprocal, for him to be seen. And as much as he begs and pleads for Ashley to understand, Leyley’s fear of abandonment overtakes her, diminishing the little trust she had for him and respect she had for herself. As a result, they both hated the encounter, and the only two solutions are ending themselves or committing to a life of such misery.

In the splat ending, we indulge Andy’s desires of ending it all, and Leyley reluctantly follows, scared and unsatisfied until the bitter end, but unwilling to let go of her Andy. In the Shots and Such ending, we indulge Leyley’s fantasies of a forever union, which turn out to be anything but the ideals she had for Andy and Leyley’s marriage. It is more of the same old horrific abuse, dishonesty and bickering over nothing, with maybe one glimpse of honesty forced out by the alcohol every once in a blue moon. 

No matter the end, they’re both together forever as Andy and Leyley, dragging each other down into the lowest of levels. It’s pointless and bleak, and it certainly sent the fandom into a frenzy. You think the people defending Andrew “I’m normal” Graves or the people saying Ashley “did nothing wrong” were bad? Well, just as this route brought the worst out of the Graves, it also brought out the worst of these fans.

Every time I look into the comments section of a video or discussions for this chapter, it’s a constant shit-flinging contest of who had the worst upbringing, who has the worst personality, who is the most abusive, (which most people seem to be pointing fingers at Ashley for that one). It’s all blah blah blah who’s the woest of the woe. And worst of all, plenty of men (they’re almost always men) saying “Andrew should beat Ashley up some more.” I understand that Ashley’s worst traits as Leyley were amplified in this chapter, but honestly, men who had that takeaway from this chapter disturb me more than the game itself. Heck, even mother-of-the-year Renee calls bullshit on this:   

(context: this is a rhetorical question, the answer being no, obviously.)

Let’s get one thing straight: no character here is worse than the other. They’re both awful, they both beat each other, they both abuse each other and they're both victims of each others’ abuse. The tragedy here is that they are as much victims as they are perpetrators, with no end in sight, because the more one hurts the other, the more retaliation ensues. Characterizing one as the worst is, again, completely reductive and overlooking the point of the ending: nothing gets better because neither got better. We only saw Andy and Leyley in this route, with brief glimpses of Andrew and Ashley, that are quickly crushed by their inability to disengage from their toxic habits.

I think it’s clear to see how Ashley is regressing more into her fears (Leyley), given the threat of being murdered by the only person she has left forced her into that state. She doesn’t want to die, she’s terrified of death, and wants the security she believes Andy will bring her back. Except Andy is the one harboring resentment, as Andrew is the one trying to work past it. And to the people who think we’re playing as Andrew and Leyley in this route because “we chose Andrew,” no we’re not. There’s a reason the beginning of both the Andy and Andrew (shots and such) routes look the same in terms of the area we explore in the demon realm. 

There’s a reason why he keeps devolving further and further into resentment for Leyley. The “Andrew” choice means nothing if Ashley refuses to stop being Leyley. And her regression is reinstated by the selfish decision to kill Andrew in the bullets ending (and yes, I’m calling it selfish, since it is once again denying Andrew of his need to be rid of the Andy and Leyley dynamic). This reinforces Andrew’s belief that Leyley doesn’t want him, that his love is one-sided, and that she doesn’t care for his needs. The moment this choice (shooting Andrew) is set in stone it’s game over for both, because one can’t heal without the other. Again, nothing gets better because neither can get better.

The only difference between both routes is that when we pick Andy, Andrew surrenders. He’s hurt, battered and confused, but Andy’s instinctual need to please Leyley reigns above all. He knows it won’t get better, he doesn’t know how to make it better, so to hell with it. If we choose to be Andrew, Andrew never surrenders, insisting there must be a way to fix this, but can’t due to Leyley’s insistence. This leads to Andrew's decay, as he devolves into a mixture of Andy’s resentment boiling over and Andrew’s sadism. The logical part of him (which is Andrew’s lingering care for Ashley) tells him to disengage from the fighting. But his resentment (Andy’s decay) is overpowering his love for her. It gets to the point where both Andy and Andrew become undistinguishable, as they have melded to become his most deranged self. Surprisingly, something similar happens with Ashley, who also struggles to surrender in this route. There are two moments of honesty in the Shots and Such route, the only moments we get to see Andrew and Ashley completely. First is Andrew comforting Ashley’s sobs:

Here, Ashley was actually honest with him for once, which allows both of them to open up. This exchange is much more lighthearted compared to the rest of the route because both are meeting each other at the same level, talking through things together, addressing their happiness and where they want to go. Ashley shines through, taking genuine interest in Andrew’s happiness, but before things can settle…

Ashley must face her fears of freeing Andrew, trusting him. And she doesn’t, because let’s remember, we chose Leyley in this route and let Ashley decay. So once again, things go back to how they were, pointless resentment. There was also a time where Andrew opened up, and that’s when he was drunk out of his mind.

He put his front down, enough to indulge in his paraphilia but not enough to fully express his love. The mixed signals are strong with this one, which further confuses Leyley. However, when they go to sleep that night, Andrew opens up about his needs, about needing Ashley to see him for the mess of a man that he is and still accept him. Ashley takes the stage, reassuring him that she knows all his secrets and loves him regardless. Andrew is honest about why he pushes her away, because it’s the last thread of normalcy he has left. However, things quickly go back to normal, when Leyley refuses to give him a kiss due to all the times he pushed her away. At the end of both of these scenes, we hear a sad music box tune, a sad reminder of how crucial these scenes are. How easily things could be fixed with the care and honesty they warrant, and how easily they fall apart out of simple reluctance and conformity. 

This is a constant thread we see in their relationship, throughout flashbacks and present time, as well as symbolisms throughout Burial and Decay. The choice to not only trust, but to be honest with one another despite their fears could’ve been the fix they needed all along, the one thing they needed to mature. Their bond is so fragile, so easily twisted, that the only way to salvage any semblance of tenderness is to address their underlying decay. I find it funny how there are still people (few but still some) who were disappointed to see that Decay wouldn’t be the "normal" route. I read a few comments of people wanting their relationship to be fixed and be a normal sibling dynamic. To which I just have to say, that is way more delusional than the people who expected any routes of this game to be all fluff and rainbows.

The relationship was already screwed from the get-go, but here’s the hard pill to swallow: having a normal relationship is not the fix they need nor want. The paraphilia has consumed Andrew so thoroughly that his only solution is to completely wipe his brain or fully indulge in it (possibly the two routes of episode 4), while Ashley has to let go of her selfish, childish desires to recognize the Andrew she wanted has been there all along if she cares to meet him there. Is it an unsavory solution? Yeah. It’s gross, morally and ethically reprehensible. But that’s just who they are as people. And accepting themselves for who they are is ultimately the last ditch effort they could ever take to salvage this volatile, fragile relationship. I mean, this optional dialogue really puts it best:

(This is the single line of dialogue that actually made me tear up btw, not even the splat/shots and such ending tore into me so much as this line). 

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is, at its core, a cautionary tale of generational trauma and the cycle of abuse. How far will people go if pushed to their limits? Is it ever possible to remedy yourself once you’re at the point of no return? And is that remedy worse than the sickness itself? Can the doomed ever be redeemed? And if so, what are the necessary steps to take in order to redeem yourself, before it all goes dark? Andrew and Ashley can keep longing for one another all they want, but until Andy and Leyley are ripped and torn to shreds, neither will improve, and are fated to decay in the coffin of a different apartment, one built out of their own hangups and fears. We’ll see what episode 4 has in store, I trust the author will give us a satisfying conclusion. And speaking of the author…

The Meh: Changes to Episode 2

This new update brought about a couple of changes to the previous episodes as well. Namely, the wording for the decisions that split the story into Burial and Decay, as well as revamping the Burial route. I’ll be honest… I’m not a big fan of some of these.

For starters, this new update made me realize the author, as offline as she appears to be, is keenly aware of people’s opinions of the game and takes quite the contrarian attitude to people who miss the point of the story (something I can’t blame her for entirely, and seems to be the reason why things escalated so much in this chapter). Take for example the Grave Mistakes vision, Andrew explaining why they’re not addressing the Toxisoda thing anymore, and going as far as to add a bloody sprite for Ashley in the Burial route (something a few people were complaining about back in the day). Also, there is an optional dialogue in the highschool flashback that feels like a clapback to the Renee mod:

I’m glad the author is aware of people’s criticisms and takes the time to sort through them, but part of me wishes she didn’t try to over-explain some plot points. The thing that I originally loved about the game was the subtle storytelling, how it takes you a couple of playthroughs to fully understand everything lying beneath the surface. It plays tricks with you and makes you think about the characters’ true intentions, goals and desires, all the way until they spiral out of control and pretenses can’t be kept anymore. I liked that Ashley has a little back and forth between wanting to trust Andrew, being unable to because of her insecurities, and falling back on the trinket. But now…

The choice kinda spells it out for you already. For one, the choice of dialogue feels a bit clunky and also redundant given the next couple of lines confirm this already. The change in the olive branch choice, with it now being reflect/decline, doesn’t bother me as much, but this feels a little too in your face. Same thing with the changes to the Burial vision. I like that you have to put the green plushie back in the cage at the end, as it’s something you also did earlier in the puzzle, so it feels less contradictory. But the change to this line…

It’s honestly giving too much away. People go through the Burial route because they want the siblings to trust each other, and they select the left door for the questionable outcome because they want to make the questionable choice. However that route turns out, whether good or bad, is for us to find out as we play. And mind you, I already know it’s not ending so well given the hex Andrew gets in Burial is the same as in the Decay Andy route. That just cannot be any good. Plus, the fact that Burial is all about burying things under the rug. I suspect that while Decay is more about Andrew due to its reflective nature, Burial will be all about Ashley due to her nature of compartmentalizing. I imagine both Burial and Decay will have their own good and bad routes, but I’d rather not jump the gun into assuming what each will pan out to look like, as chances are I’ll be completely mistaken.

And I say this as a good portion of the fanbase was proven wrong with this new update, in terms of what Decay and Burial are about. The general consensus used to be Burial = romance, Decay = hate. Some fans even came up with the bizarre defense that the game is not so bad because the incest is totally optional! It's on the player to pick it. All the while you have Andrew grabbing Ashley's belt loops and cuddling her on the couch in both routes...

I can appreciate asking people to look at what's beneath the surface and analyze things a little more critically, but that was just plain wrong lol. In the back of my mind, I always hoped that Decay would address some of Andrew's feelings to completely shut down all the "optional" nonsense. Welp, that it did... way more than I anticipated.     

Anyway, my point with this last bit of the rant was that I hope these changes don’t become a trend of the author trying to make things clearer for normies or paying any mind to them, as that would only cheapen the storytelling. Those who get the story get it, and if not, they can read people’s shizo analyses online. But I don’t need my hand held throughout the game; I like figuring things out on my own. To wrap things up, I’ll just say I’m very happy with the outcomes we got. They were terrible, but necessary for the reasons explained above. I was originally very scared of the Decay route, as I didn’t know exactly what to expect and angry Andrew scares me. But this has quickly become my favorite episode of all and I can only hope the next ones do it justice. Keep cooking Nemlei, you’re doing good.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (viii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal, the passage of time, panicking,

A/N: omg guys new banner reveal. i put a flower on that man because i felt like it. personally thrilled that we have made it this far because that means it's only 2 more chapters to 10 and then we're in double digits. also unsolved drabble requests are very welcome and encouraged please ily THANKS BYE

Previous part || Series masterlist

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Inside the room, the air is thick with dust and the scent of aged metal. The walls are lined with dark wooden beams, their surfaces weathered by time, and the faint smell of oil and rust lingers in the air. 

“It’s a haunted clock tower,” you reply, walking up the stairs, floorboards creaking generously under you. 

“I got that,” he retorts, “but what the hell is it supposed to haunt? All the search results were just some kids' show.”

In the center of the room stands the massive, intricate clock mechanism, the gears and cogs slowly gathering rust as the years have passed without maintenance. Moonlight through the giant clock face casts a faint glow into the dimly lit room.

“I’m surprised you checked the internet,” you tell him, “I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was an undercover agent for 80 years. I know how to use technology.”

“You’re also older than the concept of time, so you can see how that may confuse some people,” you reply, taking a tour around the room. “Second, I’m surprised you checked the internet.”

“You already said that.”

You stop in your tracks, hand on your chest as you say, “Yes, but you’re researching things now? For our show? That’s real sweet, babygirl.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he continues to climb up. “It was one Google search.”

“It’s one more than what you’ve done in the last 3 months,” you say, eyelashes fluttering comically at him before your demeanor returns to normal. “Anyway, there’s no like, ghost sightings here, per se–”

Bucky comes to a halt only two steps away from his door. “Then why are we here?” 

“It’s still haunted, Bucky,” you chastise. “That doesn’t always mean ghosts. Maybe it could mean orbs. Or shadow people, like from the hospital–”

“Not a thing.”

The clock creaked and groaned, the hands inching forward, their motion sluggish and uneven, as if the gears hadn't been properly oiled in years. With every tick, a loud whine echoed through the tower, vibrating the air in the otherwise silent room.

“Ooh, maybe we’ll find our doppelgangers.” Your eyes shine. “What would you do with yours?”

“Nothing.” Steve met another version of himself once and immediately beat the shit out of it, if that was anything to go by.   

“Not even a date?”

His eyebrows knit together, eyes creasing. “Why would I date my doppelganger?”

“Who’s gonna know you better than yourself? But the more important question is, would you fu–”

The noise from the clock grows more intense with a final, desperate groan before it comes to a jarring halt. 

The ticking stops abruptly, leaving an unnatural silence hanging in the air. The hands remain frozen at 9. 

Both of you are left staring at a now defunct clock. 

“Clock died ‘cause of your stupid question,” Bucky comments, voice dry. 

“Just say you don’t like modern philosophy and go.” 

“Oh I’m going alright. Two hours and all we’ve gotten footage of is stairs, trash and a washout Big Ben.”

“Don’t insult Kinley Clock Tower like that,” you scold. “You’re gonna piss it off and it’s gonna haunt us for the rest of our days.”

Bucky gives you a flat look. “By doing what.”

“Showing you the wrong time wherever you go.”

“Devastating,” Bucky responds, not sounding fazed in the slightest. “Right, so nothing haunted here?”

“Maybe it’s haunted by the failure of proper clock maintenance.”

Bucky’s eyes sweep across the largely empty room one last time. “Other than that toolbox, place’s empty. Chalk this one up to bullshit and let’s go.”

You let out a deep sigh at the thought of a wasted evening. “Fine, but that means we have to find another idea for a video.”

“Use one of the reserves.”

“We’re gonna have to, if we can’t find anything by tomorrow.”

Bucky’s heavy footsteps echo through the staircase. “That is a problem for tomorrow-you to deal with.”

You let out a scoff, following behind. “Tomorrow-us.”

“No,” he replies thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I got it right.”

Whatever. You counted tonight as a win the second you managed to get Bucky out of the compound without having to lie out of your ass. He even threw in a Google search worth of research. And he even told you the batteries on the cameras were all charged. Small steps for a regular co-host, big step for Buckykind everywhere. 

The elevator stops at his floor and he gets out, sending you a two finger wave on his way out. 

Should I walk you to your door?” you throw in at the last minute, the makings of a smile on your face. 

Bucky casts you an indignant look. “Why?”

“Chivalry, baby.” You grin, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Didn't they literally invent it in your era?”

Bucky flips you the finger instead, not bothering to dignify you with a response. Your laughter subsides as the elevator closes on you with a ding.

Bucky sees a faint light in the hallway, and figures Steve’s slightly ajar door is its source. In between trudging back to his bedroom, he drops a quick knock on it.

“Come in,” Steve calls, voice deep from the sleepiness starting to set in. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies from the doorway. “Shoot got done early.”

“Where’d you go?” he asks, laying down his book beside him. 

“Kinley Tower,” Buck stands with his arms pulled over his chest, leaning against the doorway. “Place was a dud. Nothing to see.”

“What about other things?” Steve asks, curious but still casually indirect. “How was it?” 

Bucky shrugs. “The same. Bounced right back, like nothing ever happened.” 

“You still don’t know what Nat was talking about?” 

“No,” Bucky replies, scratching the back of his neck, before hesitantly saying, “Should I be asking? I don’t know if we’re-- y’know.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re friends by now, Buck.” Steve smiles briefly. “Wouldn’t hurt to check in.”

Well, Steve may be sure, but Bucky wasn’t. Then again Steve only had 1 best friend for over a hundred years until he met Sam, so how the fuck would he know. 

Still, Bucky gives a curt nod, glancing around Steve’s room for any notable changed but coming up empty handed. 

“You wanna tell me why there’s several charges on my card for tarot websites?” Steve picks up his book again, thumbing through the pages.

“Wasn’t me,” Bucky grunts. 

“Seems a bit suspect after you did an episode on witchcraft,” Steve speaks without lifting an eye from his book. “Could just be me though.”

It catches him by surprise. “You watch our episodes?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Yes? Every last one.”

“Oh,” Bucky mumbles, finding everything else in the room infinitely more interesting all of a sudden. 

“Looks like it’s doing you some good,” Steve continues, turning back to his novel. “It’s nice to see you out and about.”

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Bucky gives him a look that could be seen as peeved if the blond hadn’t known him for as long has he had been alive.

Steve hides a smile. “Nothing. Left some apples on your nightstand. Eat it if you’re hungry.”

It forces Bucky to try to catch onto Steve's train of thought. Sure you hung out occasionally after work, but it wasn’t like you were hanging out on a friends basis. Bucky definitely would know if you were, because it would be a laborious task to even get him to consider leaving his bedroom. A thousand elephants would not be able to make him go do things that friends do. 

So he stares at him for another whole minute waiting for a follow up, a clarification, but Steve makes no other comment, only turning the page of his novel. 

Bucky finally leaves silently, shutting the door behind him.

Sure enough, there are apples and a fork on his nightstand. They were good too, crisp like Steve had gotten them from the market just today.  

By eleven Bucky’s already in bed, eyes straining as he watches this woodworking guy on YouTube teach him how to make a dovetailed box. For no reason. And just because he heard Sam mention offhand that he needed a place for all his keys doesn’t mean Bucky was making it for him.  

From: co-host 

how about we take a road trip down to washington to go meet my dear friend

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

what friend

From: co-host 

mr quatch himself

From: co-host  

first name ‘sas’

From: co-host

i’m talking about bigfoot

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

yeah i got it 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

when 

From: co-host

well we’d have to start at 4am

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

fuck no

From: co-host

How about Sunday 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)how about something within a 5 mile radius 

​​From: co-host

How about your mom

Bucky switches his phone all the way off and tosses it onto the bed beside him, smothering his face into the pillow. 

He’d deal with your nonsense tomorrow. 

And probably fill the gas tank for a trip to Washington. 

Bucky’s eyes snap open when the cold air hits his face. He keeps his window shut all the way,every single night. 

He blinks several times before his eyes adjust to the darkness of his surroundings. 

“Bucky?” a disembodied voice comes from beside him.

His head whips to the side, making him realise that one, he was standing, and two, he had no idea how long he’d been standing for. 

Only, he finds you next to him, looking disoriented like you’d just been shaken awake from a nap.

“Where the hell–” your voice trails off as you take note of where you’d landed up. 

In front of him, mechanical gears whine as they scrape against each other in a desperate attempt to move.

He peers down at his clothes; the same black t-shirt, jacket and cargo pants he distinctly remembers changed out of nearly an hour ago. 

“What the fuck,” Bucky snaps. “Did you bring us back here?”

“No,” you say, face rigid, solemn. “I swear I didn’t. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Bucky’s shoulders loosen. “No, I was asleep.”

The wind rustles by, and everything looks exactly the same as when you left it nearly 3 hours ago. 

“We’re back at Kinley,” he tests it, taking a step forward. “What just happened?”

“This is weird, right?” you put forth, clearing your throat. “I definitely was going to send you a text about the next video idea, and the next thing I know you’re in front of me. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Bucky pinches the inside of his arm. The skin comes back red and stinging.

“No, it’s real,” he murmurs. “Unless this is a weird fuckin’ dream that I’m having.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you showed up in his dreams either. He just doesn’t remember any of them being so… vivid. 

“I’m in the physical realm, I can feel that,” you talk so quietly it’s like you’re speaking to yourself. “It’s not your dream. I’m here too.”

He checks his phone. 

9:05. 

Bucky opens up his messages, finding none from you tonight. His YouTube history similarly didn’t have the video he was watching earlier today.

Bucky clenches his fists and releases them, before taking a deep inhale. “Okay. We just had a strange fuckin’ flash forward into the future because of… I don’t know what. But we never left, and now we’re going home.”

“Yep.” You nod in confirmation, but the camera levitating behind you wobbles with uncertainty. “So– do we recreate what happened or…?”

“No, let's just leave,” Bucky debates, running a hand through his hair. 

You take a step towards the stairs, holding onto the bannister as you make your way down. 

Bucky holds up the flashlight of his phone as he follows, throwing another look behind him. 

“Having a shared flashforward… could say it’s soulmate shit,” you give him a quick glance, but the grin on your face is unsure, and he knows you’re trying to shake it off. 

“It’s a carbon monoxide shit.” 

“You can be carbon mine-oxide.” 

Bucky wordlessly shoves past you as he walks down the stairs, leaving you to follow with another stupid laugh. 

The car ride back brings with it some air of normalcy, so does the elevator ride. 

Bucky once again gives you a two finger wave as he gets down at his floor. 

“Offer’s still there if you want me to walk you to your room,” you call. “I may be delirious, but I’m still chivalrous.”

“Go to sleep,” Bucky carps, shaking his head, banishing the slight lift in the corner of his mouth. 

The faint light in the hallway makes him falter. 

He sticks his head in anyway. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey,” Steve smiles from his bed, book in hand. “You’re back.”

Bucky glances around the room. “Did we talk earlier today?”

“Only when you texted me for my Netflix password.” 

“Nothing after that?” Bucky hesitates from asking him outright.

“No. You okay?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Just had a weird dream,” Bucky dismisses, forcing his face to relax. “See you around.”

“Left you some apples if you’re hungry,” Steve calls, as Bucky shuts the door.

He crawls back into bed, eyeing the clock suspiciously. 10:30. 

He closes his eyes, wills himself to sleep, knowing that this glitch in the matrix was only temporary and tomorrow, you’d be at his damn door, forcing him to go to Washington with you. 

Bucky’s eyes fly open when a draft of wind blows past his cheek.

“You’re fucking shitting me,” he growls, taking in the stupid tower again. 

“Well, fuck,” you exhale from beside him, in the same clothes from that evening. “I think we’re stuck in a timeloop.”

Of all the things to happen to him. Has he not suffered enough.

“Fine. Alright,” Bucky recalibrates, voice short, running a hand through his hair. “What now? How do we get out?”

“I don’t know, let me just consult with my vast experience in timeloops.”

He throws you a look so dry it would have crops withering. You don’t seem to care at all. 

“If I had to guess from the movies I’ve seen, we either gotta solve a puzzle or one of us has to reach self-actualisation and turn into a good human,” you postulate, arms on your hips as you survey the room. “We both know it’s not me, so is there anything you want to share with the class?”

If your release was contingent on Bucky working through his issues, you’d be here for a century at least.

“We keep coming back here at midnight,” Bucky elects to focus on other things, tilting his head towards the clock. “Is it because we left at 9 instead of 12?”

“Maybe,” you consider it. “We can stick around, I guess.”

It wasn’t a bad place to start. You’d have to trial-and-error your way out of this one. 

“We’ve got…” he pulls his sleeve back to look at his watch “...two hours and fifty five minutes.”

You shrug. “We can check out the rest of the tower to see if we missed anything.”

“Fine,” he relents slowly as if still weighing his options, only to come up with nothing better. 

The next level is at least a few flights of stairs below and if you thought the room with the clock in it was barren, there was nothing here for you except spiders and dust bunnies.   

“Maybe we have to clean it up,” you suggest, nose scrunching. “Maybe the tower’s super mad that everyone’s disrespecting it.”

“That's a stupid reason.”

You spin around, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Take that back. We just said maybe it doesn't like being disrespected.”

Bucky grumbles a few choice words under his breath, none of which reach your ears. 

There's nothing along the walls of the tower, nor on the ceilings. The intermediary floor and the ground floor come up empty as well. 

By the time you've confirmed that you’ve exhausted all possible leads with nothing to show for it, Bucky’s memorised the layout of the place. 

11:58.

“2 more minutes,” he tells you.

“All right,” you say, rubbing your palms together. “Experiment one. Let's go.”

Bucky keeps his eyes peeled.

11:59.

He doesn't even fucking blink, and neither do you as the seconds count down on his phone. 

12:00. 

He exhales, looking up. 

A cold wind blows past his face. 

When he hastily looks back at his phone, it reads 9pm once more. 

“Damn it,” you curse softly. 

Bucky’s growing anger resonates in a rumble in chest. “What kind of twisted shit is this?”

“It's fine,” you hold your hand up, breathing out. “I have a few more ideas.”

Bucky carelessly gestures for you to go on, and you point at the big clock.

“That thing stopped working at 9,” you hint. “We'll have to fix it. Get it working again and then we go back.”

“You know anything about fixing clocks?”

“I worked at a toy shop near a watchmaker once,” you offer. “That's gotta count for something.”

“What the hell, sure,” Bucky gives up, throwing his arms up. 

He only had experience taking apart the old leather strapped wrist watch his parents got him for his 11th birthday, and Steve’s pocket watch that he inherited from his asshole dad. He’d dismantle it carefully, methodically piece by piece, learning the insides and out of each device, so that if and when they stopped running, he'd know exactly what was wrong just by holding it up to his ear.

That didn't necessarily transfer here, but it couldn't be all that different.

Turns out it's very different and you both had to resort to watching several videos before you even began to attempt to fix it. 

He retreats the toolbox from the corner, grateful that at least you didn't have to waste a good half hour going looking for tools to fix a fuckin’ clock.

“There's no signs of life in the mechanism,” you say, reading from the phone. “So I guess we start with the most basic shit.” 

He only lets out a noise in acknowledgement, before you both spend time dusting away at gears and checking for broken parts. When nothing seems bent or misaligned, you move onto the next step. 

And that's when the fun actually starts. 

“That’s not how you oil a gear.”

“Sure it fuckin’ is,” Bucky comments, careful making sure the grease reaches every nook and cranny.

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Bucky doesn't take his eyes off the machine, and instead raises his left hand up, clenching it into fist and releasing it, leaving the soft shifting of all the plates to prove his point. 

You scoff. “What, just ‘cause you have a metal arm you're the world’s leading expert in oiling mechanics?”

“It means I’ve got some experience in taking care of them.” 

“I’ve seen you put that thing in the dishwasher, don’t even try with me,” you warn. 

Busted. He usually got away with lying flagrantly about his arm, but apparently you pay attention to him and the fact that the Wakandan tech only required a wipedown every once and a while. 

“I do woodwork, I know how to oil things,” he switches seamlessly over to the next lie. 

The tools rarely needed any maintenance and he really didn't have to do much with them yet, considering how high quality they were. But he has an idea of what he could be doing, and that's what counts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “How come you’ve never made anything for me?”

“I don’t like you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Bucky continues squeezing oil into axles without sparing you a glance. “What do you want?”

“What can you make?”

“Boxes.”

“Make me a box then.”

“No.”

“Bitch.”

Bucky smiles to himself, turning the gears to see them move smoothly.

You dust off cobwebs from the pendulums to get it swinging again, you use your powers to stare at the crank until it rotates on its own to wind up, and to the best of your estimation, make sure the weights are raised to the right heights. 

The whole affair takes nearly 3 hours and towards the end, the both of you are hurriedly rushing through the motions, placing aside the need to argue to just get the damn thing done in time. At some point, telekinesis keeps the pendulum swinging. 

“Did you check everything?”

“Yes.”

“Everything.”

“Yes, Bucky.” you sigh. “All major pieces are working. The clock should move.”

Proof of your word, the clock starts ticking again. It goes from 9:00 to 9:05 without any hitches, and then continues on without interference. 

“Hell yeah,” you cheer and Bucky heaves a sigh of relief.

“Come on,” he urges under his breath, checking his phone again.

2 minutes to go.

“I love the passage of time,” you state unnaturally loudly. “I've never been more grateful for the passage of time.”

“Don't jinx this.”

1 more minute.

“That's not jinxing, it's good lu-”

Bucky feels a cold breeze swipe across his cheek. 

He inhales sharply. 

“Fuck.” Your stomach drops to the ground. 

In the blink of an eye, everything you'd managed to get done in the last 3 hours had gone right back to the way it had been. Dusty, unmoving and dull. 

Bucky robotically checks the time on his phone. 

9pm.

His fingers rub his temples. “What's the next plan?”

“We must have not done it right,” you reason quietly, taking a step towards it. “Something's wrong.”

“The thing was moving, I think we got it,” Bucky sighs irritatedly. 

“Well, we gotta try again,” you turn to him sharply. “You don't have to be here but I'm gonna do it.”

Bucky raises both his eyebrows at you, and you stare back with equal determination. 

“Fine,” he forgoes. “I'll look downstairs.”

It takes less time this time around. It gives you half an hour to check if it is moving again, and you watch the hands move from 9 to 9:05 to 9:20 with no problem.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time turning the intermediate room inside out in search for other clues. 

When he finds nothing there, he trudges back to the clock, finding you fingers crossed but confident that you'd done it.

“This is it, baby,” you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We're getting out of this.”

“Here's to hoping,” he says in a tone that lets you know he isn’t convinced, watching his timer countdown from 30 seconds.

“No hoping. There's nothing to do. We're leaving,” you declare. “I've never seen a clock work more beautifully in my life.” 

Three.

Two.

One.

Bucky holds his breath. 

And a wind blows past his face.

The machine resets to the way it was. 

“All fuckin’ right,” Bucky mumbles, expiring a breath deeply. 

“It's fine,” you say, forcing a smile. “I've got a few more ideas.”

Cleaning the floors doesn't work. 

Reading up about the clock tower in  detail and honouring its legacy in an earnest ceremony doesn't work. 

Fixing it for a third time doesn't work either.

“I'm takin’ a nap,” he informs, back against the wall. “I'll deal with this shit again when I wake up.”

“How can you even think about sleeping right now?” you ask, using your powers to pull the damn clock out of the wall. It changes nothing.

“I've thought about sleeping through much worse,” he grumbles, eyes closed. 

“I'm beginning to think you have an iron deficiency.”

“Literally a supersoldier.”

“Vitamin D deficiency,” you revise. “Can you step into the sun or do you just like, start hissing and burning?”

“We’ve never gonna find out, ‘cause we’re never making it out of tonight,” he hums, eyes closed. 

You go still, clock hovering mid air. 

“You don't think we're getting out?”

“I think we're fucked,” Bucky mumbles, yawning as he makes himself as comfortable as old wooden floors would allow him to be. “Y’told me yourself, we tried all the big plans. There's no puzzle. We're trapped.”

The clock lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

“Careful,” he warns, wondering how cozy the floor would be if he just slid down and laid there. “Wouldn't wanna break the fuckin’ thing that put us in this mess to begin with.”

“Fuck,” you breathe out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bucky opens one eye to peer at you. “What?”

“What do you think, Bucky?” you fire back. “We’re stuck in a timeloop for eternity because we’ve tried the most obvious options and we’re still here.”

“Could be a lot cleaner, but this ain’t the worst place to get stuck for the rest of your life,” he tempts, arms crossed behind his head, feeling a dull strain in his neck. 

“We’re gonna be stuck here forever,” you say, dawning horror in your inflection. “I’m gonna be stuck with you for the rest of eternity.”

“So much for chivalry,” he says wryly.

“We need a new plan,” you digress hectically from the other side of the room. 

“Here's one. I get some sleep, order some pizza in the next loop or two and–”

“No.”

“Fine, Thai works too. Whatever. Then we-”

“You don’t get it,” you snap abruptly. “Jesus Christ, this is literally my worst fucking nightmare. Either help or leave.”

He pries both eyes open at the sudden shift in your tone. He’s used to you snapping at him for his bullshit, and the favour was usually reciprocated, but not like this.  

Your back is turned to him, but he can tell you’re breathing heavily as you check out the new gap you've created in the wall where the clock was, before turning around and lifting the entire machine in the center of the room. 

“Hey,” he calls, voice gruff, slowly pushing himself off the floor. 

You throw him a look, continuing to move pieces of newspaper and tools and check under it. 

He watches you curse under your breath, lifting things too high and dropping them down a little too hard without flinching even once. 

“Look,” he tries again, a little louder. 

You flip the machine upside down, fully intending on taking it apart and putting it back together as if it was going to make a big difference.

“Grab the wrench. Or don't, I don't give a–”

Bucky grips your shoulder with a call of your name. It’s enough to get you to pause from sheer surprise at how close he suddenly positioned himself, considering it was a well known fact that Bucky hated people in his space. 

“Listen to me. We’re going to get out of here,” he instructs, voice much more muted than you were used to. “But you have to calm down.”

You take in a deep breath, before it leaves in a shaky exhale. Whatever you’ve got levitating gently drops onto the ground.

“You’re panicking. I would be too if I wasn’t dead inside,” he notes, hands still on your shoulder firmly. “Do whatever you need to to get it out of your system. It’ll be easier to focus after that. We'll be out of here soon enough.”

“You seem awfully sure.” Your mouth curls into a half smile, but it drops as quickly as it came up. 

“We’ll figure something out.” His shoulders rise and fall. “Got all the time in the world.”

You swallow the thickness in your throat, giving him a small nod.

“‘M sorry,” he says, eyes intense, and you know he’s talking about the nonchalance he showed earlier. “I was bein’ a prick.” 

“Honestly, you being a prick is, like, the most normal part about this.”

“...thanks.” 

“It’s fine, I could use some normal.” You brush it off with a slight smile. “You’re right. We should get some food. I’m hungry.”

“Alright,” he says, eyeing your features for a second more. “But you’re buying. Payback for making me clean up every floor twice.”

“Prick.”

His conversation with Steve from earlier that night comes back to him, the same time you take another breath to shake off the antsiness. 

Bucky lifts a eyebrow to look more natural. “You still sure it’s me who needs self-actualisation? ‘Cause it sure seems that you’ve got a whole lot to talk about.”

You half-scoff, half-laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’ve got issues?”

“Just using your words.”

You watch him for a second, like you’re thinking about saying something. He tilts his head at how contemplative you look, only for you to open your mouth and ask,

“Say, do you think emotional baggage is hot?” you wiggle your brows. “‘Cause if you do, I’ve got a whole lot of it.”

He groans out loud, neck craning as his head drops back. 

“Also,” you pose a bit more curiously, “you gonna let go of me any time soon or are we about to slow dance?”

Bucky’s hands immediately drop from your shoulder, taking a step back. “Fuck off.”

“I could, but I’d just respawn here in three hours.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a bit relieved that you looked a lot less in distress. 

You'd spent two loops doing a deep dive into timeloops, coming up with more possibilities to try out.

Leaving the building at each hour did nothing. 

You spent 1 loop eating dinner and reaching out to scientists you knew on how to break out. Those who replied either said they weren't real, told you stuff you'd already figured out, or blocked you.

You even spent half a loop painstakingly combing through footage from earlier in the night to figure out if you'd fucked with anything by mistake that you were yet to correct, not noticing it so far because it had been so minor or mundane. 

“Oh shit, I just noticed something,” you gape, pointing at the screen

Bucky pulls the little monitor closer to his face. “What?”

“You’re looking at me so much in these,” you remark, voice relaxing immediately. “What's up with that?” 

“Maybe because you’re the only one talking,” Bucky fires back, irritatedly putting the camera back down, “and it’s not like there’s anything else to look at here.”

“So defensive,” you comment. “Just say you think I’m cute and move on.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut me up yourself, coward.”

To be clear, Bucky didn't realise he was looking at you that much. And now that you’ve pointed it out, he can’t really argue because he is doing it a lot more than he realised he was, even unconsciously sometimes. 

“How many more timeloops till you run out of these lines?” he questions instead.

“How many more timeloops till you stop being a handsome son of a bitch?”

The clock tower may be cold, but he feels too warm all of a sudden. 

“I swear, if this doesn’t work, I’m throwing the clock out the window,” you say, powers forcing the hands to speed through every hour and second at 2x speed. 

Bucky doesn’t even look up at you from over his phone. “You throw it, you’re fixing it again.”

You stop trying to spin the hands when one of them creaks. 

A few loops in and the growing frustration from the both of you manifests into tension that is palpable. 

You'd spent a loop or two outside the tower so you didn't drive yourself insane. Without fail, you'd end up right back up watching the clock every single time the world outside struck 12.

Bucky’s done his fair share of attempts. Jacket on, jacket off. Holding the camera, being the one who led into the room, the one who led out. 

Mainstream movies, obscure movies, video essays, podcasts. 

“I don’t fuckin’ get it. What are we missing?” you pour over the options again, frustrated. “We’ve done everything. We’ve done combinations of things.”

“There’s something we’re missing,” he says, staring at the moon through the face. “Some detail.” 

It's not like you can physically keep track of every variable. Everything resets the second it strikes 12, no matter what you changed. 

“I think–” 

He sends you a glance.

“Maybe if we–” you try before you stop altogether.  

Bucky just stays quiet because at this point you've exhausted every option you can think of, to no avail. 

He knows you don't want to say it. 

But it's time you start accepting that you're well and truly stuck. 

“Should write Maya an email,” he tells you. “Tell her we quit.”

You give him a smile, knowing it would never even make its way to her.

Still, you pull out your phone and let Bucky peek over your shoulder as you start typing, helpfully suggesting curses as you went. 

____

You absentmindedly tinker with the machine, able to take it apart, fix it and put it back together by heart and in no time now.

“What was the last mission you guys did?” you inquire, rotating a gear between your fingers. 

“Something small,” Bucky replies, voice steady. “Think it was just a recon in Detroit.”

“Do you miss it?” 

“No,” he says resolutely. “Everyone got tired of them a long time ago, but we stick around, just in case.”

You spare him a glance. “When was the last time you actually relaxed?”

Bucky considers it for a second. “Wakanda. Wasn't exactly a vacation though.” 

“New question. When was the last time you went on vacation?”

He raises an eyebrow, head twisting to look at you. 

You place the gear in its place before picking up the oil dropper. “Don’t answer if you don’t wanna.”

He turns his head back to the ceiling, and all the spider webs lining it. 

“Couple of years before I got drafted, my family took a day trip to Convey Island.” he reveals, voice low. “We were supposed to hit as many rides as we could but my sister was aboslutely fuckin’ taken by this damn steam engine they had running. Everyoe got sick of it after the second time so I stuck around with her. Must’a ridden that thing 5 times before she finally let up.” 

You have half a smile on your face. “Did you like it?”

He can't really remember. He can't even remember if the rest of his family was actually there, or whether it was just him and Steve and Becca, or it was just him and Becca.

“I liked that she liked it,” he decides.

You nod, wiping a gear before putting it back, snickering lightly.  “Was the last vacation you took really in the 1930s?” 

He exhales a laugh. “Steve and I went to the Canyon once. It was near a mission location. He told me I'd been dyin’ to go there as a kid. I don't remember that, but he fuckin’ dragged me there by the collar. Not sure if that really counts– we were both bleeding pretty heavy for it to be a real holiday.”

“Steve would say it counts.”

“Steven’s never taken a vacation in his life.” Bucky snorts. “I don't think he physically knows how to relax.”

“I don't think I've ever seen that man sit still for more than a few minutes.”

“Fuckin' rich coming from you. How many jobs have you had? A million?”

You exhale a laugh. “Something like that.”

You push the pendulum with your finger, watching it swing back and forth. 

“Where’d you stick the longest?” Bucky asks, hands supporting his head as he lies on the ground. 

You take a second to think, picking up a gear you’d already cleaned, wiping it down again.

“When I just got out of Leviathan, I used to wait tables for this elderly lady who ran a bakery. Mrs. Mullens,” you say finally. “She was kinder than anyone else I'd met till then; gave me leftovers that didn’t get sold that day, and enough money to get on my feet. I must've been there, what, a year? Year and a half? I think that’s the longest I’ve stayed.” 

“Why’d you quit?” He does his best to not sound too intrusive. 

“One evening she slipped keys into my pocket and told me I could stay in the room above the cafe if I wanted. Realised I’d been there too long, so I left the state the next morning.”

Bucky’s eye twitches as he turns to look at you. “She gave you a place to stay and you skipped town?”

“Yeah.” You half-shrug. “Staying in a place too long feels– suffocating. I don’t know. Just knew it was time to leave.”

Bucky looks at you strangely, mind inadvertently trying to piece together a bunch of information. 

Working on a hunch, he tests, “You got family out there somewhere?”

“I was literally created in a lab,” you deadpan. “I don’t have a family. Unless you count test tubes.”

“It doesn't have to be mean literally.” He arches an eyebrow. “What about Nat?”

“Nat’s a friend.” you disclose, holding a cog up to check for any stains, “The Avengers aren’t my family the same way they are for you. They’re great, but it’s just another job.”

Oh. 

“Right,” he says, settling back into his position, feeling a frown on his face.

“I haven’t really found what you’re asking me about,” you add, and he knows you're trying to be kind.

He isn't sure what he thought the team was to you. He isn't sure what he feels about the new information either.

“What’s it feel like?”

“What?” he asks distractedly. 

“Having people like that,” you clarify. “Maybe if I know what it feels like I’ll know when it happens.”

You’ve all but asked the most emotionally constipated man on earth what family feels like to him.

So reasonaly, Bucky blanks. 

Literally every single interaction with the dead and the living exits his mind. 

And so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, 

“Silent blenders.” 

And then he cringes. 

“Is that the name of a movie or…” you trail off.

“No. They got me blenders that don’t make a sound. It was a nice gift,” he mumbles. 

You wait for him to provide even a little more context. He instead shifts uncomfortably. 

“Okay,” you allow, looking back down. “Silent blenders. Got it.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second more, and his head starts throbbing.

Instead, he dodges. “Guess you’re not gonna stick around for too long then, huh?”   

“Well, yeah,” you answer, like it was the easiest thing in the world.  “I was always going to just bounce after this was done. I thought you knew that.”

“Right,” he repeats. “Where you headed next?”

“Who knows?” you mull over. “I could go anywhere. You got any reccs?”

He doesn’t really have an answer for you. Bucky can’t imagine packing up and leaving again. Living life never knowing when he can finally take a seat. He’s spent so long wrestling with the turbulence of having multiple identities that he clings to what little semblance of stability he can find.

But a tiny voice in the recess of his mind whispers to him that maybe the reason he's stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you can’t. 

He has a half formed hypothesis. And then soon comes to the conclusion that he really has no business deriving theories about you like that… but he’d be lying if he said he didnt store it in his head for later. 

He also doesn't know why there's a strange churning in his stomach, a deeply uncomfortable feeling that he hasn't really felt in years. It makes him want to get up and leave. 

“Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gonna leave eventually doesn’t mean we’re not friends.” You snap him out of his first great attempt to understand human emotions other than annoyance. 

He hums. “I wouldn't call us that.” 

“You’re right, we’re star crossed lovers.”

“I feel bad for the next person who has to deal with you.”

You laugh, swinging the pendulum into motion and wiping your hands down. 

You’d taken turns sleeping in two of the time loops, keeping watch while the other rested for a while.

Only when you're asleep does Bucky fully comprehend how quiet it is in there. 

The clouds cover the moon. The floorboards don't make much noise even as he walks around.

He's lost track of how many 9pms it's been. 

He doesn't know why it’s lingering in his mind like this. Probably because he had only thought of her a couple of hours ago. 

He knows you suggested it as a joke but he can't help but wonder.

What if it was actually him keeping the both of you here?  

He really thought he'd made amends. He'd been living as peacefully as he was able to. And yeah, he's a dick, but he wasn't outright evil.

Or so he thought.

Maybe he hadn’t repented as hard as he’d needed to. 

“Becks,” he calls quietly. “If you can hear me– I'm sorry.”

No one responds. You don't stir. 

He forces himself to exhale and continue, “I know you'd hate what I turned into, but I'm tryin’ here. I promise.”

He wishes a damn piece of paper would give him a sign on what to do, or at least tell him there was no coming back. That he should probably resign himself to his fate. 

“You should've had someone who coulda shielded you. Given you a chance to be a kid.” He swallows down the stone in his throat. “I know you're mad, Peanut. I'm really fuckin’ sorry. You deserved a whole lot better.” 

And then he waits, and waits some more, ears straining for anything– a giggle, a scrape. He doesn't know what he expected, but he gets nothing. 

Only a draft blows through the window. 

A shiver runs through you, and you curl into yourself, but thankfully you still don't wake. Bucky has no idea how he’d explain this to you anyway. 

Still, he quietly makes his way towards you, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across you carefully, watching as you relax again.

He blows out an exhale, watching the minutes tick by. 

“Do you think we’re gonna get old here or do we reset every time the loop resets?” you ask aloud.

“Our clothes kept regenerating with us, so I guess we keep resetting too.”

You hum. “Damn, we can’t even grow old together.”

Bucky adds nothing, only turning to you with a deadpan expression.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” he counters. “No old person jokes this time?”

“There’s no fun if you're expecting it,” you sigh.

“Incredible,” he replies, monotonous. 

There’s silence. He hears wind rustle through the room. 

You sit up, and he can feel your eyes boring into him. 

“What?” he asks again.

“Does it upset you?” you ask somberly. “When I make those jokes?”

“No,” he replies. “They’re fine.”

“And when I keep using pickup lines on you– does that make you uncomfortable?” you continue, however, much to his surprise. 

He turns to you with his eyebrows lowered. “Since when does that matter?”

“It matters,” you say quietly. “I knew it annoyed you, I didn’t know they made you uncomfortable.” 

He stares at you for a long while, before settling on, “They don’t.”

“Sure?”

“I don’t care.” He looks ahead. “I’ll tell you if they do.” 

“Okay,” you relent. “If you say so.”

He shakes his head, feeling a strange sort of feeling settle in his chest. He can’t say he hates it, but he would rather not deal with it.

“Bein’ in here’s making you weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “The fuck does that mean?”

“You know what it means,” he asserts. 

“I’m being totally normal, you’ve just refused to hang out with me so you wouldn’t know what that is.”

“I see you every week.” 

“For video shoots.”

“We hang out otherwise,” he scoffs, suddenly feeling very offended. “We literally went to the store the other day.”

“To buy batteries,” you emphasize. “For the video shoots.”

“We’ve gone to the park,” he exclaims, sitting up. “And we eat lunch together sometimes. And we watched that stupid fuckin’ movie in theatres at midnight twice because you lied the second time and told me it was another one – what was it called? Metropolis?”

“Megalopolis,” you say, amused at his outburst. 

“That. Garbage fuckshit. And we’ve taken the cat–”

“Alpine.”

“I know her name,” he hisses. “To the vet. And that’s all in the last month.”

“Jeez, you keep a journal every time we hang out? What are you, obsessed with me?” you ask, trying to bite back a shit-eating grin. 

“Point is,” he grits. “We hang out.”

Fuck. Turns out, maybe Steve was right.

“Tomato, tomahto,” you dismiss. “You’re so obsessed with details. You could’ve just said you’re in love with me and moved on instead of bringing out the whole Excel sheet of every minute we spent together.”

“I hate you,” he groans, dropping back down.

You laugh. It makes the corner of his mouth curl up, just a little.  

“What’s the time?” he asks, blowing out an exhale from his nose.

“Like 11:30?,” you sigh.

“That’s all?” He wants to groan again. 

“Does it matter? We’re stuck here forever. We can get more takeout in the next loop.”

“You’re paying.”

“I paid last time, asshole.”

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Tomato, tomahto.” 

“Touché.” 

You spin a gear in the air, waiting for the hour to pass.

It suddenly hits him. Something that you'd shown across episodes of witchcraft and haunted hospitals. 

Something you showed literally three minutes ago. 

If this worked, he’d probably hug you and your stupid, chaos incarnate self.  

“Come on, let’s get this clock fixed,” he grumbles, getting back up on his feet. 

“What?” 

“I think you’re right,” he says, sticking his arm out to help you up. 

“Huh?” you blink at him. “I know the footage is gonna get erased again, but I need you to say that into the camera once for me. And state that you’re of sound mind and body while you’re at it.”

He sends you a look. “Come on.”

“I fixed it already, Bucky.”

“What’s the time?” He ignores you.

“Nearly 12,” you tell him, checking your phone. 

“Need you to be precise.”

“Why?”

“Humour me,” he says calmly. “Details are for losers, remember?”

“11:57 and 32 seconds.”

He manually winds the big arm up, the short hand still following. Until the seconds ticker matches the time you were calling out, down to the last second.

“What are you doing?” you enquire curiously, peeking over his shoulder.

“Making it match real time,” he tells you. “Properly.”

He checkes gears and pushes pendulums and everything works like it’s brand new. You’d gotten real good at this. 

“11:59 and 43 seconds,” you call.  

Bucky closes his eyes, forcing his breath to remain steady. It’s the first time that evening he’s had more than a sliver of hope. 

“57 seconds,” you say quietly, voice tired. 

And then there's silence. 

He doesn't have the energy to open his eyes and find the machinery back to scraps. 

But eventually he does. And when he opens it again, you’re still standing there, near the machine. Not the entrance of the room. 

The clock reads 12:02.

He turns to you, calmly saying, “Let’s get out of here.”

The drive back home is silent, apprehensive with tension tight as a stretched rubber band. Like if you breathed too hard, you'd find yourself back in the dark room. 

You step in the elevator together, pressing the buttons for your floor and his. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s the fear or the fact that you've now spent several hours together when time didn’t make sense, but the ride up is slower than usual. 

Bucky stands with his back pressed to the wall of the elevator, eyes closed, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“It never occured to me,” your voice is quiet. “It’s the one thing I didn’t think of because I was so focused on getting out.”

“Didn't think of it either.” Bucky’s shoulders shrug, eyes closed. “Not your fault.” 

“Kinda is.”

“I would've realised earlier if I paid attention,” he counters. 

You stare at him. 

“Are you done or should I keep going?”

You blow out an exhale. “This game sucks.”

“Don't play this shit with me. It's the one thing I'm good at.”

The elevator dings, creeping open on his floor.

He stays right where, back pressed against the wall, unmoving. 

“It's your floor,” you inform.

“I know.”

The door waits a few seconds before it closes.

It finally reaches your floor, opening with a bright ding. 

He watches you step out, casting an unsure look towards him.

You gesture awkwardly, “Do you need anything?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes still closed. 

“What are– oh,” you stop all of a sudden. “Is this your way of walking me to my door?”

Bucky’s face doesn’t betray any expression. “See you later.”

You fight a smile, raising two fingers to give him a wave. 

He gives you a small nod as the door closes on him, reaching forward to press the button to his floor again.

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Next part

[ambrosiagourmet]

In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (11)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 11 - 50/50

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 12

PREV : Chapter 10

You brought your fingertips to your lips, tracing the delicate, swollen skin. The warmth of his kiss lingered there, a memory etched so vividly that it made your cheeks flush every time you thought about it. Ever since that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Young-il’s gaze. Embarrassment bloomed every time you saw even the faintest glimpse of him.

You’d spent some time trying to understand it. Why had he kissed you? Was it to take your mind off everything you’d seen him do to Min-jae? The thought made you pause. It was a caring gesture, or perhaps a manipulative one. Either way, it had worked. It had calmed you. The kiss pulled your thoughts away from his ruthless act. Whether intentional or not, his actions had eased the storm inside you.

The third game was over, and you descended the labyrinthine stairs again. The line of players moved slowly. At the very front of your group were the mother and her son Yong-sik. Just behind them was Hyun-ju, her face distraught, with Gyeong-seok walking behind her. Player 333 followed close behind.

Then came Jun-hee. Behind her was Dae-ho, and then Se-mi. Gi-hun tailed behind. You were next, with Young-il just behind you like your shadow. At the very back of the line was Jung-bae.

As you descended, you focused on the steps in front of you, avoiding any accidental glance backward. You couldn’t risk catching Young-il’s eye again. Every time the memory of his lips on yours surfaced, you felt the heat creeping back up your neck like lava.

That’s when Gi-hun glanced over his shoulder and spoke up solemnly, “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”

You blinked at him questioningly as Young-il replied from behind you, “Why?”

“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote,” stated Gi-hun.

You stayed silent as Young-il responded, “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”

You couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting back to Lee Min-jae and his friends. You briefly recalled that they had been among the players who voted for O. The memory of them lingered, but it was overshadowed by the shocking scene you had witnessed. His strength, his ruthlessness. It was unsettling. If he wanted to, you realized, he could probably take down half of the O players without breaking a sweat. The sheer intensity of his combat prowess was terrifying.

I never had the chance to ask him what he did before coming here, you thought. Was he in elite forces or something?

You finally reached the dormitory, and as you stepped inside, you immediately noticed them. Player 333 discreetly yet gently pulled Jun-hee away from the group. Your heart skipped a beat as worry crept in. You observed them from a distance, concerned about the pregnant Jun-hee and whether she might be taken advantage of.

After a few moments of watching them converse quietly between the bunk beds, you relaxed. It seemed innocent enough. Satisfied that Jun-hee was okay, you turned to follow the rest of your group. That was when you noticed Se-mi had strayed away. She walked off from everyone. You wondered why she didn’t stick with your group. For a moment, you considered calling her, but you hesitated. It felt too soon to cross that line; after all, you had only just met her.

“[Your name].”

You heard your name and turned to see Young-il. He had stopped walking with Gi-hun and the others and was now standing a few paces away, waiting for you. A small, warm smile curled his lips, and his face softened as your eyes met.

“Come,” he said simply.

You walked toward him, and together, the two of you headed back to your group’s usual corner. As you walked, Young-il’s left hand lifted, and he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture made you blush, and you stole a sneaky glance at him. You didn’t expect him to be so openly affectionate, even in front of others, especially after his confession. But then again, you hadn’t stopped him, had you?

The two of you reached the corner and immediately noticed a change. Many of the beds had been removed due to the dwindling number of players. Your group’s corner now consisted of stairs leading up to a few remaining beds. Beneath the stairs, a clear space offered an ideal spot for the group to sit around on the floor. Gi-hun and Dae-ho wasted no time claiming it as their own.

As you arrived, you couldn’t help but notice Jun-hee’s absence. She was likely still talking with player 333. Maybe he likes her, you mused to yourself, thinking about how adorable Jun-hee could be.

You and Young-il sat down on the lower bed tucked under the stairs right beside your group's spot. It offered a clear view of your group’s corner. Not long after, Jung-bae rushed back to the spot, ducking under the stairs to join the others.

“Gi-hun,” he began, “there are 55 people who voted in favor of continuing.”

Gi-hun stood straighter. “Are you sure?”

“I counted them twice,” Jung-bae reassured him.

Dae-ho, standing in between them, pointed at the O patch on Jung-bae’s chest. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”

Jung-bae glanced down at his patch, his expression momentarily blank. Then, looking back up at Gi-hun, he said, “It’s 56.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his antics. Dae-ho sighed heavily, closing his eyes as if counting in his mind. “We have 44 people on our side. That means we’re outnumbered by 12.”

Jung-bae leaned his head back in mock despair. “Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again.”

That’s when Young-il stood up from beside you and walked over to the group. “It may seem like a big difference, but if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”

“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho pointed out.

Young-il met his gaze and replied, “They probably won’t change their minds easily.”

“Why not?” Dae-ho asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Everyone’s eyes fixed on Young-il, waiting for his explanation. He didn’t keep them in suspense for long.

“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller,” he said evenly. “Now they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”

Jung-bae spoke up, “I’m going to press X this time. That means we’ll have a tie if five others change their minds. With six more, we win.”

You cast your gaze to the floor, feeling a tiny sense of hopefulness in your heart. You really wanted to leave this place. Young-il’s words made you feel hopeful that maybe… the next voting process would end with a majority of X votes.

You heard Gi-hun say, “Then let’s go over there and try to convince them.”

“No, that’s too risky,” countered the calm Young-il. You brought your gaze back to him. You noticed Gi-hun also staring at him in surprise, not expecting such direct opposition from Young-il. The latter continued, “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”

Gi-hun frowned in displeasure, his voice carrying an edge as he said to Young-il, “So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?”

He paused to take a step closer to Young-il, as if daring him to challenge his view. “What if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”

“I understand how you feel,” responded Young-il. “I also wish I could leave right now. But this is the moment to stay calm.”

You slowly got up from your seat on the bed, feeling the tension rising between these two.

“Stay calm? We’ve already taken a vote twice,” retorted Gi-hun with a scowl. His voice rose slightly as he said, “If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” countered Young-il. He refused to back down. Though he seemed calm, you could detect a hint of frustration in his tone. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”

You, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae stared at them quietly as the unpleasant tension crackled between the two men. Young-il and Gi-hun locked eyes, their glares daring each other to relent and concede their own view.

You hated this kind of argument, especially within a group of close friends like this. Simple disagreements had the potential to spiral into something bigger, risking unnecessary conflict and possibly breaking the group apart. You wanted to stop that from happening.

“Look, Gi-hun,” Jung-bae said softly, trying to diffuse the tension. “I’m too scared to play another game. I’m sure there are more people who feel the same way.”

Dae-ho stepped closer to the two men, his voice calm. “That’s right. If it’s just five or six people, we’ve got a shot. I did the math, and the prize is now over 300 million per person. I think that gives us a pretty good chance.”

It was clear that both Jung-bae and Dae-ho were siding with Young-il. Their reasoning seemed to chip away at the growing tension.

Hoping to help ease the atmosphere further, you added, “Let’s not forget about those we’ve acquainted with recently. Like Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, and Se-mi. They all voted for O before, but after that last game? I don’t think they will want to continue playing.”

Gi-hun and Young-il remained locked in their tense stare, but you noticed the atmosphere had started to shift. The pressure between them lessened slightly, thanks to the combined efforts of Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and your input. The argument hadn’t dissolved entirely, but at least for now, it felt like the group was pulling back from the edge of something worse.

The familiar blaring noise echoed throughout the dormitory. The double doors slid open, revealing the pink-clad guards as usual.

The square guard in the middle stepped forward and announced, “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”

After much announcement, the TV screen finally displayed all the necessary details. There were 100 players remaining. The accumulated prize money stood at an astonishing 35.6 billion won. Distributing all of that equally would mean that each player would earn 356 million won.

Your eyes widened in astonishment as the weight of that number settled in. With that amount, you could finally wipe away your family’s crippling debt and pay off the mounting hospital bills. Now you were more enthusiastic to quit this game, to take the money and leave. You couldn’t bear the thought of risking another game.

Your group, along with the other players, gathered at the far back of the dormitory’s clear center. The square guard’s announcement had concluded, and the guards were now setting up the voting counters.

Standing in the throng of players, you were lost in thought when you heard a familiar voice beside you.

“I’m glad,” Young-il said, his voice calm yet carrying an undertone of sincerity. You turned to him, catching the small smile tugging at his lips. “At this amount, you can pay all of your debts.”

A grin spread across your face as hope bloomed in your chest. “Yeah. Now I want nothing more than to go back home. My little sister must be worried.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you. He seemed curious but hesitant as he asked, “What are you going to do with the remaining millions?”

You looked away briefly, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “I’d use it to give my family a fresh start. My parents have endured so much. They’ve sacrificed so much for us. I’m going to give it all to them.”

Turning back to him, your warm smile deepened. “They deserve it.”

Young-il stared at you for a moment, his small smile growing as a glimmer of admiration flickered in his eyes.

He said softly. “It’s rare to see someone who thinks so selflessly, even in a place like this.”

That’s when a thought crossed your mind, and you glanced up at him, your voice soft and a little hesitant. “Young-il, if we manage to get a majority of X votes and we get to leave… will we still keep in touch?”

Young-il’s lips curved into a subtle smile, and he held your gaze for what felt like an eternity. His expression was calm and thoughtful as if weighing something significant. Then, with a reassuring nod, he said, “Of course. Once we win the majority vote, give me your phone number and address. I’ll contact you.”

Your face lit up with a wide smile, warmth spreading through you. Standing so close to him, it felt like the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you in this quiet moment.

You knew what he had done this morning should be a red flag to you. His capability to kill with such decisiveness and lack of hesitation should have terrified you. Yet, despite it all, your heart betrayed you. This wasn’t just a crush anymore. You were falling for him. For the man who had shown you his strength, his vulnerability, and a side of himself that he seemed to reserve only for you.

Then you heard Jung-bae say to Gi-hun, “356 million. With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds.”

Dae-ho continued, “If we get six more people, it’s a tie. If it’s seven, we win.”

Gi-hun nodded in response. Now that you were looking at them past Young-il, who was standing beside you, you took in your friends’ positions in the crowd. Starting from the far left were you, Young-il, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Gi-hun. Behind you all were Jun-hee, the mother and Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and Gyeong-seok. You noticed the distance between both Young-il and Gi-hun, and it wasn’t hard to discern why. After all, they had come close to arguing moments ago.

“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the guard announced. “Player 456, please cast your vote.”

Gi-hun stepped forward and headed toward the counter. Along the way, the guard reminded, “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward.”

Without hesitation, Gi-hun pressed the X button, emitting a deep beeping noise. He then went to stand in the X zone.

After a few players took their turns, it was finally yours. You sent a glance at Young-il before stepping out of the crowd. When you reached the counter, you pressed the X button decisively and then walked over to stand beside Gi-hun in the X zone.

Next was Jung-bae’s turn. True to his promise, he pressed the X button, replacing the O patch on his chest with the X one. He then went to stand on the other side of Gi-hun.

Right after him came Dae-ho’s turn. He pressed the X button and joined you, standing beside you in the X zone.

The next player was someone you had gotten acquainted with during the last game – Se-mi. You were pleasantly surprised when she stepped up to the counter and pressed the X button. After replacing her O patch with the X one, she headed toward the X zone.

As Se-mi approached, Jung-bae reminded aloud, “Five more.”

Se-mi made her way to the X zone and caught your eye. You gave her a warm smile, which she returned with a friendly smirk before she positioned herself in front of your group.

A few minutes passed, and Jun-hee took her turn. Without hesitation, she pressed the X button. Shortly after, an O player stepped up. She hesitated at the voting counter, glancing between the X and O buttons. Finally, she pressed X. The sound of the deep beeping noise echoed, and Jung-bae and Dae-ho jumped in delight. Dae-ho exclaimed, “It’s four people now. Four more, and we win.”

Next was the mother’s turn. She pressed the X button. Then, another O player, player 125, followed suit, pressing X after a brief pause at the counter. The combined cheers from Dae-ho and Jung-bae echoed through the room. They turned to you and Gi-hun, saying in unison, “With three more people, we win.”

Your heart raced as you watched the process unfold. Young-il had been right. O players were changing their minds, one by one. Your mouth hung slightly open as the realization of leaving this game began to feel more and more tangible. This could be it. You could be free of this nightmare.

Then it was Hyun-ju’s turn. She approached the counter slowly. She stood there, staring at the buttons, her inner turmoil visible to everyone. After a few agonizing moments, she pressed the X button. The sound of the deep beep was like music to your ears. Cheers erupted around you. Dae-ho clapped enthusiastically, while Jung-bae, unable to contain his excitement, threw an arm around Gi-hun in a side hug. You found yourself grinning uncontrollably.

“Only two more now!” reminded Jung-bae, his voice filled with hope.

Hyun-ju replaced her O patch with an X and walked over to the X zone. Her movements were slow, her head hung low. The weight of player 095’s death clearly still lingered heavily on her. As she approached Jun-hee’s side, the mother came to her and gently patted her shoulder, offering silent comfort.

Soon enough, every vote caused either cheers or groans, depending on the outcome. When another O player pressed the X button, the O voters groaned loudly, while the X voters erupted into cheers.

“He switched to X!” effused Jung-bae, his excitement palpable. “That’s six! It’s a tie now! If we get one more person, we win.”

You bounced on the spot in pure delight, earning a pleased glance from Gi-hun. His expression reflected a mix of relief and hope.

Dae-ho, elated yet still astonished, said with a trace of disbelief, “Are we really going home?”

The anticipation mounted as Yong-sik’s turn came. As he approached the counter, Jung-bae couldn’t hold back and asked his mother, “Your son will definitely vote X this time, right?”

The mother nodded reassuringly. “Don’t worry. My Yong-sik will definitely press X this time.”

True to her words, Yong-sik pressed the X button firmly, his determination evident as he immediately ripped off his O patch. The screen updated to [X: 49 | O: 49]. The X zone exploded with cheers, the noise almost deafening. You jumped in happiness, your cheers blending with those around you.

Yong-sik turned to the X zone, proudly displaying his new X patch, and effused, “Let’s go home!”

The cheers from the X voters grew even louder. You felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. Glancing to the back, you counted the remaining unvoters. There were only player 006 and Young-il left. Both already had X patches from the previous vote. You grinned widely, filled with the certainty that these two would solidify the majority and secure your return home.

But then, as player 006 reached the counter, she pressed the O button.

A shocked silence fell over the X zone, quickly replaced by gasps and groans of disbelief. The O zone, however, erupted into cheers like fireworks. You froze, staring in shock as the voting results shifted to [X: 49 | O: 50].

You couldn’t believe it. Everyone in the X zone wore expressions of frustration and disappointment. Your earlier happiness crumbled, replaced by a gnawing dread as the reality of the situation set in.

“Lastly, player 001,” announced the square guard. “Please cast your vote.”

All eyes turned to Young-il. The dormitory fell silent as he began his solemn walk towards the counter. You watched intently, your breath catching in your chest. Dae-ho whisper-called his name, using his hyungnim honorifics. When Young-il glanced his way, Dae-ho raised a supportive fist and said, “Fighting!”

Young-il didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he gave Dae-ho a brief glance before shifting his eyes to you. Your heart thumped in anticipation as he turned his attention back to the front and continued walking. Dae-ho leaned toward Jung-bae, Gi-hun, and you, muttering, “It’s going to be 50/50, so it’s still a tie, isn’t it?”

You nodded slightly, unable to tear your eyes away from Young-il. The tension in the room was almost suffocating. As he reached the counter, he paused, standing silently in front of the buttons. You could see his gaze fixated on the large TV screen above. Seconds stretched for so long as he stared at the screen, his expression unreadable.

What is he thinking? Why hasn’t he pressed the button yet? Your frown deepened as worry gnawed at you. Could he… could he be considering voting for O?

The entire room seemed frozen, holding its collective breath. Young-il finally shifted his gaze to the buttons before him. His hand hovered over them, and the suspense was unbearable. Then, at long last, he pressed the X button. The deep, resonating beep confirmed his choice.

You exhaled loudly, your relief palpable. Around you, the X voters erupted in cheers and applause, their earlier anxiety melting away into joy.

Young-il turned around, his face breaking into a wide smile. He lifted his hand, forming an ‘OK’ sign as he looked directly at your group. He let out a visible sigh of relief and began his walk back to the X zone. The X voters at the front parted to let him through.

You smiled widely at Young-il as he arrived and stood beside you. His wide smile and reassuring nod brought a wave of relief that washed over you. His expression was a stark contrast to the solemn demeanor he had while deliberating in front of the voting counter.

“The vote has ended,” declared the square-masked guard.

“Wait, it’s a tie,” asked player 100, his voice laced with confusion. “What happens now?”

“Clause three of the consent form. In the case of a tie, players will vote again,” reminded the guard.

An X voter raised his hand, his voice breaking the growing murmurs. “So when are we going to vote again?”

“To give you some time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow,” the guard explained. “Until then, please think carefully about your future.”

A mix of sighs and quiet conversations filled the dormitory as players began to process the announcement. Slowly, everyone dispersed from the X and O zones. Disappointment hung heavy in the air, but there was also a sliver of hope. You felt it, too. The tie meant another chance tomorrow, another opportunity to sway the outcome.

Young-il nudged your arm softly, a subtle gesture that snapped you from your thoughts. Without a word, he turned and started walking. You followed him immediately, weaving through the crowd. Your steps took you past Gi-hun, who stood motionless in the middle of the dispersing players, his downcast gaze told you he was lost in a labyrinth of thoughts.

The quietness between you and Young-il as you moved toward your group’s corner was calming. It was as though the weight of the day’s events didn’t feel as heavy when you were walking beside him.

Still, you couldn’t hold back your curiosity and asked with a raised eyebrow, “Why were you taking so long to vote X? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Young-il chuckled softly, his amusement clear. You added with an exaggerated frown, “If you’d voted O, I would scream and die on the spot. That would’ve been my way out of this game.”

He laughed at your dramatic response, the sound warm and light. Glancing at you, he noticed the pout on your face and shook his head gently. He lifted his left hand and caressed the back of your head, brushing your hair as well.

“Sorry,” he said, the smile lingering on his lips. “I was just thinking about something else.”

“What were you thinking about?” you asked immediately.

As the two of you slowed your pace, nearing the corner where your group usually gathered, his gaze shifted around the room purposefully, almost as if looking at every surviving player. Then, his smile faded slightly as he explained, “I was wondering why so many people still insist on staying. They already have a share of 356 million. It’s enough to start over, right? I don’t know their reasons, but… it says a lot about this world.”

You stared at him silently, your mind catching onto his words and lingering on their weight. He looked down at the floor, his expression turning into something more thoughtful.

“It’s frustrating,” he continued, his voice quieter. “If everyone got one billion, would they finally vote to leave? Or would they insist on staying here?”

Young-il paused, bringing his gaze to you, and added solemnly, “If everyone knew about Jun-hee and her pregnancy, would that change their minds? Would they vote X for her sake? Or would they judge her for being here?”

His words sank deep into you, leaving a heavy pause in their wake. You found yourself thinking about Jun-hee, the fragile girl carrying a life within her. Would revealing her situation stir compassion or make her a target for scorn?

“This place exposes who you really are,” he said. “People can’t hide forever when they’re pushed to their limits. Even those who think they’re good, moral people find out just how far they’re willing to go when it’s their life on the line.”

You thought back to everything you’d seen so far. The alliances formed and broken within seconds. The violence when everyone’s lives were on the line. Even Min-jae and his friends revealed their true nature in their desperate, violent attempt to survive.

Then, you felt the gentle brush of Young-il’s hand against the back of your head, his fingers weaving softly through your hair in a way that made you feel safe. His touch was tender and when you turned your gaze toward him, he was already smiling at you.

“This place also shows who can hold onto kindness, even when everything around them turns to chaos,” he said.

His words lingered in the air, resonating deeply within you. You found yourself smiling warmly, his sentiment striking a chord you hadn’t expected. He slowly withdrew his hand, the warmth of his touch still lingering.

But then you remembered something. You looked up at him, your wide, doe-like eyes shimmering with sincerity, and said, “That’s you, though.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you, his expression shifting. His faint smile faltered and then disappeared entirely as he stared at you. You kept your smile, unwavering and genuine, as you continued, “You’re kind, too. You stay calm when everyone else is panicking, and you’re always the first to tell us to stay grounded. When player 333 was being bullied, you stepped in...”

You paused, lifting your hands in a playful yet subtle attempt to mimic his combat moves from that moment. “You were like a police officer in this place. Fair and protective.”

Young-il’s eyes remained fixed on you, his astonishment evident. The silence between you grew, stretching into something heavy yet unspoken. You tilted your head, puzzled by his reaction, but your smile remained intact.

Finally, a small smile returned to his lips. His eyes softened, glimmering with something you couldn’t quite name. Admiration? Gratitude? Both? His gaze flickered between your left and right eye, then briefly to your lips before dropping to the floor. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and he gently placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward.

“You’re too kind for this world, really,” he murmured, almost to himself, though you heard every word.

***

Minutes after the voting, dinner time arrived. The line to get your meal moved steadily, and you soon received a single roll of gimbap wrapped neatly in aluminum foil. You were puzzled when you unwrapped it and found a fork included. While a fork could work, gimbap was typically eaten with chopsticks or even just your hands. The choice felt unusual. Adding to your confusion was the glass water bottle handed out with the meal. Why a glass bottle? Wouldn’t plastic have been cheaper?

Seated at the staircase of your group’s corner, you unwrapped your meal and glanced around. Young-il was on your left, eating quietly, with Dae-ho next to him. Behind you, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, and Gyeong-seok sat on the upper staircases, and to your right, the mother and Yong-sik settled in, their quiet bond evident.

Before long, Jung-bae and Gi-hun returned with their meals. Jung-bae, ever animated, grinned widely as he addressed Young-il. “I’m glad Young-il gave us another chance to vote again.”

“Same here,” added Dae-ho. “I was nervous, though. I thought he might vote to stay, like on the first day.”

Young-il chuckled lightly. “The money’s enough for me now. So it’s time to get out of here. Alive.”

Gi-hun took a seat on the lower staircase in front of the mother and Yong-sik. His gimbap remained unopened as Gyeong-seok spoke up, “But do you think we’ll be able to win the second vote?”

Young-il’s eyes shifted to the O players gathered on the other side of the dormitory. “We’ll have to go for broke. Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote.”

You took a bite of your gimbap, savoring the familiar taste despite the tension. Yong-sik chimed in, “Will they, though? They seem to have lost their minds over the money.”

His mother, ever nurturing, offered her perspective. “The way I see it, we’re more likely to win. All we’ve got to eat is this roll of gimbap. Tomorrow, everyone will be hungrier. And when you’re hungry, you start to miss home.”

That’s when Yong-sik got up from his seat and stared directly at the O players across the dormitory. He called out boldly, “Hey!”

The chatter among the O players quieted as they all turned their attention to him. Holding up his opened roll of gimbap, Yong-sik continued with a wide grin, “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side.”

You noticed his mother and Dae-ho exchange amused glances, their expressions mirroring pride and encouragement. Yong-sik’s voice took on a friendlier tone as he added, “If we get out of here tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”

His mother’s face lit up as she shot up from her seat and chimed in, “And after that, the noodles are on me!”

“Come on!” shouted Dae-ho, gesturing with an enthusiastic wave of his arm. “Come over to our side! Anyone!”

The atmosphere shifted, and for a moment, it seemed like the X side’s lighthearted plea might sway someone. But then, player 100 stood up abruptly from his seat on the staircases, his voice booming, “Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each! With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”

Your eyes lowered as a sense of unease crept over you. They’re already counting how much they’d get if all of us X voters die? That’s ruthless.

The O voters erupted in agreement, cheering loudly like a united front of villains rallying behind player 100’s words. Their confidence was palpable, and now it was their turn to call out, trying to coax X players into switching sides.

Out of nowhere, Dae-ho stood up. He took a few steps forward and shouted, “Oh, really? 800 million? Who are you kidding? You really think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”

Player 226, the man you recognized as player 100’s right-hand man, stepped down from the staircases with an air of defiance and retorted, “So let’s play one more game to see who dies. Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.”

Dae-ho let out an irritated laugh. “What did you say? Hey, come here.”

He surged forward aggressively, and Jung-bae scrambled to his feet to intercept him.

“Come here, asshole!” Dae-ho shouted again.

Player 226 grinned provocatively, taunting him further, as Jung-bae latched onto Dae-ho and tried to drag him backward. But Dae-ho, fueled by anger, pushed Jung-bae away and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a bold tattoo. “I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”

The O players roared with laughter, their mocking voices filling the air. Player 226 smirked and shot back, “Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!”

Before the tension could escalate further, another O player shouted crudely, “Hey, if you want to go home, why would you even bother eating? Just starve!”

His taunt struck a nerve among the X players. You noticed many of them stand from their seats and they approached the middle of the dormitory. Jung-bae, clearly triggered by the comment, marched forward, pointing accusingly at the man who had spoken. O players began rising in turn, meeting them head-on in the center of the room. The verbal onslaught intensified as insults and curses flew back and forth.

The red and blue lines between the X and O zones were the only things keeping the situation from boiling over into a physical fight. Despite the yelling and chaos, you observed that neither side dared to cross the line in the middle.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least it’s just words, not fists, you thought.

Amidst the escalating noise, your attention was drawn to Gi-hun. He unrolled the foil around his gimbap and froze, his mouth slightly open as if in shock.

Curious, you leaned closer to get a better look at what had shaken him so deeply. Before you could see anything, Gi-hun picked up the fork from his foil and held it up, his gaze fixed on it with apprehension.

“Gi-hun?” you called softly, tilting your head in concern. “What’s wrong?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Young-il glancing at Gi-hun. Gi-hun remained unresponsive, staring at the fork as though it carried a weight only he could feel. Despite the escalating chaos of the shouting match between X and O players, your focus stayed on Gi-hun, your bewilderment growing with every passing second.

***

Eventually, the heated exchange between the X and O players fizzled out without resolution. You finished your roll of gimbap, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Though your water bottle was still half full, you decided to conserve it for later.

Standing up, you scanned the dormitory for a trashcan and spotted one near the door to the women’s bathroom. Clutching the crumpled aluminum foil in your hand, you began to make your way there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Young-il jogging to catch up with you. Assuming he intended to toss his trash as well, you smiled faintly and continued walking. But before you could reach the trashcan, he placed a hand over yours, halting you mid-step. His gaze locked on yours, serious and unwavering.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, tilting your head in innocent curiosity.

Without answering, he gently took the crumpled foil from your hand and began to unfold it. Inside lay the unused fork that had come with your meal. He carefully removed the fork, crumpling the foil back into a ball with his other hand.

Holding the fork out to you, he said in a low, deliberate voice, “Judging from how tense things are getting, it’s better to keep this with you.”

You blinked, startled by his grave tone. The realization of his words and his past as a winner of this horrific game clicked into your mind. He’d been through this before. He knew things you didn’t. Raising your eyebrows, you asked cautiously, “Why? What would I need this for?”

Young-il’s eyes darkened slightly, his expression unreadable. “It’s for your protection.”

Before you could probe further, he turned on his heel and strode to the trashcan, disposing of the crumpled foil. Returning to your side, he rested a hand lightly on your back and began guiding you back to the corner where your group was sitting. His touch was steady, reassuring, but it did little to calm the apprehension bubbling in your chest.

Slipping the fork into the pocket of your green pants, you decided to trust him. He had seen more of this place than anyone else in the dormitory, and if he thought this was necessary, there had to be a reason.

***

For the rest of the allotted free time, you found yourself caught up in animated conversations with your groupmates. Laughter mingled with lighthearted banter as the tension of the dormitory seemed to momentarily ease. You noticed Gi-hun lingering nearby, his posture still tense but his ears clearly tuned to the ebb and flow of your discussions. Gradually, he drifted closer, his guarded demeanor softening as he joined in here and there.

At one point, Young-il excused himself to attend to something, leaving you momentarily alone in the corner. Before long, Gi-hun appeared by your side, settling down on the staircases next to you. You turned to him with pleasant surprise.

“Are you free if I ask you something?” he began, his tone tentative.

You smiled warmly. “Of course. What is it?”

Gi-hun’s gaze dropped momentarily as he stared at the floor. He was evidently thinking about the best way to convey his question to you. After a few seconds, he looked back at you, hesitating for a beat before finally speaking.

“I’ve noticed something about you and Young-il,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

A wave of warmth crept up your cheeks, and you fought to maintain your composure.

Gi-hun leaned slightly closer, his expression earnest. “You two seem so close. So, I just want to know… what is it between you two?”

Your gaze shifted shyly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your pants as you considered your words. “You could say that we are close. We talked a lot during our time keeping watch together.”

Gi-hun’s eyebrows lifted slightly in acknowledgment. “Oh. So, did he tell you about his wife?”

At his question, your smile faltered, and your gaze dropped. “He did.”

The memory of Young-il’s confession lingered in your mind. The sorrow in his voice when he spoke about his wife, and the depth of his pain, felt so real. But as Gi-hun’s words registered, a thought began to nag at you. Gi-hun had mentioned Young-il’s wife before, but it was clear he didn’t know she had passed away. That meant Young-il hadn’t told him everything.

Why hadn’t Young-il shared the full truth with Gi-hun? The man seemed to trust him. Or was it something else entirely? Or was he lying to you?

Doubt began to creep into your thoughts. Had Young-il been honest with you, or was there more to his story than he had let on?

You hesitated, wanting to tell Gi-hun the truth about Young-il’s wife but knowing it wasn’t your place to share. It was something deeply personal – a story only Young-il should tell. So you stayed quiet, even as the weight of the secret pressed against your chest.

Your silence must have spoken volumes because Gi-hun, ever observant, spoke up gently, “I’m sorry if my question upset you. I didn’t mean to pry.”

You gave him a faint smile, though it felt forced. “It’s okay. You’re just being thoughtful. I hope that, in time, Young-il will share everything with you himself.”

Gi-hun studied you, his curiosity evident in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. You could see he had more to ask, but before he could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“May I sit?”

You and Gi-hun both jolted slightly, startled by the interruption. Looking up, you saw Young-il standing there, smiling at the two of you. But there was something about his smile. A subtle edge that made you wonder if he had overheard your conversation.

Gi-hun quickly scooted over to make space, gesturing to the empty spot beside you. “Sure.”

Young-il lowered himself onto the step, sitting where Gi-hun had been moments before. He turned to you with a smile that seemed expectant, almost playful. “So, what were you two talking about?”

You froze, caught off guard by the question. Words failed you, and for a moment, you could only stare blankly. Thankfully, Gi-hun stepped in to fill the silence.

“I was just asking about you two,” he said, his tone neutral. “You seem much closer now.”

Young-il’s gaze shifted to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable. Then, he replied, “I hope that’s alright with you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded solemnly as he answered, “It’s alright. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

The air between the three of you felt heavy, but Young-il’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. His presence alone seemed to assert that the conversation had reached its natural conclusion, leaving you with more questions than answers.

The familiar melody of the school bell echoed throughout the dormitory, silencing every murmur and drawing all attention to the speaker system. You assumed it was another announcement signaling bedtime. But this time, the voice that followed shattered that assumption.

“The following players have been eliminated: Player 230, 268, 212, 331, and 401. End of list.”

Your eyes widened in shock. The air seemed to freeze around you. What? How? The immediate question that ran through your mind was whether some hidden game had occurred without your knowledge. What else could lead to eliminations?

Gasps and murmurs filled the room as players turned to one another. The tension escalated as the sound of money dropping into the piggy bank reverberated above. Everyone’s gaze shot upward, watching as stacks of cash piled into the transparent bank, the accumulated prize money growing visibly larger.

The TV screen updated almost immediately:

Accumulated Prize Money: 36.1 Billion Won.

Prize Per Person: 380 Million Won.

Your mind reeled. Around you, players were standing in silence, their bewilderment palpable. Despite the bombshell announcement, you remained seated on the staircase beside Young-il, who exuded an unsettling calmness.

Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s going on?”

You shifted your gaze to Young-il, seeking answers. His face remained composed, but his eyes carried an unspoken message. His expression wasn’t one of confusion or surprise – it was resolute, almost knowing.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the subtle tension in his jaw. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

NEXT : Chapter 12

PREV : Chapter 10

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot, even got me thinking on what Hwang In-ho fanfic should I make next. So what do you think about you and Young-il's conversations here? Do you notice that you chose to ignore Young-il's past chapter's ruthlessness? What about your conversation with Gi-hun? What do you want to happen next?

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 14

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13

• ··········· • ············ •

The respite that was felt after the council decision was welcome, but at the same time it felt very tenuous. Because of your knowledge, it always felt like things were always about to go downhill. It didn’t make you paranoid per se, but it consistently felt like there was a hitch that needed to be scratched somewhere.

The sun was already high when you made your way to the Academy. You had scheduled an appointment to supposedly check on your mother's commission. According to Jayce, everyone who entered that lab after the council decided to supervise it had to be accounted for. 

You asked for the visitor pass at the reception, adjusting your shoulder bag and smiling at the man sitting there.

The morning had been good; your audition for the orchestra had gone amazing, and you were now headed to butt heads with your two favorite brainiacs after leaving your mother on a date with her loving partner.

Today was going to be good.

The door to the lab was ajar, but you knocked, the reflex to open it speaking a rune thwarted as you heard more than the two familiar voices inside. 

“Come in.” Jayce’s voice boomed, and you walked inside.

You tried to keep the good spirits when you noticed not just Salo but Ambessa and Rictus inside the room. 'Trying' being the key word.

You felt your face contort into turmoil as your eyes landed on the general’s bodyguard. His eyes turned back to you in a blank, nonchalant expression. In your head, the words ‘I know how you die’ kept replaying, like a broken lullaby.

The sound of glass shattering made your head snap to the windows of the lab. The skies had turned a deep, dark, grayish purple, the room darkening as well, and the window of the lab kept cracking. The sound of the glass grinding going up in volume. In the middle of the crack, a purple glowing rune appeared. Ragged and jagged and angry.

You tilted your head and kept staring at it. It was almost hypnotic, a weird tingling in your gloved hand. You wanted to use it, and you wanted to use it now.

It was a feeling unlike any other rune appearance. It was a pull to do it; you needed to do it.

You heard someone call your name in the distance, but the pull was too strong. Golden fingertips came into view as they grabbed your arm.

Without thinking, you twisted your arm around the hand and quickly moved it down to escape its grasp. Following the movement, you shoved a hand out to push it out, only to be snapped out of your headspace by the sound of a slap on a cold metal surface and another hand on your wrist.

Blinking, the space around you got back to normal. Rictus stared at you, one of his eyebrows raised, and you did the same, the mask of civility gone and a scowl now etched on your face.

“Rictus…let the heir to the Rainemoure house go…” Ambessa’s voice cut through the silence. Rictus' grip on your wrist slackened, and your arm fell to your side. 

Your gaze shifted to the other people in the room, everyone staring at you in confusion. 

“I…” you started, trying to move your face to a more neutral expression. “I apologize; I don’t like being touched.”

“Then maybe you should acknowledge when someone calls your name.” Salo said, and you nodded, slowly coming to your senses, putting the mask back on.

“I apologize. It’s been a long...morning. You looked at both scientists.

They were both wearing the same worried look. Jayce’s eyes kept shifting from Rictus to you and back, and you noticed he was slowly releasing the handle of a hammer. Viktor was staring at you, trying to decipher what it was that had happened, his cane standing mid-way through a step.

“I completely forgot that you had an appointment.” Jayce said, sneakily moving the hammer away from his hand, trying to divert attention.

“It’s alright. I’ll be at the cafeteria; I haven’t had lunch.” You quickly put your hands up, trying to get away from the lab.

“I’ll accompany you.”. Viktor blurted out.

“I’m sure they can make their way there by themselves. This takes priority.” Salo scoffed, looking you up and down.

“Councillor Salo is correct.” You smiled, mask fully back on. “I do apologize, General. I didn’t mean to surprise or harm your bodyguard.”

She fully turned to you and gave you a wolfish grin, tilting her head to the side.

“No need for apologies. He can take it.” Her eyes twitched as she tried to peek back behind the curtain.

Forcefully, but gracefully, you turned to Rictus.

“I am sorry.” You told him, trying with all your might to not grit your teeth, and he nodded. “Well, I’ll see you two in a bit.”

You waved as you walked out the door before making a dash to the elevator and just standing against a corner of the well-lit box, taking several deep breaths.

Aside from the sudden encounter, the feeling of that rune still lingered. It was like a hunger that would only be satisfied when you devoured it, and at the same time, it felt like a caress, stroking your soul, telling you everything would be fine when you spoke it. It was seared into your mind, and yet you didn’t want to speak it.

The elevator pinged, and you walked out directly to the cafeteria, where your objective lay. Or stood. 

The Academy’s Grand Piano was donated by the PSO. In your universe, it was a shiny black beast with ivory keys. In this universe, it was a matte grey delicate piece that was perfectly tucked into a corner of the cafeteria.

You walked to the small counter that separated the tables from the service area. A young man was behind it, leaning into the counter reading a book and scribbling something in a notebook. A student. Knocking gently on the counter with your knuckles, so as not to frighten him, you watched as even so he jumped a little. He looked up at you, sighing deeply in annoyance.

“Good day, what can I get you??” He marked the book and looked at you, trying to be courteous and failing.

Ordering something quick to snack on, you looked at the piano as the man started to prepare the food.

“Is the piano tuned?” You nodded towards the instrument.

“Yes.”

“Can anyone play it?” 

“Depends.” He placed the latte mug in front of you. “If a person were to just slam on the keys and call that ‘playing it,’ then no…”

“What if a person might just know a bit about it?”

“It’s all yours…”

Little did he know that in your timeline, that piano had been, in fact, yours. Your father donated it to the orchestra, and the orchestra donated it to the Academy. 

You grabbed the mug and the small dish with your sandwich and walked to the piano.

“Do you have any requests?” You asked the kid behind the counter, and he shrugged.

“Something that doesn’t sound like a cat screeching.”

“I can do that.”

You sat at the piano, placing your food on a small table nearby. The audition this morning made you remember how much you enjoyed playing.

It reignited something in you. Playing at home, with your mother and Wyllah listening, was nice, but sitting on a stage, with the spotlight on you and people who had never heard you play sitting there, was another experience.

It soothed you, removing any trace of anger or worry the last few minutes had caused you.

Vivaldi - Winter (The Four Seasons)

Placing your fingers on the keys, they moved on their own. Touching the ivory keys in sync with the music in your head. Much like the runes, this was something that, after learning to do, you did without thinking about it. Your brain played the song, and your fingers moved on the piano or any other instrument you had learned to play. 

And much like the runes, as you added a note to the melody, it became enriched and more intricate. Your hands flew over the black and white keys like muscle memory.

As you kept playing, you looked at the kid behind the bar who had fully stopped what he was doing and looked at you. In a second his impressed expression changed to a blank one, but you saw his little grin as he shrugged.

There was a small crowd of students that had followed the sound and sat on the tables looking at you. Some were eating while others were trying to study.

“Sorry…” You looked at a girl who was looking at you, a book opened in front of her. She smiled and shook her head.

“It’s nice.” She answered. “Please keep going.”

You straightened your back and kept playing. Sometimes you’d play something more upbeat and then go back to something calmer. You’d banter with the young bartender while you played. 

Debussy - Clair de lune

After a few songs, you looked up to see both scientists standing under the arch of the cafeteria entrance looking impressed. Viktor walked towards the piano, followed closely by Jayce.

“I just might start coming to the cafeteria more often…” Viktor announced, leaning into his cane when he got near you.

“You should; the service is quite exceptional…” You said it loud enough that the student behind the bar could hear it.

“Flattery will get you everywhere!” He said, not taking his eyes off his notes.

Jayce grabbed two chairs on his way over and mentioned one to Viktor while sitting on the other. His face had a little concern painted on it.

“What happened up there?” He immediately zeroed in on you, and you sighed.

“Talking about beating around the bush.” You gave Viktor a look, and he shrugged.

“The rage you had in your face when you looked between Rictus and Ambessa…it was murderous.” Jayce whispered. “And then you punched him in the chest.”

“It was a slap at best.” Viktor corrected, placing the cane between his knees, Jayce shooting him a dirty look.

“Listen…” He took a deep breath. “I understand things are... weird for you. Different places, different customs. But that can’t happen, not while Hextech is hanging on the line.”

“It’s not just that…” You sighed and got closer to the edge of the bench. “There was a rune in your lab…”

They exchanged a look, and both got closer, leaning into their knees. The sight of the three of you huddled together must have been something.

“It was different…Like…” You played a few high notes on the piano and then slammed a hand on the low notes. “This…”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at you, the sudden sound catching their attention.

“I don’t know what it was, but..." You tried to explain, "Normally they appear when I need them, and I wouldn’t feel the pressure of using them… but this... this one demanded to be used, like it needed it. Like I needed it.”

“Did it hurt you?” Viktor asked, his eyes roaming your arms and face.

“No. If anything, I hurt it by not speaking it into reality.” 

“It was time that we found a bad word in the language…” Viktor’s jaw clenched, and after a second he got up. “I’m going to need sugar to study this fully…”

You snorted, and Jayce rolled his eyes as Viktor walked towards the cafeteria counter. You followed his rhythmic strolling, smiling as he looked at all the pastries on display, making an unimpressed face at it.

“Rictus did something in your timeline, didn’t he?” Jayce’s voice snapped you out of watching Viktor’s judgment of the pastry.

“It wasn’t Rictus himself. It was Ambessa.” 

“The General?”

“She wants the hextech to be weaponized so she can fight her own enemies…”

“I know…” You looked at Jayce, and he was looking at his feet. “I’ve gathered as much by what Mel tells me about her. Not that she tries to hide it. General Medarda makes some interesting questions.”

You sighed and turned back to the piano, playing some old melody that you knew by heart.

“In my universe…” you started, your tone unsure. “she gets it…She uses it… It doesn’t behave like she wants it, but…in the end…she gets it…”

You steal a glance in Vik’s way as he waits for his order to be prepared. He was chewing on the cheek, deep in thought.

“How?” Jayce frowned in confusion, and after a second, his eyes widened. “Which one of us died?”

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet MASTERLIST ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

All warnings are displayed in each individual chapter

Season 1 - Water

☾ Prologue ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar ☾ Chapter 2 - Encountering the Sun ☾ Chapter 3 - Dangerous Gale ☾ Chapter 4 - New Sacrifices

Season 2 - Earth

҉ Chapter 5 - Trainer Sakari ҉ Chapter 6 - Hidden in Ba Sing Se ҉ Chapter 7 - Refreshing Tea ҉ Chapter 8 - Failed ҉ Chapter 9 - Tied with the Gaang ҉ Chapter 10 - Fraud of the Warriors ҉ Chapter 11 - Trust to Betrayal

Season 3 - Fire

𖤓 Chapter 12 - Ship Attack 𖤓 Chapter 13 - First steps in the Fire Nation 𖤓 Chapter 14 - Sparky-Sparky Boom Man!! 𖤓 Chapter 15 - The Invasion 𖤓 Ch 16 𖤓 Ch 17 𖤓 Ch 18 𖤓 Ch 19 𖤓 Ch 20 𖤓 Ch 21

Season 4 - Sun

☪︎ Ch ???

Aftermath - Moon

⋆ Ch ???

POSTS ONCE EVERY WEEK (MOSTLY) None of the pictures are made by me This is based off of the avatar the last airbender world s1 s2 s3 potentially will add the legend of Korra sneaks Please do not copy, translate or repost my writing. Reblogging is acceptable My work is ONLY on tumblr, ao3, and wattpad. If anywhere else please inform me. Ao3 link Wattpad link

[metaphoricgibberish]

The Age of Innocence { a joel miller fanfiction }

Nestled in the Sierra Nevada mountains is an old gold mining town— Twain Harte— named after the American authors Mark Twain and Bret Harte, both of which never lived there. A woman named Liliana does though, and when she was a little girl she was saved by a man, a man she has spent twenty years loving from afar.

Until something changes.

__________

Joel Miller finds himself infatuated with a young woman who has loved him all her life.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 5.2k (1/10 chapters posted) a.n. lmao i hate myself. i've been slowly adding to this idea for a while, and i'm too excited about it to wait until after i write Fate Forgone Virtue, so i guess i'm writing them simultaneously?? I used to live in Twain Harte, so i'm very excited about the setting of this one. each chapter will be named after a place within the town. also the playlist for this one is a little different, i wanted to compile a bunch of songs that remind me of my time living there, rather than ones that relate to the story per se. i'll shut up now! i hope you enjoy <3

Read Chapter One - Caffé Blossom on AO3

Spotify Playlist

[pink-yuri]

♡ Soul Eater NOT! ♡

[jettingtothemoon]

Daughter of the Spirits; chapter 11

➳ pairing: zuko x f!reader ➳ genre: a retelling of the show from season 2 onwards with a heavy focus and expansion on zuko’s story (canon divergent) ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut (underaged if your age of consent is above 16), spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen the show ➳ word count: 3537 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n comes across the fire nation prince during her stay in Ba Sing Se. ➳ tags: @harmlessoffering, @lammello (i’m sorry if i’m forgetting anyone, lmk if i am or if you want to be added)

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,

The Invasion

You found out from Mai and Ty Lee that there had been another war meeting — one Zuko hadn’t been invited to. He was furious, of course.

For the first time in years, he was finally starting to feel like a prince again. What with all the servants at his beck and call, insisting he take the palanquin when traversing the city, even if he was only out on an errand with you. People were by his side day and night, making sure he had everything he needed. It was exactly how it should have been, even if it was quite the adjustment for you both, yet he had still been excluded by his father.

He had told you about his banishment. How he had spoken up at a war meeting and disgraced his father, leading to the agni kai where he had to fight the very man that was supposed to protect him. The man who scarred and banished his own child.

Only this morning was he happy and smiling, simply enjoying the time he got to spend with you. Now, however, he sat staring out of the window, watching as the clouds passed over the moon in silent contemplation.

“Zuko,” you said his name and yet, he didn't move. Didn’t even flinch. It was as if he hadn’t even heard you, only you knew he had.

"Zuko," you tried again, this time wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Wordlessly, he leaned into you. His scowl never once left his face but he was at least trying to control his temper for you, allowing himself to fall into your embrace.

"It's just a war meeting. I bet they're full of old, boring men."

Your attempt at amusing him seemed to fail as he leaned away from you and back against the window. "They're important. All the best advisors and the entire royal family attend. Even Azula is going."

"Just another reason that it won't be fun, Azula will be there."

Now that got a chuckle. A small one, but a chuckle nonetheless.

"Stop worrying about it and come to bed."

He hummed, turning away from the window and towards you. He wasn't happy and he probably wouldn't be for a while, but at least he could relax with you. Even when things weren’t going his way.

The next day, you sat with Zuko as you made a cup of jasmine tea. He sulked beside you with a frown on his face, thinking about the meeting that was about to start without him. You could tell how badly he wanted to be there, even if he did keep shrugging it off when you tried to comfort him. You thought making some tea would help but it only seemed to sour his mood further and you soon realised it was because he was missing his uncle.

You missed Iroh too. You had wanted to go and visit him but Zuko forbade you, expressing how dangerous it would be if you did. Azula had found out when he went to see him and if anyone were to find out you were visiting a traitor of the Fire Nation you would be hauled away and thrown into a cell of your own before either of you could do anything to stop it.

It pained you to think of the old man sitting in a dark, grimey cell. More so when the smell of jasmine tea reminded you as much of him now as it did your mother.

“Prince Zuko,” your attention was drawn to a servant as he entered the room with a bow, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Zuko looked from you to the man who now knelt at the floor with furrowed brows before getting up from where he sat. “What?”

“The high admirals, high generals, the war ministers, and the princess have all arrived. You’re the only person missing,” the servant explained, his eyes lifting to look at the prince as he spoke.

You stood beside Zuko with a heavily beating chest as he asked, “So my dad wants me at the meeting?”

The servant bowed again. “The Firelord said he would not start until you have arrived, sir.”

With a full smile, Zuko turned to you and, although he was going to a meeting where they would likely discuss the deaths of even more people you loved and knew, you couldn’t help but feel happy for him. This was all he’d ever wanted — to be accepted by his father. To be loved and wanted. For his opinions to matter. That alone brought you hope because if he could sway his father or even some of the generals, perhaps he could help save lives on both sides of the war.

You, along with Mai, waited outside the meeting for him, both anxious to hear how it went. She had offered to come with you so that you would not be alone in the palace for too long since she knew just how daunting that could be. Besides, she was still Zuko’s friend too, just as she was now yours.

When he finally emerged, Mai was the first to ask, “So? How did it go?”

“When I got to the meeting, everyone welcomed me. My father had saved me a seat, he wanted me next to him. I was literally at his right hand.”

His words almost sent a chill down your spine as you thought of the worst — that rather than Zuko swaying the Firelord’s mind about the war, that it would be his father who would sway him. You knew better than that, though, and as much was confirmed when you were met with nothing but a troubled expression on Zuko’s face.

“That’s wonderful,” Mai grinned, “You must be happy.”

The three of you stopped in front of a large tapestry, one displaying a large portrait of Firelord Ozai. You placed a reassuring hand on Zuko’s shoulder as he looked up at it and exchanged a worried glance with Mai.

“During the meeting I was the perfect prince,” he concluded, “The son my father wanted… but I wasn’t me.”

You ran your hand down his arm and slotted it into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, he squeezed it back, but then tugged his hand free and began to walk away, leaving both you and Mai behind.

She sighed and became the one placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Give him time. This was a good thing, he’ll realise that soon.”

You hummed although you did not agree. The only good thing was that Zuko was starting to realise who he was and that the man he was wasn’t the man his father wanted him to be. He was not ruthless and cold. He was kind and strong and so many other things his father would never be. He was better than him and finally, you thought he was beginning to realise that.

When you returned to your room, you found him writing a letter.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, wondering what he was up to.

“Writing to Mai. I at least owe her a goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” you asked, your brows furrowed.

He hummed. “We’re leaving. I… This isn’t who I am. Not anymore. An invasion has begun, we can slip away in the chaos but I have to do something first.”

Whatever he had in mind, whether he just wanted to leave and find your parents or maybe, just maybe, hunt down and join the avatar, you knew you were going with him. After all the time that had passed since you left Ba Sing Se, he was finally ready to accept who he was. He was finally going to do the right thing.

He passed you the brush when he was finished, allowing you to write your apologies and goodbyes to your newfound friends. You addressed both Mai and Ty Lee directly, wishing them well and hoping you would not come to face them on opposite sides of the battlefield. The two of you then signed the letter and Zuko left to take it to her home, putting it someplace where she would see it long after the two of you were gone.

After he returned, as you collected what little things you owned, he knelt before a portrait of his mother and closed his eyes. “I know I’ve made some bad choices, but today I’m gonna set things right.”

He picked up his swords and a small bag of provisions, turning to the lighter side of himself once again, and pulled his hood up to conceal his face.

You stepped forward and pulled him into your arms, pressing a kiss to his lips as your thumb stroked the side of his face. “It’s going to be okay, you know. You’re doing the right thing.”

He smiled and leaned into your touch. “I know.”

He led you quickly through the palace and down underground. You could hear the fighting up above as you moved through the tunnels and Zuko explained that during the eclipse today, no one would be able to Firebend. It was the perfect time for an attack and, along with the invasion forces, would surely be the avatar. He had a plan and that plan was to join them, to help the avatar finally put an end to this war.

But he had to confront his father first and what better time was there to do that than when he had no bending?

When he finally came to a halt before a large, reinforced door, you felt your heart in your throat. How would Ozai react to the news of his son’s betrayal? Would he try to kill him then and there? Or perhaps he would simply try to imprison you both? Either way, you were prepared. You would use your bending — all of your bending — to fight. You were fighting for yourself. You were fighting for your family. You were fighting for Zuko.

You held his hand, squeezing it in reassurance as you had done time and time before.

“I’m ready to face you,” he spoke, as though his father could hear him through the door.

He did not protest as you walked to the door with him, nor did he ask you to remain behind as he walked inside. As dangerous as what he was about to do was, he trusted that you would be safe by his side, and that he would be safe by yours. Whatever was going to happen, you were going to do it together.

“Prince Zuko,” his father addressed him with a frown and lowered his cup of tea, “What are you doing here?”

Zuko walked towards his father, with you standing only a few paces behind. This was his moment and you wanted him to have it but if he needed you, you would be there to fight by his side.

“I’m here to tell the truth,” Zuko declared from where he stood, staring his father down.

The firelord furrowed his brows and signalled for his guards to leave, his eyes only once flickering from Zuko to you. “Telling the truth during the middle of an eclipse? This should be interesting.”

Zuko only spoke again when the guards were gone, the strong doors sliding shut behind them, “First of all, in Ba Sing Se it was Azula who took down the avatar, not me.”

“Why would she lie to me about that?” Ozai questioned.

“Because the avatar is not dead,” Zuko explained, “He survived.”

“What?” Only then did the firelord’s expression change. What was a calm and collected leader suddenly turned into an angry father. One who was clearly afraid of what the avatar could do if he was still alive.

“In fact, he’s probably leading this invasion. He could be on his way here right now.” For a moment, it almost seemed as though Zuko was warning his father, as though he had not really turned his back on him. He was still his father, after all, but you knew him better than that. He was changed and he was here for one thing and one thing only, to bid his father farewell.

“Get out!” the firelord snapped with a wave of his hand, anger boiling up in him, “Get out of my sight right now if you know what’s good for you.”

Although the firelord’s temper was continuing to grow, Zuko remained calm. From where you stood behind him, you could almost hear the satisfaction in his voice as he spoke, “That’s another thing. I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

His father’s brows crossed in rage and you adopted a defensive stance as he began to walk towards Zuko. “You will obey me or this defiant breath will be your last!”

The prince unsheathed his swords, standing ready to fight his father as he demanded, “Think again. I am going to speak my mind and you are going to listen.”

To both of your surprise, the firelord sat back down as though he was ready to hear whatever Zuko had to say. The two of you still stood at the ready, prepared for a fight. You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on the ground beneath you. You could feel the echoing rumble of machines coming from the surface, another sign of the battle above.

“For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me,” Zuko admitted, casting his eyes to the ground, “To accept me. I thought it was my honour that I wanted but really I was just trying to please you. You, my father, who banished me just for talking out of turn,” he pointed at Ozai with the end of his blade, “My father who challenged me, a thirteen year old boy to an agni kai. How can you possibly justify a duel with a child?”

It was like a weight off your own chest to hear him finally letting go of all that had burdened him, telling his father just how he felt after all he had done to him.

The firelord only scowled, looking at Zuko as though he was nothing but the dirt under his shoe as he spat, “It was to teach you respect!”

“It was cruel and it was wrong!”

“Then you’ve learnt nothing. This girl,” he gestured to you, “Has only made you weaker than you already were.”

“No! I’ve learned everything, and I’ve had to learn on my own. Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilisation in history, and somehow the war was our way of sharing our greatness with the world. What an amazing lie that was, the people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don’t see our greatness, they hate us! And we deserve it. We’ve created an era of fear in the world and if we don’t want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.”

The firelord laughed out loud, mocking his son even now. “Your uncle has gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

There was a brief pause and Zuko smiled, actually smiled, in the face of his father’s taunts. “Yes, he has.”

“And this girl? She stands with you now, is she not of the Fire Nation too? Another traitor turned by your uncle’s tricks?”

Now it was you who stifled a laugh. “A traitor? Zuko isn’t a traitor and neither is his uncle. You are the one who betrayed the Fire Nation, you even betrayed your own blood because you’re so blinded by power you can’t see the bigger picture. My name is y/n and my parents were from the Northern Watertribe. They left their home and raised me in the Earth Kingdom to fight against your army! Even now, they fight against your cruelty, and now we do too!”

“You foolish girl,” Ozai glared at you with fire in his eyes, “What could you possibly do to stop me?”

“After we leave here today,” Zuko interrupted, answering his father’s question for the both of you, “We’re going to free uncle Iroh from his prison, and I’m gonna beg for his forgiveness. He’s the one who’s been a real father to me.”

The firelord only laughed again. “That’s just beautiful, maybe he can pass down to you the ways of tea and failure.”

“But I’ve come to an even more important decision,” he continued, ignoring his father completely, “I’m going to join the avatar and I’m going to help him defeat you.”

“Really?” Ozai smirked, “since you’re a full blown traitor now and you want me gone, why wait? I’m powerless, you’ve got your swords, why don’t you just do it now?”

“Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the avatar’s destiny,” he sheathed his swords and, although a part of you wanted nothing more than to strike him down now, you were in agreement with Zuko. It was not your place, “Goodbye.”

As Zuko turned and began to walk towards you again, ready to leave his father behind once and for all, the bitter man began to hurl more insults at his son, calling him a coward for confronting him during an eclipse when neither of them had their bending.

“If you have any real courage, you’ll stick around until the sun comes up. Don’t you want to know what happened to your mother?”

Those words stood Zuko in his tracks, even when you looked at him with pleading eyes. There was no time for this, the sun would be back soon and the two of you stood no chance against his father at his full power.

Without a second thought, the prince turned back around and demanded to know what happened the night his mother disappeared.

“My father, firelord Azulon, commanded me to do the unthinkable… to you, my own son, and I was going to do it. Your mother found out and swore she would protect you at any cost. She knew I wanted the throne and she proposed a plan. A plan in which I would become firelord and your life would be spared.”

It was awful, entirely diabolical, to think that a father would even consider murdering his own child but knowing what else the firelord had put Zuko through, somehow you weren’t at all surprised. It seemed in his very nature. You wondered what Zuko’s mother ever saw in the man.

“Your mother did vicious, treasonous things that night. She knew the consequences and accepted them. For her treason, she was banished.”

“So she’s alive...”

Cautiously, you moved to Zuko’s side, hoping to console him as tears began to spill across his face.

“Perhaps,” Ozai all but shrugged before raising his tone once again, “Now I realise that banishment is far too merciful a punishment for treason. Your penalty will be far steeper.”

In a flash, the firelord was moving, forming a stance you had only seen once before. The sun was back and he was drawing on its power to call lightning down. Lightning that he intended to use to put an end to his traitorous son once and for all.

“Zuko!” you cried, realising you had already missed your window to create a wall between the two of you and Ozai to block the attack.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as you ran towards Zuko only to see him do the impossible. He redirected the lighting, sending it crashing back down on his father who was thrown into the air at the force.

He grabbed your hand and ran, pulling you out of the bunker before his father could get back to his feet. As you ran out onto the streets, you saw what looked to be the avatar launching an assault on the Fire Nation airships, giving his friends enough time to retreat. “Look!”

“Do you think you can get up there?”

You furrowed your brows. There was a chance that with your bending you could reach the airships and help the avatar but you weren’t sure if you could get there in time. They were fleeing, after all, they weren’t going to stick around for long. Besides, you had more important things to do.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, “but I’m not leaving you. Let’s go get your uncle.”

With a determined smirk, he led you into the prison. He ran so fast that he seemed to miss the cowering guards and singed walls.

“Uncle!” he cried out when he reached Iroh’s cell but his uncle was already gone. The bars to his prison cell were broken and battered, blasted through from the inside. Iroh had already escaped.

Zuko was quick to run to one of the guards, interrogating him about what happened in a matter of seconds, only to be told what you already knew. Iroh had escaped, busted himself out before you had had the chance to get to him. He was long gone now, all you could do was get out of there yourselves.

“Zuko, we have to go. We’ll find Iroh again, I promise, but right now we need to leave!”

Although disappointed, he nodded and followed you back outside.

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, blood, injury, vomiting

A/N: This chapter is admittedly self indulgent. I love Daryl whump and I’ve been kind to him physically for most of the story so far. Not anymore! That being said, I feel like I should have split this into more than one chapter because—to me—the quality suffered because of the length. Anyway, on with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

The sun was shining through the open curtains when you awoke. You scowled at the rays but the gentle heat that your skin was absorbing seemed to sooth the irritation. You stretched stagnant muscles, not even venturing to suppress the moan invoked by the action. You let your head fall to the side, finding the opposite margin of the bed empty. Daryl had already left. You shouldn’t be surprised. He was a hunter. Your variety were early risers. Well, you were admittedly a bit of a slacker. 

Your stomach felt moderately uneasy but not unmanageable. Hershel must have given you that injection while you slept. Your IV was disconnected and a glass of water sat on the bedside table, this time closest to you. You picked it up after gliding your legs off the side of the bed, taking slow careful sips. You were just placing it back on the table when there was a soft knock on the door. 

“Come in?” You weren’t sure if it was Hershel or maybe someone else who lived in the home. It felt odd to invite them into a room that didn’t belong to you. 

Carol peeked inside and smiled before opening the door fully to enter, a young blonde girl right on her heels with a glass of something—colorful. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?” You accepted the woman’s embrace. 

“Better.” You smiled reassuringly when she pulled back to get a look at you. “Who’s this? And what’s that?” Carol looked behind herself on one side and then the other before stepping aside. 

“I’m Beth. My daddy is the one that helped you.” The girl was just that: a girl. She was older than Carl and Sophia but still a kid. “We made you a fruit smoothie. Patricia says it’s good for you and shouldn’t make you sick.”

You offered her a tight smile and accepted the drink, fearful of not only the taste but the consistency of the thing. You’d never done well with solid things being made into liquids. With an uncertain frown, you took a small sip. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Holy shit, that’s good.” When you took another drink, a smiling Carol put a hand on your arm. 

“Go slow.”

You nodded, tilting your head at the pile of clothes in Carol’s arms. “Are those for me?”

“Mhm. Thought you might like to clean up and change.”

“Oh my god, you read my mind.” You took another sip and made a grateful noise that had Beth giggling. “That is really good.”

It was early evening by the time you had showered and decided to venture outside. The nap in between was desperately needed. You were still a little weak from your ordeal. 

It was your first glimpse of the land. Beautiful fields with horses and cows out to pasture, while the blue, cloudless sky blanketed it all. 

Blue like Daryl’s eyes. 

You frowned, shaking your head at yourself. “Where the hell did that come from?” You brushed it off easily and approached the little camp your fellow group mates had set up. It felt odd being around them all without Daryl being somewhere nearby but it wasn’t bad per se.

Lori looked up from the bin of laundry and smiled at you. It was small and you could sense something behind it. Nevertheless, you returned it. It wouldn’t be a horrible thing to get to know everyone better. You made two steps in Lori’s direction before noticing Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Dale huddled together out of the corner of your eye. 

Normally, you’d think nothing of it, except you happened to catch Dale risking a glance in your direction. His expression pinched, concerned. He was quick to look away but it was too late. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your jeans. The way they all looked between one another spoke volumes. There was something they didn’t want to tell you. 

Shane did that thing where he shoved his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looked around at nothing before meeting your eyes. “Nothing for you to worry about, darlin’. We got it under control.”

You couldn’t help but sneer at him. “Don’t call me darlin’ and I can decide if I should worry or not. Rick?” The officers shared a look with Shane shaking his head but Rick seemed to disagree. 

“Daryl took a horse out today to look for Sophia.” 

You shook your head and raised a brow inquisitively. “Okay?” 

“The horse came back. Without him.”

Your stomach dropped before twisting with a feeling of dread. “You’re going out, right?” 

“Well, this is Daryl. We’re gonna give him until nightfall and set out first thing in the morning if he’s not back.” Rick explained. The incredulous expression you donned must have been enough encouragement for him to stammer out further explanation. “We can’t risk going out and not making it back before dark.”

“But it’s okay for Daryl—who could be hurt—to be out there alone all night, right? Are you fucking serious right now?” You were finding it increasingly difficult to keep your anger in check or your voice at a low volume. 

“Listen, missy, you don’t have a lot of right to say much of anything around here! Let me tell you something—” Shane began. You were having none of it. 

“Oh, shove it, Dudley Do-Right!” You hissed. You had spun away and started looking for Daryl’s tent, missing the undoubtedly furious—but comically memorable—expression on Shane’s face. “I’ll go find him myself.”

You heard Rick’s frantic footfalls before he stepped in front of you, palms out. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t let you go out there.”

“Let me?”

Dale joined Rick, taking off his hat as he spoke. You weren’t sure why he did it other than maybe attempting to show you some form of respect. “Daryl would be less than thrilled if something happened to you.”

“I thought I didn’t have any rights around here?” You crossed your arms, eyes sliding to the side when you heard someone approaching from behind. When they didn’t move where you could see them, you felt your hackles rise. They must have not been informed that you were also a hunter. “If you touch me, you risk losing a body part.” You spat over your shoulder, venom dripping from every syllable. “And I promise you, it’ll be something you’ll definitely miss.” Shane gave you a wide berth as he circled within your sight, hands up as if he were being detained. 

“Look, Y/N, we know that’s Daryl’s baby.” Rick dropped his hands to his sides, bringing one back up immediately to rub at his forehead. 

“And how do you know that?” You knew it was a stupid question. The archer hadn’t left your side the entire time you were unconscious. After you awoke, he was at your beck and call: bringing you food, making sure you drank enough, watching over you as you rested. 

“You were unconscious. You didn’t see him when he brought you here.” Rick was trying so hard to be nice and you knew he meant it. He was a genuine person. 

“He was off the rails! Rantin’ and ravin’ like a lunatic!”

“Shane, you’re not helping.” Rick had tilted his head, directing his statement at his partner but keeping his eyes on the ground at your feet. When he spoke again, his gaze found yours, full of kindness and concern. “We just can’t take any risks.”

Regardless, you would not be deterred. “I’m not asking you to. In fact, I’m not asking at all.” They allowed you to sidestep around them, not following you but you could hear them muttering loudly amongst themselves. 

Finding Daryl’s tent was a piece of cake. You used what you knew of him to conclude that he would be the furthest from the rest. Once inside, you found your pack and knives sitting to one side, surprisingly in a neat pile. In fact, the entire space was orderly enough for you to scratch your head and second guess if you had indeed entered the right tent. 

His bedroll had not been used, the cot not set up. That made sense. He had spent the nights in the house with you while you recovered. You could still feel the warmth his body gave off even with several inches between you. Damn him for going off alone. 

He did have some goodies in his area that you were happy to borrow. Some dried jerky, a length of rope, some extra clothes (for him, just in case), a meager amount of medical supplies (also, just in case), and a flashlight. You’d give it all back. Maybe. 

Knives holstered and bag on your back, you bent down to exit the tent, standing to come face to face with Carol and Lori. Throwing back your head, you groaned. “Not you guys, too.”

“Daryl made it pretty clear that the baby is his.” Lori spoke first. “We’re gonna worry.”

“You’re new, but we’re all in this together. Daryl, too. He’s out there looking for my girl, after all.” Carol held out two canteens of water. “Maggie and Glenn aren’t back yet. That shot Hershel gave you isn’t gonna last much longer. You need to stay hydrated.”

Before you could react, Lori handed you two apples and a can of kidney beans. “You need to eat too. Fruit and protein are good for the baby and for nausea.”

“Thank you.” You turned to allow Carol to place the items in your bag, getting caught in a hug on your way back around. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Carol nodded while Lori took your hand and squeezed. “We’ll handle the men. Go on. Daryl left out that way.” You turned your attention to the direction she pointed and gave a nod, jogging off before anyone could intercept you. 

Situations like this were when being a hunter and tracker was beyond beneficial; it could be potentially life saving. Finding the horse’s trail was easy. The shape of the hooves indicated whether the mare was coming or going, as well as the depth, indicating whether or not Daryl was in the saddle. 

He had gone some distance, that was certain. Being on horseback allowed him to cover more ground but he gave up the advantage of being close to the paths. It had to be harder to see any trails from horseback. Then again, he was a marksman with his crossbow. He was eagle-eyed for sure. 

You had been tracking him for at least an hour, the sun getting lower and lower. Rick and Shane had been right about one thing: Daryl would raze that farm to the ground if he came back to learn you had gone out alone. Still, you had to think he’d find it at least a little funny that no one volunteered to go with you. Big strong manly men letting the petite sickly pregnant woman go in the woods all by her lonesome. You snorted at your own thoughts. 

You paused to check the sun’s position in the sky, estimating you had about an hour of daylight left. Even if you abandoned the search and went back at that moment, it would still be dark when you made it. You weren’t hungry, which you considered might be a bad thing, but you were thirsty. Pulling the bag from your shoulders, you crouched to dig through the contents for one of the canteens. It was easily found toward the top. 

“Small sips, small sips.” You reminded yourself. You didn’t yet feel nauseated but tempting fate was not an activity you regularly enjoyed. You did enough of that in the woods with Daryl and now had a baby in your belly for your efforts. You were screwing the lid back onto the canteen while simultaneously scanning the tracks you had been following, when you noticed a drastic change. “The horse startled.” You whispered urgently. You were quick to set aside your bag, moving low to the ground to inspect each print. “She reared. Fuck.” The next set of hoof prints were not as deep. “She threw him.”

You stood quickly, ignoring the very slight bout of light-headedness. “Daryl!” You whisper-yelled as loud as you dared. Efficient as you were, you could only handle so many walkers alone. Again, best not to tempt fate. “Daryl!” When you had made a 180, you saw a drop-off. You felt the nausea then, but it had nothing to do with your condition. You placed a palm against a tree, just in case you were to feel any sudden dizziness. You’d rather not topple over and go tumbling down the rocks into the bloody—water. “Oh fuck.”

The red was billowing out into green and yellow clouds in the water, showing it had been there long enough to dilute a substantial amount. “No, no, no. Daryl!” You moved hastily down the edge, following the water hopefully toward land. You had called louder only to be met with silence. Maybe he was out and gone. Back at camp and ready to have your head on a platter for going after him. Maybe he was nearby and would appear momentarily and call you an idiot for being so loud. 

Neither of those proved to be the case. 

When you spotted the gravelly riverside, you easily found the hunter. The sound you made was somewhere between a sob and a whimper. He was only halfway out of the water, his legs submerged up to his waist. The blood in the water was still a dark red, indicating active bleeding. There was something protruding from his left side that looked suspiciously like one of his bolts. Your first thought was that someone had taken his crossbow and shot him with his own weapon. However, it was lying just above his head, his hand loosely wrapped around it. 

You were past the point of thinking rationally. He could be a grade A asshole but he was your baby’s father. That was enough reason to try your best to get him out of the fucked up predicament he had somehow gotten himself into. 

It wouldn’t stop you from cursing his name the entire time though. 

“How the hell am I supposed to get down there?” You paced the ledge, pulling at your hair. The slope was steep and littered with rocks, limbs, and roots. You couldn’t risk falling. You wouldn’t. 

But there was so much blood. 

“Think, Y/N!” You crouched down, tapping your fingers against the dirt while willing Daryl to move. To yell. Anything. “When I get you out of this mess, Daryl, I’m going to string you up by—” Your eyes flew wide, a gasp leaving your parted lips. Scrambling back to your bag, you dug through it haphazardly until your fingers wrapped around the rope you’d swiped from his tent. “Yes!”

It probably wasn’t long enough to get you all the way to the bottom but it would do to get you low enough for a fall not to injure you. You’d have to be creative, regardless. You couldn’t rappel down; the length was definitely not enough for that. You also couldn’t tie it to a tree on the ledge either. It would take too much rope. You needed to move down the slope a bit and use one of the tree roots. 

Which meant taking a risk. 

“I swear if you die, I’m killing you.” You muttered, while shrugging your bag onto your back. Your ass met the dirt somewhat roughly in your haste to get moving. The body could only lose so much blood before—Anyway, you had to go. You moved down carefully, keeping your backside firmly on the ground whilst you prodded rocks and limbs to ensure they would hold your weight. There was a sturdy, sizable root just a few more feet. If it was embedded deep enough, you could use it to get you down safely as well as get you both back up. 

You were nearly there when your foot slipped from the edge of a rock. It was easy to right yourself, given how carefully you were moving but it didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your nose. Looking down, you realized you had grabbed your stomach instinctively. With a calming breath, you gave your tummy a pat. “We got this, little thumper.”

The root was easy to get the rope around, secured with a bowline knot. You then loosely secured the end around your waist, high enough not to snap taut around your belly if you were to fall. It’d probably break your back, honestly, but eh, you were optimistic. 

You let the slack fall and grabbed on a couple of feet below the knot. “Here goes nothin’.” You started down at a faster pace than before. You couldn’t slide on your ass the whole way, that would take forever. 

Daryl didn’t have forever. 

You called his name every few seconds, as quietly as you could while being loud enough for him to hopefully hear. You made about three-fourths of the way down when you heard a familiar sound that made your blood freeze. Your head snapped up to some foliage across the riverbank, panicked eyes zeroing in on the walker making a beeline for the same figure you were trying to make your way toward. 

“Hey!” You shouted. You waved an arm frantically but the stench of blood had the corpse’s entire focus. “Goddamnit!” With no alternative, you ripped off your flannel and put it between your hands and the rope. Bracing your weight mostly on the root above, you stood slightly and all but ran down the slope. Each time you misstepped, you threw your weight onto the rope. It would sling you sharply but with nowhere else to go, you could get right back to the descent. 

Unfortunately, the rope eventually ran out. 

Eyes on the walker getting entirely too close to Daryl, you scrambled to untie the line. “Fuck!” The corpse had dropped to its knees and was crawling the last few feet. You yanked your knife from the holster and cut yourself free in a single swipe, barreling toward the water. “Get away from him!”

It finally noticed you, looking your way while Daryl’s arm was in its rotten clutches. Your knife sank into its skull with ease. As much as the smell made you gag, you grabbed the thing as it toppled and pulled. You couldn’t let it fall into the water. Not with Daryl having an open wound. 

Panting through tears, you freed your knife and crawled toward the archer. If you had been one second later, he’d have been bitten. The way that thought devastated you down to your very soul frightened you. You checked his arm first, just to be sure. No bites. No scratches. There was no time to revel in that relief. You stopped to brush your fingertips over a cut above his right temple. From the fall, you surmised. 

The most concerning injury was that it was indeed his bolt impaling his side and it seemed to have gone all the way through. “Damnit, Daryl, what happened?” You felt lost, hands hovering while your chest began to tighten with the all too familiar heaviness of impending panic. “No, you can’t freak out. You cannot freak out.”

First thing was first. You had to get him out of the water. He would be lucky if bacteria hadn’t already seeped into his wound. You could only pray that Hershel had antibiotics in his possession. 

You shed your rucksack close to a nearby tree. The area would give you a view of the entirety of your surroundings. With Daryl injured, you would need to remain vigilant. You were responsible for the safety of three now. 

Moving him would be difficult. It would be pulling dead weight, and was most definitely over the weight limit a pregnant person should be messing with. But you didn’t have a choice. 

“Okay, little thumper. You just be strong in there while I get your dumbass father out of this mess.”

It was a struggle to get him angled on his right side. You couldn’t drag him flat and risk disturbing the bolt lodged in his skin. Hands tightly gripping his forearms, you began to pull, your boots sliding in the gravel. It was going to be quite the journey but you were moving him little by little. 

With a strained grunt, you paused and leaned forward to put your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Just as you leaned forward to grab hold of him again, a cold slimy hand grabbed onto your bicep, yanking you back. How had you not heard the walker approaching? Wasn’t pregnancy supposed to heighten your senses?

“Fuck!” You grappled with the corpse of a man, finding it tough to keep his clicking teeth away from your arm. He was pushing you back easily but you couldn’t let go to get to your knife. One wrong move would result in a chunk being ripped from your arm. Your muscles were tiring, being pushed to their limit. To make matters worse, you could see another walker shambling its way toward the scrap. There was no hope of fending off two of them. 

You cried out in frustration and lifted your foot to connect the toe of your boot roughly with the corpse’s knee, causing it to stumble. You had one shot. With your forearm pressing into its throat, you were able to grab your knife and sink the blade into the soft skull with a sickening squelch. There was no time to catch your breath as the second one slammed into your side and took off your feet. 

Your legs were pinned under its body, forcing you to battling at an awkward angle to stave off its attempts to rip into your thighs. Your knife was within reach, but grabbing it meant one side would be vulnerable. 

“Goddamnit! Get off me, you decaying bastard!” 

The walker shifted and gave you the opportunity to bend your right knee and place the sole of your boot against its abdomen. A solid kick forced it back. You were free to scramble backward and grab your knife, but when you lifted it to strike, you spotted another walker crawling toward you, its empty eyes giving you a glimpse of your fate. Ripped open, half eaten only to rise again; mindless and starving for a taste of flesh. 

This was it. You’d done all you could. You’d fight them to the death but they had you. It was only a matter of time before—

A bolt pierced the second walker, entering through its temple. It landed in the dirt with a dusty thud. You knew exactly what had happened and once the last walker was dead, you would survey the damage. You flung yourself forward and drove your knife through its right eye. It fell still, its weight heavy on your lap. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl!” You exclaimed. 

The hunter was on his knees at the water’s edge, swaying dangerously. The left side of his body was now void of the bolt, rivulets of blood dripping from his saturated shirt. His crossbow fell from his grip as he pitched forward to land on all fours. 

“Shit.” You wiggled free from beneath the walker, sheathing your knife before dropping to your knees beside Daryl. You laid a gentle hand on the middle of his back. “Hey, let’s get you over there so I can take a look at you.”

“Who—came with—you?” He asked breathlessly, his head remaining bowed as if he just didn’t have the strength to lift it. Hell, he probably didn’t. 

You knew he wouldn’t like the answer. You hated to upset him but you wouldn’t lie. “I came alone.” He visibly tensed, fingers digging into the dirt and rock below him. 

“Why—the fuck—would ya do that?”

“Because the horse came back without you. Because our baby needs their father.” You reached for his bicep and pulled him up onto his knees so that you were able to put his arm across your shoulders. “Because I was worried about you.” 

He gave you a look from the corner of his eye, his head still hanging. “S’a shit reason—to risk the—two’a ya.”

“Did you miss the other two reasons?” You shot back, getting your legs under you so you could lift him without pulling your back or stomach. “Selective hearing, I swear. On three: one. Two. Three!” You managed to get you both upright, but Daryl was quick to curl forward with a sound much too close to a whimper for your liking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine. Just—” He trailed off with a languid wave of his hand. You took that to mean he was ready to move and began the short walk to the tree. It didn’t take long but he was somehow even more pale and sweating by the time you helped lower him to recline against the trunk. “Found—found her doll.”

“What?” You weren’t really listening. With his shirt pulled up, you could get a good look at the wound. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but still far too much for your liking. “Did you really pull out that bolt?” You asked while leaning around him to see the back as best you could. 

“Y’ain’t—ain’t listenin’.” The hunter gave you a weak shove, barely moving you at all. “Found—Sophia’s doll.”

“She was here.” Looking around, you saw nothing and you would not leave him to go track. “Where’s the doll?” Daryl jutted his chin toward a downed tree that was close to the shallow water. Even going that meager distance from him felt like you were leaving him unprotected. However, you knew he would hound you until you obliged his request. 

You jogged over, your muscles tired and stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. Sure enough, there laid the doll. You snatched it up and returned to him, taking a moment to place the toy in your bag and pull out supplies. 

“How did this happen?”

“Fell—fell on it.”

“Graceful.” You smirked, ignoring the weak middle finger lifted toward you. “Let’s get this bleeding under control and get back to the farm.” You raised his shirt again but this time he seemed to take notice and went rigid. 

“It’ll keep, just leave it.”

Your mouth gaped. “You can’t be serious.” You admonished him. “I’m not sure you noticed but there is a literal hole in your side. We can’t go back without some sort of treatment first.” His usually bright blue eyes were cloudy when he looked at you. “It’s nearly dark. Stop arguing with me and let’s get this done.”

“Ain’t enough—time to—get back tonight.”

“We can’t stay here, Daryl. We’re sitting ducks.” You started grabbing other things you needed even as he tried to talk you out of it: food, water. 

“I can. Go on—back. Come back—back tomorrow—with help.” He winced when he pressed a palm against the wound so he could shift to a more comfortable position. 

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Y/N, s’not—”

“I said no, Daryl.” You reached for his shirt again and he didn’t stop you but there was a panicked undertone in his eyes. “Just far enough for me to see the wound, okay?” A visible relief; his shoulders dropped and he let his head fall back against the tree. 

The bleeding had slowed, showing signs that it was beginning to clot. That was great news but it didn’t replace all he had already lost. The wound needed a proper cleaning and stitches, both of which you were not well equipped. You could handle it if you had the supplies. You’d sewn yourself up plenty of times. 

With a sigh, you got up to fetch your flannel from where you’d left it near the rope. You were already tearing it into strips before you returned to Daryl’s side. You tried to be as quick as possible; taping down gauze, folding pieces of your flannel to press over those. Lacking enough to make a compression bandage, you tied pieces of material together. 

“Almost done.” You had to lean into his space to pull the makeshift bandage around his back. His tired eyes flitted back and forth between yours while you found yourself glancing at his lips. You cleared your throat and sat back on your heels. “This is gonna hurt but just try to be as quiet as you can.”

Daryl watched you for a moment and then nodded. He visibly tensed and closed his eyes a mere moment before you pulled the material tight around the wound. To his credit, he merely grunted but the hard lines of pain on his face told a different story. 

“There. That’s the best I can do right now.” You were beyond concerned. The thought of spending the night there with the archer being so grievously wounded was intimidating. You knew there was no other choice. One of the canteens was on the ground beside you where you had placed it when grabbing out supplies. If he was going to stand any chance of surviving, Daryl had to cooperate. This should be fun. “I need you to drink some water. You’ve lost a lot of blood. We have to keep you hydrated until we can get out of here.”

“Nah.” Much to your chagrin, he turned his head. “Ya need—it more—than I do.” He was beginning to look dazed, fighting off the overwhelming urge to allow his body to rest. 

“Stop being a brat and drink the water.” You pressed the canteen to his lips, dropping your mask to wear your concern like a second skin. “Please. I promise I have enough for me too.”

You thought he might argue or once again refuse, but he finally parted his lips with a sigh. You tilted the canteen, flinching when his much too cold hand covered yours to help control how much he was getting. 

“I need to build a fire. Keep it small.” You weren’t really talking to him but he hummed in response anyway. He was cold and clammy. You’d bet money that would be worthless in that world that if you checked his pulse, it would be racing. “I think you’re going into shock. I need to get you warm.”

“M’fine.” His voice was quiet, too drained to offer up a convincing tone. 

You went about gathering what you could find that could hold the highest possibility of burning. “You know what, keep telling yourself that. Maybe your stubbornness will pay off.” Placing some rocks down so you could control the flames, you placed your tinder bundle in the center along with some sticks and wood chips for kindling. You had to do this the old fashioned way. Daryl was watching you with slow blinks as you went about your method. 

You thanked whatever deity that was listening for your experience in the wilderness. You were nurtured by the woods growing up. The trees were like family, offering shade, protection, and a means of warmth or preparing your meals. You had learned the ways to survive. Granted, back then, walking corpses that wanted to eat your intestines weren’t a thing. Scared as you were, you knew you could make it. You could make it. But now, you had to keep Daryl alive as well. 

“Finally.” You sat back with a smug grin, watching the fire burn. You just hoped it would be enough. “Come on, let’s get you settled closer to the fire. Then I’ll heat the beans I have. Daryl swatted at your hands. 

“M’fine here.”

You huffed through your nose. “No, you’re not. Your skin is freezing. I don’t have any blankets. We need to keep you warm.”

“Fine.” He began to lever his way to his feet, growling with annoyance once you swooped in to help him. “Can do it—can do it myself.”

“Shut up and let me help.” You didn’t let go and he didn’t try to force you. He was panting by the time you lowered him down to lie on this back. He couldn’t be comfortable. “Um, one second.” There wasn’t a lot left of your flannel but you could make it work. Folding it to the best of your ability, you gently lifted his head and placed the article  beneath it. As an afterthought, you pulled the clean shirt you had grabbed for him and draped it over his upper half. It would have to do for the time being. “Okay, just rest and I’ll wake you for some food and water in a bit.”

Hours passed agonizingly slowly. You had tried to get Daryl to eat but he had refused. At least he drank the water. You yourself had eaten a third of the can of beans. Everything seemed to be going alright until you found yourself regurgitating into the bushes. Your stomach was turning inside out, now rejecting even the water. 

Carol had warned you this would happen but you couldn’t wait. You didn’t regret it either. Daryl would have surely died had you not gone in search of him. 

Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you staggered back toward the fire. You were steps away when you realized that Daryl was—talking. And not just talking, but conversing. There’s no one there. 

It felt wrong in some ways to move closer; to be able to hear him. It was as if a person was sitting right next to him. Daryl’s eyes were open; mere slits but open. 

“Screw you.”

“A girl. They—lost a little—girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Tried like hell—to find ya, bro.”

Bro? Daryl had a brother. It was unknown if he was alive or dead. You only knew from Carol. Daryl never let you that close. He was hallucinating which was bad. Very bad. You took a step forward, ignoring your stomach’s protests for the time being. Should you wake him? 

“We went—back for ya. Rick an’ I, we—did right by ya.”

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“Don’t talk—’bout her like that. Y/N—she’s—diff’rent.”

Wide eyes blinked. He was talking about you. Granted, it was during a moment of psychological weakness but still. It felt even more wrong to allow it to continue. 

“I ain’t gonna be—like our daddy. My kid—ain’t gonna be like us. Like you or me.”

Your heart ached for him. You knew nothing about Daryl’s childhood but now you knew it wasn’t pleasant. Shaking your head, you kneeled next to his arm and placed a hand against his cheek. No fever. This had to be coming from the head injury. “Daryl.” He seemed to be looking right through you. Still, he lifted a hand and let the back of his knuckles brush along your jaw. 

“See, Merle? Told ya—she was diff’rent.” His hand fell away, blue eyes disappearing behind heavy lids. 

“Daryl?” You said urgently, fingers searching along his neck for a pulse. It was there, albeit a little fast but there. You felt weak and allowed yourself to fall back onto your ass, scooting until your back was against the tree. 

From what Carol had told you, Daryl’s brother was vile. He was toxic and the younger Dixon had changed slightly without his influence. She had said Daryl was brash and intimidating, preferred to be alone. Hated to be touched. Yet he had sought out your company twice a week like clockwork. He had talked to you, brief and unimportant statements and questions, but he had talked. He had let you touch him. Intimately. 

“She’s—diff’rent.”

It was dangerous to let your mind wander down the paths it had created from his simple words to a brother who wasn’t there. But let it wander, you did. Maybe Daryl didn’t just care about the baby. Maybe he was impertinent toward you because you had gotten too close. Maybe you had managed to penetrate the walls he had built to protect himself. 

Maybe—just maybe—you had allowed him to pass through your own defenses. 

And that was more terrifying to you than any walking corpse in a dystopian world. 

[trans-queen-administrator]

I'm 93% sure I made a post about this before, but Taylor using other people's powers better than they do is such a fun part of her character, especially since she seems to constantly be thinking "damn if only I got that actually useful power." Like, Lisa thinks Taylor would do better than her with her insight power, Taylor coordinates Cuff and Theo to make a lightning rod during Behemoth fight when neither of them had thought of that, Clockblocker with the string, ordering around like 10 people including fucking Eidolon to hold Behemoth still for Phir Se, she's always scheming and using people as chess pieces in such a way that they're not even mad because it's a learning experience. I think a large part of it is a want to be anyone but herself, which leads to her looking at other powers and considering their uses more than most people do because she just finds every reason to be jealous and justify her passive belief that she's inferior and weak. Also she's just so used to high stress fucked up situations that she performs well under pressure. She kinda acknowledges that in the chapter where she's like "what the hell why is Amy so stupid she should be using microbes to form defenses" because she realizes Amy has no experience in fighting, so she's never had a need to think about this. But Taylor is always fighting, even when she's finally safe she doesn't let herself relax, so she's used to this.

And as for wanting to escape her body and be someone else who's cooler and has a better power and isn't lame and worthless, if I recall correctly she comments more than once on how powerful Genesis is and how she would love her power, which honestly fits so well. She wants to have other people's powers because she doesn't like herself, and Genesis's power lets her create and customize new bodies that aren't her and can do whatever she wants. It's the perfect way for her escape being herself.

And then Khepri is thematically significant as always. She finally can use other people's powers, and damn she's good with them! She magnifies Sundancer's sun with Vista, she combines Ballistic and Foil, she uses every combination and interaction possible for an advantage. She can use other people's powers like she always wanted, and she stops being herself, just like she always wanted.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 12

Welcome to act 2. These are going to be a rough set of chapters for Steve. I hate to do it, but I've got to get him low, to have Eddie build him back up.

If you've been following along to WIP Wednesday, you'll know (or at least suspect) that I'm nearing the end of act 2 and the return of Eddie.

Then I'm not sure how much longer it's going to be. It could be a couple of chapters. But it might be several.

Here we have Jeff teasing Steve and Eddie. Steve decides to spend all his money on movies and popcorn, and at last a wild Birdie appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

~

It took a month before Clint Harrington gave up on his crusade to chase his son out of town. That didn’t make Steve safe, per se, just safer. But he took what little comfort in that that he could.

The kids were jealous of the Sunbird, Mike finally admitting that yes, some mysterious benefactor had come in and swept Steve off his feet. He was a kept man.

Steve squirmed at the term. He was going to start looking for work. Just as soon as the dust settled. There was no point in looking when Clint Harrington was just going to come in and throw his weight around get him fired again.

Mike just rolled his eyes when he explained it to the kids, but Max was of the idea to milk for as much as it was worth.

“Seriously, Steve,” Max huffed, “if I could live in a hotel and swim whenever I wanted and order as much food as I wanted, I’d never want to leave.”

He scoffed. “That’s because you’re like ten and actually have friends your age or did you all forget that my dad chased all my friends off?”

“Ooh,” Lucas said clicking his tongue and shaking his head, “yeah, man. That’s rough. And it doesn’t help that this place has one movie theater, an arcade, and a handful of specialty shops none of which scream fun times for teenagers.”

“Yeah,” Will said from the couch, “Jonathan has been complaining about it all summer. There’s Bloomington or Indy, but considering you don’t know which direction your parents went, you’re pretty much stuck in Hell.”

Steve waved his hand at Will. “See? Will gets it.”

So all the kids got their heads together will Claudia and Joyce and tried to plot out something for Steve to do so that he wouldn’t have be staring at the same set of walls every day, no matter how gorgeous those walls happened to be.

Which is how Steve became cinaphile. He started just picking random movies to see at random times of the day during the week. His favorite time to go was Tuesday afternoons before the middle school got out. Not enough time for high school students to evade the place, but later than the moms taking their small children as a way to beat the summer heat.

It also allowed him to find new genres he liked and through all this Eddie stayed his constant phone companion. He loved listening to Steve talk about the plot and how hot the actors were. It was fun.

Steve was also starting to make friends with the rest of the band. He found out who the other person that picked up before thinking it was his phone that was ringing.

“Hey, is Eddie around?” Steve had asked, calling the mobile phone.

“He just stepped out for a minute but he’ll be right back,” the person said. “I’m Jeff by the way, I’m the one that picked up before.”

“Oh hello!” Steve said in surprise. “You’re the other guitarist, right?”

Jeff laughed. “Yeah that’s me. Thanks for not saying ‘the black one’ by the way.”

“Happens a lot?” he asked with a grimace.

“All the time,” Jeff deadpanned. “All the god damned time.”

“That must be shitty,” Steve commiserated. “I guess it’s not quite the same as saying the blond one or the tall one.”

“Yeaaaahhh, no,” Jeff said. “The other two are neutral attributes while being black carries a certain disdain to it.”

“One of the families I used to babysit before this all went to hell,” Steve said, “was a black family and I didn’t realize all the little shit they go through each day. All the snide remarks and sneering glances all the for the crime of existing in the grocery store.”

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed. “Oh wait, your lover boy is back. Hey Ed, it’s Steve.”

“Little Canary!” Eddie said excitedly upon being given the phone. “Jeff didn’t spill any of my secrets did he?”

Steve heard Jeff laugh in the background. “I didn’t know there were secrets he kept... I’m going to have to pump him for information next time.”

‘No, no, no,” Eddie whined. “Not allowed! Shoo Jeffy. Mine! Shoo!”

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Steve giggled. “You can tell all your secrets yourself the next time you’re in Hawkins.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “I think I’d like that very much.”

“You’re just a gooey marshmallow, aren’t you?” Steve said with a giggle. “A perfectly roasted marshmallow. Hard on the outside, but all melty and gooey on the inside. Sweet and sticky.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “You really had me going there until the sticky part. Yeah, baby. I’ll be your marshmallow and you’ll be my little Canary.”

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve said, “I’d really like that.”

They talked for a little bit longer before Eddie hummed.

“Steve we have to talk about the last month of the tour,” he said seriously.

Steve’s blood froze in his veins. Eddie rarely called him ‘Steve’. It was a petname like baby, sweetheart, or honey, or little Canary, or maybe even Stevie. But never Steve. “Oh yeah? What about?”

“We’re going to be in Canada,” Eddie continued. “I’ll still be able to call, but only from hotel rooms. I don’t get good service there.”

The ice in his veins turned to lead in his stomach. “So while you’re on the road, you won’t be able to call me?” he asked, his voice small.

“Oh, little Canary,” Eddie said sympathetically. “I’ll try to call from payphones when we stop for gas, but yeah. It’ll be pretty sporadic. But I’ve gotten Chrissy to promise that she’ll take good care you.”

“She still doesn’t like, you know,” Steve said, “she thinks I’m distracting you from doing your job.”

“Which is fucking ridiculous,” Eddie assured him. “I shake my ass on stage and sing and play my heart out. I never skimp on that, and never walk out one meet and greets with the fans. It’s her job to worry, but it’s not your problem. It’s mine. Plus I have my little elf in play who will be plying you with as many little bird gifts I can find.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at that. He had gotten in addition to the necklace that he only took off to shower, a couple of graphic t-shirts with canaries on them. A keychain as well as one with his name on it. Three little ceramic canaries and a glass one. All brought in by Eddie’s little elf.

“Yeah, okay,” he huffed. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

“Well, I’ve got to go, babe,” Eddie murmured, “I’ll talk to later. The change won’t happen right away, but I’ll tell you when the date gets closer, okay?”

“Roger that,” Steve said with a sigh of relief. Then they hung up and he flopped on the sofa like a fainting Victorian maiden. In a couple of weeks, he would go back to being as lonely as fuck.

He didn’t even know who the little elf was or why they never showed themselves. All though, knowing Eddie, it was probably just because he thought it was cute. Which it was. It was also a little on the creepy side. He had gotten to know the porters, bellboys, and cleaning staff very well, so he didn’t mind them coming in while he was out or even in the shower.

But a mysterious person whom he knew nothing about? Yeah that was a problem. He didn’t know if they were male or female, how old they were, were they friendly or just doing their job.

To say it drove Steve nuts would be an understatement.

It had been six weeks since his dad chucked him out for making out with Tommy on the sofa and all that time he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the bastard or any of their friends. It was just then his luck ran out.

He had accidentally spilled almost his whole bottle of shampoo and had to go and get more. He spoke briefly to Joyce and chatted with her about Will and how Jonathan was adjusting to being newly graduated and turned around to run directly into someone.

“Shit!” Steve hissed as the basket he was carrying slammed into his stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He looked up, right into the green eyes and freckled face of Tommy Hagan.

“Steve!”

“Hey, Tommy,” Steve said with a fake smile. “How have you been?” The unasked question of ‘why did you leave me?’ hung in the air between them.

Tommy reached up and rubbed the material of Steve’s shirt between his finger and thumb. “That’s some pretty fancy new getup you’ve got there. Where you get the money for such nice things?”

Steve took a step back and crossed his arms. “I’m surviving. Like I always do.” He hated how he was already put on the defensive.

“Mhmm...” Tommy purred. “Pretty little slut like you, I bet you’ve got yourself a sugar daddy you’ve spread your legs for.”

Dread immediately pooled in Steve’s stomach. That wasn’t what Eddie was? Was he?

He smacked Tommy’s hand away. “Jealous that someone is fucking me better than you ever could? Maybe I have someone paying my bills or maybe I just have a trust fund. I’ll never tell you jack shit.”

The thing was is that he probably did have a trust fund. He just wouldn’t get it until he turned twenty-one. He had two years of running on empty he would have to do first. At least he had until Eddie came home anyway.

“No,” Tommy agreed, “you were always more of a screamer than a talker.”

Steve rolled his eyes and scoffed. “At least I didn’t run like a bitch when my parents walked in on us fucking. You find another dick to ride or did you go back to Carol like the coward you are?”

Tommy scowled. “You keep her name out your dirty mouth, Stevie boy. You don’t want to see what will happen if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a snort, “you’ll go running back to Daddy to protect you, like always do. Now pardon me, I have better things to do.” His eyes flicked over Tommy’s body. “If you hadn’t been the only option, I wouldn’t have picked you.”

He pushed passed him, bumping their shoulders together as he did.

He quickly bought what he needed and about as much junk food as he could get hands on. Joyce looked as though she wanted to ask if he was okay, so picked a different line to go though, hurrying out to his car. He looked around to make sure Tommy wasn’t waiting for him, but he didn’t see his car.

He drove back to the hotel, ready for a junk food night in front of the TV. He ordered room service and turned on the shower to wash off the slimy feeling of the interaction with Tommy. He had removed his shirt when he realized he had left the shampoo out there.

He opened the door and stopped in his tracks. Because there putting a couple of boxes on the end table was a girl with choppy blonde hair and boxy clothes. She was definitely not staff.

“So you’re my elf.”

~

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[dulcecherub]

Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Eight

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

10:00am

Planning out a baby shower was a lot more work than Sofia had anticipated. She was in charge of making the balloons and the decorations. Which wasn’t too bad, everyone else was hauling around with the snacks, food, games, etc.

Lupita was helping Sofias dad haul in the tables and chairs. For such a tiny woman, Lupita was strong.

It was beginning to stress Sofia out. Sofia sat down on a chair, her feet were swollen from the baby. She swears they’d went up a size. Her mom notices, helping Sofia to get more comfortable.

“¿Te duelen los pies?” (Your feet hurt)

Sofia rubbed her foot as best as she could. “Si.”But the baby was getting in the way, her mom sits next to her. Grabbing Sofia’s feet instead. “Mama, No tienes que hacer eso.” (Mom, you don’t have to do that)

Her mom waves her off with the hand that isn’t messaging her foot. “Por favor, Sofia. Soy tu mamá.” (Please Sofia. I’m your mom) Her mom begins to rub her feet and Sofia can’t deny; it helps alleviate the pain. She rests her hand on the top of her stomach. Her baby bump was no longer a bump. Her stomach was fully swollen now.

“Pensé que si era una nina, se suponía que el estómago era más pequeño.” (I thought if it were a girl, the stomach was supposed to be smaller) Sofia says to her mom, as her mom continues to message her feet.

“Eso es superstición.” (That’s all superstition) Her mom laughs, Sofia eyebrows furrow.

“Pensé que los ninos hacían el estómago más grande, ¿no?” (I thought boys made the stomach bigger, no?”

Sofia’s mom shakes her head, releasing her left foot to message her right. A little smile playing on her mom’s lips.“Toda superstición.” (All superstition)

“Hmm…” Sofia says, her mom finally stops messaging her feet. “Gracias mama.” (Thank you mom) Her mom kisses her gently on the forehead. Sofia stares back at the decorations. Staring at the pink letters sprawled on the table. A tearful smile on her lips, her eyes pricking.

A couple of days before

Rafe rolled his eyes; placing Little Jay back into his crib. He stirs but doesn’t wake, his little hand turning into a fist. “Why should I go?”

“Come on, look, it’ll finally get him to stop texting me. And you get to have fun.” Sarah says, trailing behind him. Rafe looks back to stare at Sarah. She leans against the door, her arms crossed.

“Plus your friends miss you. You need a break from the custody battle and—your business.”

Rafe eyes lands back on one of Little Jay’s teddy bears. “Fine, but only an hour. Then I’m going home. It’s probably some stupid party.”

Sarah laughs, “I’ll tell John B to let Topper know. Also, thanks for that.” Rafe can’t help but laugh at that.

“Oops.”

He walks slowly away from the crib; staring down at his nephew. “He looks so much like you.” Sarah moves closer to the crib, staring down at her sleepy baby.

“He has John B’s nose.” Sarah lightly drags the pad of her finger down the bridge of Little Jays nose. Rafe can’t help the ping that runs through him. If things had been different, would that had been him and Sofia?

He’d imagined it before, having a child with her. The way she carried herself: soft and gentle. He’d always imagined she would be a good mother. Sure, people say that about Sarah. But she was his sister. So to him, she was more annoying than motherly. —She’d proved him wrong.

Little Jay fingers stretch out then turn back into a little fist.

“Thank you.” Rafe says unexpectedly, he’s even surprised that he’d spoken at all. Sarah lifts her head to turn to look at him. Her brows knit together.

“For what?” She asks, her hand resting against the baby’s crib.

“For letting me experience this too. For letting me in.”

Sarah smiles at him softly. “When did Rafe Cameron get so soft?”

Rafe rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it. Tell Topper I’ll go to whatever this party is. I guess it’s time I face that whole situation.” Rafe began to walk out the room, staring down at his phone.

“Oh! Don’t forget we have to meet with the lawyers!” Sarah yelled out to him.

“Got it!”

4:30pm

Lupita stood next to Sofia as she stared around the room. They’d really put in a lot of work into it; and it payed off.

“Wow, I’m actually surprised we could do it in time.” Sofia says, blinking as she look around the room. Her eyes wide.

Lupita grinned, “Told you. Oh, I can feel it, today is going to be such a good day.”

Sofia let out a little laugh, her head falling onto Lupita’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Lupe. It means so much to me.” Lupita places her head on top of Sofias.

“Anything for you, prima.”

For once, Sofia finally, truly didn’t feel as alone as she’d been feeling for months. It finally felt like she wasn’t carrying this weight anymore; by herself. That she had someone other than her mom, who could help her. It felt good to have Lupita close by. Someone who understood her. Someone she knew she could confide in.

“Come on, let’s go sit. Until more people come.” Sofia followed her cousin towards the tables. She wrapped an arm around Sofias shoulders.

8pm

Rafe brows furrowed, as Topper drove through the cut. Ruthie in the passenger seat.

“Um why is this taking us to the cut?” Topper says, staring down at the screen on his phone. Rafe couldn’t see Ruthie’s face.

“Oh, the parties in the cut.” She sounded neutral, Rafe eyebrows scrunched up. Oh, this better not be some kind of joke. He thought.

“Since when did we get invited to parties on the cut?” Topper asks. He looks at the rear view mirror, as the trees and small houses breeze by.

“You ask so many questions.” Ruthie says; Rafe could hear the annoyance in her voice. He really regretted saying yes to this. He should have just spoken to Topper and Kelce alone. Kelce wasn’t even here; that should have been a red flag.

But something gnawed at him; would he finally see Sofia? He scratched his nose, staring out the window. A part of him had been thinking about it. Finally talking to her. The less and less he saw her; the more he couldn’t help that he missed her. He realized how much he tried to suppress it. When he was in Morocco and Lisbon; his mind constantly wandered to her. Questions constantly feeling his mind; why did she betray him?

Topper finally pulls over to a bouquet hall; Rafe eyebrows furrowed further together. What was this place?

He could see pink balloons pinned against the door. The words “Baby Shower!” Pinned against the door. He looked back towards Topper, who met his eyes with the same confusion.

He still couldn’t see Ruthie’s face.

Rafe was the first one to climb out the car, what were they doing at a baby shower? He took another glance at Topper who shrugged his shoulder. His eyes darted towards Ruthie; who looked like she was suppressing a smirk. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you here to make fun of someone or something?” Rafe asks her, Ruthie looks up at him.

“What? Me? Making fun of someone?” Ruthie says, feigning ignorance. Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just go. Come on.” Topper says, he opens the door slowly, letting Ruthie in first. Rafe following soon after.

They climbed up the stairs, Ruthie’s heels clanking against the tiled stairs. Rafe tried to push the weirdness of the situation aside. Tried to stop all the questions that were flying in his head. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was being set up.

Ruthie opened the door to the main hall, Rafe followed her in.

8:10pm

Sofia let her Tia Cassandra hug her, she smiled at the way her aunt cooed at her stomach.

“Ella va a ser tan hermosa, como su mamá.” (She’s going to be so beautiful, just like her mom) Sofia smiled warmly at her Tia. Her heart swelled at all the love she was receiving. She hadn’t expected such a big turn out. Even her family outside of the Outer banks had came.

Sofia had been paying attention to her aunt and the way she was cooing over her swollen belly. To notice three figures walking towards her.

“Oh my god! Congratulations Sofia!”

Sofia heart sank, her eyes landing on Ruthie first. The smirk playing on Ruthie’s face. She can’t believe her eyes; she feels like they’re deceiving her. There’s no way, but Ruthie stands there. Her eyes not leaving Sofia’s.

Her eyes land on Topper who seemed previously confused; but slowly his features widen with shock. Then her eyes finally land on Rafe, his face stoic. His eyes piercing, his jaw ticking.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her Tia Cassandra looks from Sofia towards the three Kooks who’ve walked in. She doesn’t recognize them, of course.

“¿Amigos tuyos?” (Friends of yours?) Her aunt says, her eyes squinting, trying to piece everything together. Sofia can’t speak, she feels frozen in place. She can feel her eyes bulging out of her head. Her breath hitches, Lupita seems to finally realize what’s going on.

She heads over to Sofia, staring from Rafe to Sofia. Sofia eyes are glued to Rafe, noticing the way his eyes scan her body. Landing on her swollen belly. His eyes narrowing, his brows furrowing. Then it seems like it finally clicks with him. His eyes meets hers, his nostrils flaring.

Shit, shit, shit

Sofia wants to run, this has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real. This isn’t real, she pinches herself. But to no avail, this isn’t a nightmare she can’t wake up from.

Ruthie crosses her arms, her smirk becoming more malicious. “So exciting.”

“Rafe.” Sofia finally says, ignoring Ruthie completely. Rafe scrunches up his nose. His eyes squinting as he regards her.

“What the fuck?” He finally says, his hands clenched into fist. It doesn’t even seem like the right words to come out of his mouth. But that’s the way they fall from his lips. Lupita quickly stands closer to Sofia, trying to protect her. But Lupita doesn’t understand; Sofia has to face Rafe’s wrath head on. Before everything truly crashes.