#the unknown and static strange

[qqueenofhades]

I realize that I will instantly jinx myself by making this post, and it has been 84 years since it and/or any of my fics have been updated, but I have indeed written some consecutive words this morning on chapter 10 of the unknown and static strange.

[just-french-me-up]

Endless Sandman Fanfiction Tropes I Adore (2/?) : ➻ Professor Robert "Hob" Gadling

[currently-becoming-potatoes]

List of words for the computer:

LONG POST- more under the cut

STANFORD- Pulls up a file on Stanford Pines, written by an unknown scientist. It discusses his extra finger and praises his intelligence, as well as calling him the “next evolution in the human species”.

BILL CIPHER- Takes you to the Wikipedia page for the Eye of Providence. Also took me to a Sesame Street video about a Jazzy Triangle and a Square. Not sure what prompted the change.

STANLEY PINES: Takes you to a list of EBay listings for brass knuckles.

FIDDLEFORD: Takes you to the music video for Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex.

SHERMIE: Nothing. I sure do wish we got some lore about Grandpa Pines.

GRAVITY FALLS: The text on the computer reads “never heard of it” and the red light on the bottom turns green.

ALEX HIRSCH: Leads to Google Images for “flannel”. Huh.

WEIRDMAGEDDON: Pulls up an article from the Gravity Falls Gossiper about how nothing happened at all and there was no apocalypse.

DISNEY: Screen reads “rat.gif censored for your protection”

SOOS: Leads to a page of writing from Soos himself, referencing many things (including Tad Strange being gay and madly in love with Woodpecker Guy. Love wins!!!)

DIPPER: Leads to a creepy yellow parchment with a message from Bill Cipher himself trying to trick Dipper into blinding himself by staring at the sun for 13 hours straight! Silly! (Also if you keep clicking on it, the page gets darker and blurrier until it implies we've gone blind)

MABEL: Causes stickers to appear on every available surface. Clicking it enough times leads to message “lab now fully Mabelized”.

WENDY: Leads to a note from Wendy that mentions a way to ward off evil triangles written in the bottom corner of the book.

GIDEON: Makes a web recording of Gideon scatting play. It ends with “I love you forever Mabel”. Please shut the fuck up you little creep.

TAD STRANGE: Plays a video of bread with smooth jazz in the background.

TOBY DETERMINED: Leads to a Google search for a restraining order. Holyyyyy shittttttt

WHO ARE YOU: “I could ask you the same question”

SEASON 3: “Season Two”. I guess that���s that lol

This was about all I could find. Please reblog with anything else you can discover! Thank you, fellow Gravity Falls enjoyers!

And make sure to give some love to all the wonderful folks down in the comments! Many of these answers and tips come from what they've found. I can't list everyone, unfortunately- I didn't expect this post to get popular- but, to everyone who's helped out, THANK YOU.

FURTHER EDITS:

BLIND EYE: Pulls up an optometrist’s eye exam. Each line reads “WKHBOOVHH”. Too lazy to translate atm.

PIÑATA: Bill Cipher getting beaten to death /hj

MASON: A note from Dipper listing several anagrams of Gravity Falls characters’ names. You can check in the comments for the answers.

AXOLOTL: “You ask alotl questions”. Thanks for the pun, Alex, but I’m kind of losing my mind rn

MYSTERY SHACK: Leads to a Google search for Confusion Hill, the real-life Mystery Shack!

MYSTERY: “?”

MONSTER: Leads to several YouTube videos for “There’s a Monster at the End of this Book.”

VALLIS CINERIS: Leads to an analog-horror-esque video of Baby Bill and his parents, who have been blotted out by static, and a voice repeating “WHY DID YOU DO IT” over and over again until you stop the video.

PORTAL: “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build a new one.”

GIFFANY: You need to put it in multiple times. Several warnings about breaching firewall, followed by a message from GIFFANY saying “SOOS! I still love you!” or smth like that, and then GIFFANY herself briefly appearing onscreen. Trying again after that summons her more. Also lets you download some ZIP files.

DORITO: Summons an image of a spinning Dorito, followed by the most cursed image of Bill Cipher I have ever seen.

GOD: A short video of an axolotl in a tank with a Bill Cipher statue plays. This is Alex’s axolotl, shown in the Book of Bill countdown.

REALITY: “Is an illusion”

FILBRICK: “I’m not impressed”

CARYN: “I knew you were gonna write that”

GLASS SHARD BEACH: Leads to an image of the New Jersey Hell Hole.

ANY CUSS WORD: Pulls up a paper reading “NOT S&P APPROVED. WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP” with an image of soap below.

MATPAT: Leads to a video of MatPat next to a conspiracy board, holding the Book of Bill. He tells us we’re on our own.

BABBA: Plays an audio recording of Dipper singing BABBA. Not Disco Girl, a different song.

CRAZ: Leads to the Jem and the Holograms theme.

XYLER: See above.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA: Shows us two new journal pages from Ford and Mabel, studying the Cipher statue. They’re definitely worth the read, I teared up looking at them.

ANSWER: “Question”

QUESTION: “Answer”

SEASON ONE: “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”

SEASON TWO: “Season 1” …maybe scratch what I said about Season 3. Or don’t. Things are starting to damage my brain.

CURSED (got from @slimslamflimflam decoding the candle! Thanks!): Shows two pages talking about the dangers of drawing triangles, with the bottom of the second page showing several drawings of Bill and the words “HE IS COMING, RUN”

THE UNIVERSE: “Hologram”

RIZZ: “Life privileges revoked. Now releasing poison gas.” This response is repeated if you type in SKIBIDI or FORTNITE.

BABY: Shows an ultrasound of a fetus Bill Cipher, captioned “Look at what’s growing inside you! See you in nine months, papa!”

JOURNAL 3: “The Journal for Me”

PACIFICA: Leads to a note from Pacifica calling Bill Cipher “ick” and telling us to follow her on social media under “Platinum Paz”

PLATINUM PAZ: Pulls up an image of Northwest Manor with the llama symbol overlaid and a “NW” logo beneath. There's also a short story beneath!

LOVE: Leads to an audiobook of “The Love Triangle”. Need to read later.

BLENDIN: “The time agent lost and presumed incompetent”. Uh…?

SCARY: Leads to another audiobook of a cheesy Goosebumps-esque horror novel written by Bill himself, apparently.

DIVORCE: Shows you the logo of the bar Bill went to after his fight with Ford… Billford bitter exes confirmed

ROBBIE: Leads to the cringiest messages ever. He’s such a failure I love him

CONSPIRACY: Leads to a video of a man losing his mind over the countdown counting up. I feel so seen. (I have been informed that his name is Charlie Day, he's an actor from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and that one meme, he had a quote on the back of the Book of Bill, thanks to everyone who explained that to me, I'm sorry, I'm uncultured)

RAT: “Thurburt’s number?”

BLANCHIN: Leads to a YouTube video on how to blanch vegetables.

TJ ECKLEBURG: “Never mention that name again.”

NOTHING: “Something”

SOMETHING: “Nothing”

BURNSIDE: “Burned inside.” Well… at least we know what happened…

WADDLES: Leads to the pig placement network!

THERAPRISM: Pulls up a sign from the theraprism regarding an emergency situation. The code reads "THE OLD ONE".

SHAPE: Pulls up an article on Plato, triangles, and Ancient Greece. This article is presumably written by Bill.

LLIB and BILL: THIS leads to the Sesame Street video every time.

WEIRD: Shows a video of a frightened Weird Al panicking about being trapped in a computer. Sorry, man...

CLONE: Pulls up an image of Paper Jam Dipper, a warning about not getting him too close to liquids, and an option to print.

TRIANGLE: ")" or "Tri harder."

THEYLLSEE: "Is seeing believing?"

DEER TEETH: "For you, kid!"

LIFE: "Life: 72% complete. Now loading: death."

DEATH: "Life's goth cousin."

PINES: "A good family tree."

OWL TROWEL: A slab of hieroglyphs, translating to an ancient ad for an owl trowel.

SCALENE: "Life form not found." EUCLID has the same outcome.

WELL WELL WELL BEING: Some assorted notes from Bill's Theraprism file. These include his greatest love and fear, his art therapy notes, and notes on his phobias. Three clicks is required to read them all.

BOO BERRY: Offers a poem on the meaning of life! Wow! I feel so enlightened!

LOVE YA BRO: Shows us a doodle from Stan of one of his and Ford's Sea Grunks adventures, and another code on the back. It translates to "Kings of New Jersey." I've been told it lets you download the code as a font.

SORRY: Reveals the repaired Backupsmore photo, with a note from Fiddleford about his and Ford's growing friendship. Fiddauthor fans, we are eating well tonight!

HORROR: Pulls up an image and report on The Always Garden, which is essentially a cheap Italian restaurant hidden in the backrooms.

HOLOGRAM: "Universe."

NAITSUAF: Pulls up a page that looks like it would be from the Book of Bill, in which Bill tries to convince us to sell us his soul. Clicking "ARE YOU READY?" pulls up a contract where we can sell our soul to Bill (with an alarming amount of coded fine print. Will need to translate later). You can print this document out, back out, or sign it right there on the web. Hitting "SIGN" causes the words "PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU!" to appear, and the document to close. In other words, I no longer have a soul.

IMSTILLONYOURMIND: Plays a recording of the ocean, with Stan faintly talking in the background. Poor Ford ain't quite over the divorce yet...

HOTXOLOTL: Pulls up a "MOST WANTED" doc on the henchmaniacs.

SEVENEYES: Pulls up a faded polaroid of The Oracle with text on the back that reads "LEAVE HIM. Escape to dimension *blurred out*. It's against the rules but it's the only reality where you'll be safe from him." The code at the bottom (once again decoded by the powerhouse that is @slimslamflimflam) reads "Set a course for Dimension: R34LITY." Is another Cipher Hunt in the makes? Only time will tell, hehehe.

JUST FIT IN: Plays an old commercial with a few moments of speech in the glitches at the end.

EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES: Shows a transcript from a therapy session at the Theraprism. Bill discusses his relationship with Ford and cuts off the session when someone brings up his parents.

NOT A PHASE: Shows a Google search for "black hair dye stained an entire bathroom."

PAPER IS BOOK SKIN: Instantly downloads a page of fleshy pink paper with the word "ENJOY" written on it!

SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA: Pulls up a few more pages about the human life cycle.

LIES: Pulls up an image of "The Game of Lies" board game, with a long stretch of text from (I assume) Bill, ending with "LIE UNTIL YOU ARE NOT LYING ANYMORE." Someone has some issues...

SAY BAAAA: Pulls up a neat little rhyme about being Bill Cipher's obedient flock of sheep. The code at the end translates to "Black Sheep."

ONE EYED KING: Plays a video of a hypnotist's spiral, with Bill proclaiming "YOU WANT TO PLEDGE YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER" in the background. There is also morse code that translates to "NAITSUAF", leading to a previous discovery- the soul contract.

TANTRUM: Pulls up a transcript of a spat between Bill and Time Baby.

TITANS BLOOD: "HOOT HOOT! Password please!"

CURSE WITTEBANE: Pulls up an image of a Bill Cipher ouija board.

FORDTRAMARINE: Pulls up several rejected files from Ford trying to convince us Fordtramarine exists.

SUCK IT MERLIN: Pulls up a tapestry of Bill riding a unicorn. The code at the top reads "DAY MARE VS NIGHTMARE."

HEY NERD: Plays a commercial advertising things such as a Bill Cipher calendar, the Scrubba-Bill, a severed hand, and the entire Cygnus-XIII galaxy. Half of the image can be found in the Book of Bill.

DESTRUCTION IS THE FORM OF CREATION: Pulls up a frantic page of notes from post-portal-shit Fiddleford. A sticky note at the bottom has a code that reads "Unreality."

RUBBERHOSE: Plays "The World is Small Ever After for All."

IRREGULAR: Shows us Bill's mugshot in color. The code below reads "No prison or attention span can hold him."

UNREALITY: Offers a guide by Bill on how to become immortal.

GUN: "Oh yes oh yes oh yes they both."

ABUELITA: Leads to a video on vacuuming the walls.

YES: "What's McGucket's favorite soda?"

NO: "Your loss..."

REPEATEDLY CLICKING STAN: This stuff deserves a section of its own, away from the OG Stan stuff. It takes you through several Ebay listings on various Stan-ish items until you get to a page written by Bill about Stan's secret shames. "Ex-wives" further confirms our theory on Stan and Eda's relationship, as well as revealing many other bits of lore. "Fears" is somewhat goofy to be honest. "Secret Shames" reveals that Stan is a fanfiction writer and that his mother is the only member of his family who truly loves him outside of Ford and the kids. "Unreported Crimes" is somewhat goofy as well. "Failed Products" basically confirms that Stan is that world's Alex. "Lowest Moments" is genuinely depressing, and "Darkest Thought". Well. I'm not spoiling it lol. And the bit on "How He Beat Me" causes Bill to get more and more frantic/angry the more you click it! Comedy GOLD!

DIPPY FRESH: Leads to a Reddit post of the Burger King Kids Club.

MEOW: Leads to a TikTok of a man playing the Gravity Falls theme on that cap keyboard.

HELP ME: Pulls up another video of Alex's axolotl and the tiny statue. Rip Bill ig :/

R34LITY: Pulls up several photos of the henchmaniacs in live-action, captioned "They found a new home."

JOURNAL 1: "The journal of fun."

JOURNAL 2: "The journal for you."

FBI: "Your webcam is on. We are watching."

BURNED INSIDE: Shows an image of a charred Oregon Parks badge and nametag on the ground.

HECTORING: Plays a silly little country song!

OROBOROUS: Pulls up two journal pages about Fiddleford buying Ford an axolotl to keep him company, and Bill subsequently telling Ford to get rid of him. There's also some code on the first page that reads "CHONKY BOY." Ford, you wonderful dork.

[o0sleepingdead0o]

Ambassador Danny AU

Just a silly thing knocking around in my brain.

Batman halted in the door of the conference room, taking in the sight of a strange being lounging imperiously in his chair. His white hair seemed to defy gravity ever so gently and his green, glowing eyes—Jason’s eyes—stared back with none of the regard or fear so many people showed towards Batman. His tanned face was speckled with tiny stars that Batman had to actively resist becoming memorized by. The boy’s choice of covering was sheening armour that refracted the light through his chest-plate of black ice. The white sleet that sharpened his knuckles seemed perfectly capable of movement despite it encasing his hands in similar fashion to the chest-plate; glassy in it’s brutal edges and as hard as the sheets that form over the coldest of lakes. 

The watchtower had been invaded. Batman had questioned why the place was so cold when he’d arrived. Now he knew.

The only thing that kept Batman from immediately reacting might have—very much—had to do with how young he looked. A boy in the second half of his teens.

And the fact that several other Justice League members were at Batman’s back as he strolled further into the room, watching the boy warily.

The boy’s eyes were unconcerned as he watched the Justice League file in. Worryingly so. Who was he that he would be so unfazed, how powerful? Or was it faith he wouldn’t be harmed, taking advantage of the Justice League’s strong morals?

The teen had commandeered the chair with all the authority of a king and the confidence of one assured of their own position. He sprawled across it. The chairs were all identical of practical, unassuming make, but this boy made it look like his throne as he leaned heavily on one side and stretched one leg way on the other. A hand was extended to dangle off one chair-arm and he had a knee braced up, showing an armoured shin protecting his black, sturdy, cargo-like pants and iced boots that jagged treacherously upwards.

The boy smirked. “Took you long enough. I was getting bored.”

Batman resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his already protected ears from the unearthly static and screeching glaciers that came from the boy’s mouth. He noticed Superman flinch and his face grimace.

“Who are you?” Batman growled. This boy was obviously inhuman. He was also an unknown. Batman would be foolish to underestimate someone who had somehow infiltrated the watchtower without being seen or setting off any alerts. Who exuded too much confidence, as if the entire world was at his fingertips.

Attacking took the back-burner in favour of garnering information in such a concerning situation.

“You may address me as. . .” He contemplated a bit too much for Batman to believe whatever he would give them would be his true name. “Danny.”

“. . .Danny.” 

The name was so. . .normal.

“How did you get here?” Wonder Woman asked with hints of warning and aggression.

The boy smiled. He had fangs. Too many sharp teeth. He didn’t answer and was revelling in their ignorance.

“What are you doing here?” Superman asked. It said something about Danny’s energy that even superman was being cautious about approaching.

“Waiting for you.” He smirked.

“Why?” Batman pushed as much threat and intimidation into his stance and words as he could. He usually didn’t have to think about it. “What do you want?”

Danny chuckled and a shiver ran up Batman’s spine. Goosebumps formed even through the protective layers that shielded him from the cold.

“Why don’t you sit?” The words should have been innocent. They felt like a trap. “You’ve gathered for a meeting, haven’t you?” 

The league members didn’t move. Danny sighed.

“Fine, fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes and Batman was eerily reminded of how much the adolescent exasperation reminded him of his own children. Danny leaned off the chair arm to lean an elbow on the table instead, propping his chin up. He was all teeth. “The Infinite Realms wishes for peace. I’ve come to investigate the possibility of a treaty on behalf of the High King.”

<><><><>

“THERE’S A DENIZEN OF THE INFINITE REALMS IN THE WATCHTOWER??!!!”

Batman held the phone away from his face at Constantine’s uncharacteristic display of panic. It did not bode well and it settled uncomfortably in his bones.

He grunted in affirmation.

Constantine swore up and down enough to fill Alfred’s swear jar ten times over. “What do they want?! What did you say to them!? Ohhhh, bloody ****! You’ve already antagonized them haven’t you?!”

“No.” Batman ground out.

Constantine was quiet. Several seconds ticked by.

“. . .WELL?!”

“He claims the High King wants to negotiate for peace.”

There was silence on the other end. Batman usually preferred it when Constantine was quiet, but this was thick and seemed to claw out of the phone to infect the watchtower. It muffled the noises and beeps and drowned out the presence of the other league members who had stepped out of the conference room with him.

Then there was a great, controlled release of wavery air. When Constantine spoke, it was more serious than Batman ever remembered hearing him.

“Okay, okay.” Constantine mumbled to himself. “Listen closely, Bats, and repeat everything, and I mean everything, to your circus clowns.”

Superman cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

“YOU LEFT THE AMBASSADOR ALONE?!”

“Of course not! Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are monitoring him.” Batman said. 

Constantine grumble-sighed. “Good.” He mumbled. “Two of the competent ones. I don’t trust Bats not to **** this up and get us all killed.”

“What now?” Flash said.

Batman was a little offended. “Constan—“

“NO!” He yelled vehemently. He sounded a little manic. “Batsy, you have the emotional intelligence of a wet paper bag, a sad, trampled, wet paper bag with so many holes that it can’t even be considered a bag anymore, you have the emotional intelligence of wet, paper scraps and the diplomacy of a feral hyena! Unless he addresses you first, Do. Not. Initiate! Do not open your mouth! I have no faith in you whatsoever!”

“I will n—“ Batman tried to growl again, but Constantine cut him off. Again!

“No!” Constantine reiterated oh, so eloquently. “Look.” He sighed. “Getting news of the newest High King since he defeated the last one has been near impossible. All Deadman will tell me is that he’s better than the last guy and we are incredibly lucky our entire dimension wasn’t wiped out after that stunt the American government pulled with the Anti-ecto Acts.”

Batman saw some of the leaguers pale. He suddenly wasn’t feeling the best either.

“Anti-Ecto Acts?”

“Laws declaring their species non-sentient and illegal, I dealt with it, thing is, this is an extremely delicate situation.” He stressed. “We don’t know what kind of ruler he is, what little thing might set him off, and we cannot afford to set the High King off! Capiche?! It’s a good sign that he’s willing to negotiate peace, but he could change his mind. Some ghosts are very temperamental.”

“Ghosts.” Several of the leaguers repeated. Constantine let out an incredibly exasperated sound.

“Do you idiots know nothing?! Yes, ghosts! The Infinite Realms is the dimension between dimensions, the land of the dead and the never-born! They are incredibly powerful entities and many of them could level our planet easily! Whatever you do, DO NOT ask how they’ve died! It is highly taboo and you’ll get yourselves killed!” Constantine let out a stressed groan.

“I would come back and deal with this myself, but I am. . .occupied at the moment. Don’t try to negotiate without me! You lot will muck everything up! And seriously, DO NOT ASK HOW THEY’VE DIED! Keep the Ambassador happy until I can get there, convince him to stay! We might not have another chance like this, don’t annoy them, do not ignore them, and, just in general, don’t give the ambassador any reason to deliver anything negative to King Phantom and have him erase us all, got it?”

The Justice League exchanged several, stunned looks.

“Got it?”

Batman grunted.

“Good. And Bats.” Constantine added lowly. “If this fails, I am blaming you for the end of the world.”

Constantine ended the call and the phone beeped before drowning everyone in silence. The leaguers shared more looks.

“Now what?” Hal said.

[gf2bellamy]

part two: confirmation synchronicity

— ★ what terrifies spencer isn’t the unknown but the known—how effortlessly you’ve loved him, how long he’s loved you back without saying a word.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing !

masterlist - part one ✦ part three ✦ part four

Spencer was scared.

Not the kind of fear he knew from the field. Not the sharp, adrenaline-fueled alertness that came with chasing killers or walking into an unknown crime scene.

This was different.

The fear clung to him like static - irrational, persistent, humiliating in its intensity. Spencer Reid had stared down the barrels of guns, negotiated with serial killers, walked through nightmares made flesh. 

Yet nothing had ever terrified him quite like this: the irrevocable knowledge that he'd fallen helplessly in love with his best friend.

The realization had kept him awake all night, his mind cycling through memories - every shared smile, every casual touch, every moment he'd been too oblivious to recognize as love.

By dawn, the need to see you had become a physical ache, a compulsion stronger than logic.

Which explained why he now stood at your door at 7:23 AM, hair still damp from his rushed shower, heart hammering against his ribs as you blinked up at him in surprise.

"Spence!" Your smile was immediate, effortless, the same bright expression that had become his personal gravitational pull.

"Hi, hello," you added, stepping back to usher him in. "What a surprise."

"Hope that's okay," he managed, fingers fumbling with his shoelaces. His voice sounded strange to his own ears - too high, too tight.

"Sure thing," you said, closing the door behind him.

He paused, staring down at the floor by the entrance. You’d left a space for him—right next to your shoes, like you always did. A spot you never let anyone else take. You knew he liked to keep his shoes by the door so he wouldn’t track dirt inside. So you made space.

You always made space for him. And it hit him again—gentler this time, but just as profound. How easily, how naturally, you’d carved him into your life.

You were studying him now, head tilted.

"Hello?" You waved a hand playfully in front of his face, smiling softly. "You okay there?"

Spencer's breath caught. The morning light caught in your eyes just so, and suddenly he understood with crystalline clarity why poets compared love to drowning.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he lied, voice cracking on the last syllable. His fingers twitched at his sides with the unbearable need to reach for you, to confess everything, to risk the most important thing in his life on the chance you might feel it too - that impossible, miraculous synchronicity.

The words burned behind his teeth: I think I'm in love with you.

But he just stood there, not saying anything, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure, memorizing the way your sleep-rumpled hair caught the light.

You turned toward the kitchen —your fingers barely brushing his elbow, just enough to guide him, as if you’d mapped every inch of his personal space long ago.

“Coffee?” you called over your shoulder. Spencer nodded, as if he could ever say no to coffee ( or you ).

The cupboard door creaked as you pulled out his cup—the chipped blue one with the uneven glaze that he always used at your place. Not because it was the closest or the most convenient, but because at some point, without discussion, it had simply become his.

Spencer stared at it, something tightening in his chest, before his gaze drifted back to you.

To the sleep-mussed hair curling at your temples.

To the faint freckle just below your right ear he’d counted during boring briefings.

To the shirt—that soft, worn-in gray one with the stretched neckline.

He still remembered the first time he saw you in it. It had been after a particularly brutal case, one that left his hands shaking long after the jet landed. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked at you, but you’d known. You’d always known.

“Come over,” you’d said, simple as that.

He’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the weight of wanting it too much had terrified him even then.

But you’d smiled—small and sure—and that was that.

“Get comfortable,” you’d told him, disappearing into your bedroom to change out of your work blouse. He remembered how the gray shirt hung a little loose on you, how the sleeves kept falling and how you didn’t bother fixing them. He remembered sitting on your couch with a blanket thrown over both of you, talking in half-sentences and full silences until the weight of the case finally began to lift off his shoulders.

"Spence?" Your voice was soft as you interrupted his thoughts.

Of course you'd noticed—you always did. The way his fingers trembled. The distracted flicker of his gaze. The uncharacteristic disarray of his clothes.

His head snapped up at your call, eyes wide. "Hm?"

The cup met the counter with a dull clink as you abandoned it, crossing the space between you in two strides. Up close, the evidence of his hurry was even more apparent—his vest sat crooked, the buttons misaligned, his hair still damp at the ends from a rushed shower.

"You're worrying me," you murmured, hands already moving to straighten the fabric at his waist before he could protest. "I asked if you were okay."

Spencer's breath hitched as your fingers brushed the thin cotton of his vest. The touch was casual, familiar—the kind of unthinking intimacy you'd shared a hundred times before—but now it sent electricity crackling up his spine. His lashes fluttered shut for a brief, treacherous moment, memorizing the warmth of your palms through the material.

"I—yes, uhm." The words stuck in his throat like honey. He forced his hands to cover yours, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Your skin was impossibly soft beneath his calloused fingers. "Just had a weird night."

You didn't pull away.

Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with those eyes—the ones that saw too much, knew too well. The morning light caught the flecks of gold in them, and Spencer realized with dizzying clarity that your hands were still resting against his ribs, your thumbs unconsciously stroking small circles into the fabric.

Waiting. Always waiting for him.

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your expression. “You want to talk about it?”

"No, it's fine," he murmured, his hands burning where they'd touched yours. He shoved them into his pockets before they could betray him further.

"Okay." You smiled—that easy, sunlit smile that made his ribs ache—and turned back to the counter, pouring coffee into his waiting cup.

"Be careful, it's hot," you warned as you handed it to him.

Spencer blinked down at the steam curling from the rim. "You added—"

"Cinnamon syrup." You grinned, already knowing his question before he could finish it. "Yes, sweetness is a must, Spencer." You shook your head in mock exasperation before settling onto one of the high chairs at your kitchen island.

He sat closer than necessary, his knee pressing against yours beneath the table before he could stop himself.

Then you were talking—really talking—the way you always did.

You filled the room with laughter and warmth as you chatted about office gossip. You were animated, expressive, and quick-witted—spinning wild theories about who was secretly dating who, and who was definitely hiding something in their desk drawers.

Spencer, naturally, confirmed half your suspicions with unintentionally deadpan evidence. Like “I saw them having lunch together twice this week” or “Actually, he mentioned she had a cat named Whiskers. Nobody just shares pet names with coworkers they don’t like.”

You had a gift for sensing things. Spencer remembered everything.

Together, it made for oddly effective detective work—at least when it came to inter-office drama.

It was normal. Perfectly, painfully normal. Just like before his world had tilted on its axis last night.

Except now, he couldn't stop touching you.

His knee remained firmly against yours. His fingers brushed your wrist when you gestured too widely with your hands. Once, when you leaned forward to emphasize a point, he caught himself reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear before jerking back at the last second.

It was a craving—an insatiable, terrifying need to memorize you through touch. To prove to himself that you were real, that this fragile thing between you hadn't shattered just because he'd finally named it.

And when you didn't pull away—when you never pulled away—something warm and hopeful unfurled in his chest.

At least his brain still functioned well enough to hold a conversation while memorizing the way your lips curled around the rim of your coffee cup.

"So, should we go?" you asked.

Spencer blinked. Apparently, the multitasking wasn't working as seamlessly as he'd thought.

"Huh?"

Your eyebrows knitted together—just slightly—and the urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb was so visceral his fingers twitched against his thigh. He clenched them into a fist.

"Garcia's inviting us to brunch," you said, shaking your phone in his direction. The screen displayed a string of emoji-laden texts that could only be Penelope's handiwork. "Do you feel like going?"

The question was weighted, your tone deliberately light. You were giving him an out, sensing—always sensing—that something was off. It was a simple question, but you didn’t ask it simply.

He could hear the subtext—Are you okay? Do you need something? Do you want to talk?—all packed quietly into that one casual sentence.

"Where?" He stalled, draining the last of his coffee. The cinnamon sweetness lingered on his tongue.

"That place right around the corner." You were already moving, collecting both cups. "Garcia said she and Morgan are close by."

When you turned toward the sink, Spencer found himself standing closer than intended—close enough to catch the familiar scent of your shampoo, close enough that if he reached out—

You glanced over your shoulder, momentarily startled by his proximity but saying nothing. 

And neither did he.

"Okay, yes. Sure." His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "I'm... hungry."

The lie tasted bitter. He wasn't hungry for food.

He was hungry for this—for the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled at his response, for the brush of your arm against his, for the unbearable, beautiful normalcy of being yours in every way that mattered.

Except one.

Except the one he actually craved.

"Guess you finished the cookies already?" You grinned, drying your hands on the dish towel before leaning back against the counter. The motion made your shirt ride up just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Spencer pointedly ignored.

"Yes." A soft smile tugged at his lips despite himself. "Thank you again."

He mirrored your posture, leaning against the opposite counter. The distance between you felt both infinite and insignificant.

In all the quiet chaos of the morning, Spencer didn't notice how your gaze traveled over him—lingering on the way his sweater stretched across his shoulders, the sleep-softened edges of his usually precise appearance. Up, down, then up again—your gaze lingering just a second too long on the scarf around his neck. A small, private smile curling at the corners of your mouth. 

"You're welcome." You ducked your head slightly. "Though I might've stolen one or two cookies while driving over." The admission came with a conspiratorial wink, as if sharing some delicious secret.

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

You nodded proudly. “I had to taste test. Quality control.”

He laughed softly, the sound barely there, but genuine. “I had a feeling.”

A beat of silence.

"I liked the quote," he blurted out suddenly, remembering the one you'd left on the note

Your eyes lit up. "Yeah, well, Algernon's right. You should listen to him." You pointed an accusatory finger his way, but the effect was ruined by the way your voice softened around the edges.

"Speaking of food..." Your gaze flicked to the clock behind him, then back to meet his eyes. "We should go."

Spencer nodded, pushing himself off the counter. “Right. Brunch.”

Brunch was... dangerous.

Spencer hadn't accounted for the booth—how it forced you hip-to-hip, your leg draped carelessly over his thigh like you belonged there. Every time you turned to speak, your breath ghosted across his cheek. Each accidental brush of fingers over shared syrup sent sparks skittering up his spine.

When you discovered the new pancake special—fluffy buttermilk stacked with caramelized bananas—your eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

"Oh my God, this is perfect," you sighed, shooting Garcia a grateful look for recommending it.

Morgan, tempted by your dramatic praise, reached across the table and casually snatched a piece of the pancake you had already cut for yourself.

"Hey!" You swatted at his wrist, but the damage was done. Morgan chewed with theatrical relish as you glared at the now-smaller stack.

"Mmm. Tasty."

You rolled your eyes, then turned to Spencer with that look—the one that always meant trouble. "You need to try this."

Spencer glanced at the diminished pancake, then at your expectant face. "No, no, it's fine—"

Too late. Your fork was already spearing a perfect bite, your other hand warm on his forearm as you gently turned him toward you. Around you, Garcia and Morgan's bickering faded to white noise.

Time slowed.

Spencer's lips parted obediently, the fork sliding free as he tasted brown sugar and something inherently you. He chewed deliberately slow, savoring the way your lashes fluttered when you leaned closer—close enough to count the flecks of gold in your eyes.

"Well?" You were practically in his lap now, oblivious to Garcia's suddenly interested silence. "Do you love it?"

Spencer swallowed hard.

I love you. The words burned his tongue.

Instead, he nodded, his knee pressing harder into yours beneath the table.

"Perfect," he whispered.

And for once, he wasn't talking about the food.

The absurdity wasn’t lost on him. That something as simple as you feeding him a bite of pancake could feel like a revelation. That after Morgan had stolen a piece, leaving your portion halved, you’d still offered him the sweetest corner—always the best part—without hesitation.

And he’d let you.

Spencer Reid, who calculated microbial growth rates on restaurant cutlery, who ordered the same three meals on rotation to minimize variables, had parted his lips without a second thought when you pressed the fork to them.

Confirmation.

The rest of brunch passed in a haze of accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all—your pinky brushing his when reaching for the syrup, your thigh staying pressed to his long after the booth’s confines excused it. Even the drive home blurred at the edges, his mind too full of you to register street signs.

Then your apartment: the familiar creak of your couch as you draped your ankles over his lap, your socked feet absently nudging his thighs while you chatted about nothing and everything. He should’ve been cataloging the way your laughter filled the room, memorizing the cadence of your voice.

Instead, all he could think was: This is what love feels like.

The hug goodbye lasted three seconds too long. You didn’t pull away—of course you didn’t—just settled deeper into his chest like you belonged there. Who were you to deny Spencer Reid anything? Who was anyone?

Now, standing in the silence of his apartment for the second night in a row, the truth settled over him with terrifying clarity:

This wasn’t a hypothesis.

It wasn’t a fleeting emotion to be analyzed and filed away.

The evidence was irrefutable, the conclusion inescapable. Every touch, every glance, every selfless act—they weren’t just data points. They were proof.

And for the first time in his life, Spencer Reid had no idea what to do with an answer.

[loveemagicpeace]

🎸🏠🏝️Life Events 🧜🏼‍♀️🍓🌙

🎨You Identity🎨

Your rising sign shows how u respond to the world and how u see yourself. It shows how other people see you when they first get to know you. Having Gemini rising means that you can quickly create contacts and can quickly communicate with others. Having Scorpio rising means that you have very intense way of how you see others around you. U feel things very deeply. And you can be very secretive.

Planets in your 1st house they symbolize the influence on your personality. And they are also visible to others and sometimes others notice them more than you yourself. If you have Venus in your 1st house you might come across as charming. And your value can be very much in the spotlight. You can also embody a lot of feminine energy. With Mars in your 1st house you can come forward sharper, quick-tempered and brave. You can give off a lot of masculine energy.

If you have aspects with you ascendant those can strongly colour your identity and how you feel the world out there responds to you.

🌇Change🌇

Certain signs respond to change more favourably than others. In particular, the signs of Taurus, Cancer, and Scorpio are conscious of security in one form or another, and will tend to hold on rather than let things flow. If you have personal planets here, the devil you know might feel more reassuring than a change of scene. By contrast, Aries or Gemini welcomes periodic change.

The cardinal signs- Aries tends to deal best with change, having all the fiery impetus of being the first sign. Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn possess the cardinal capacity to get on with things, but the cardinal signs prefer to be in control. For a person with personal planets in cardinal signs, change tends to be welcome only if it has been self-initiated.

The fixed signs -Lots of fixity in a chart suggests a tendency to stay with what you know, come hell or high water. The instinct of the fixed signs is to stabilize - the winds of change might blow around, but the person remains anchored.

The mutable signs -These usually respond positively when change is in the air. If you have personal planets in these signs, you probably hate for things to be static and will spontaneously generate movement in order to reassure yourself that there is always an alternative - even if this is just to move the furniture around from time to time or choose a different place to go on holiday.

🎑9th house- believing in what you can't see🎑

Planets in the 9th house give clues as to how you might feel about encountering the unknown. Whenever we are faced with making future plans, setting off on a long journey, or having to hold a vision of something yet to unfold, our 9th house is conjured. So whatever planets you have here, and the sign on the cusp, will mediate this for you.

With Saturn for instance, trust in these things might not flow naturally. You can have a lot of problems with really believing in something. With Uranus, you might actively seek the thrill of the strange and the unfamiliar. With Sun you may find your happy place somewhere across the sea. You can get married in another country and a lot of joy comes into your life through travel. You are very open in life with things that brings you joy. With Mercury you may find very inspiring going for a short trips every now and then. You can study in another country and are very good with languages.

🫀Troubled times🫀

In the 8th house we can find clues here as to how we react when the pressure is on. More accurately perhaps, it describes a journey into dark places, whether this is the maestrom of a divorce, financial crisis, or experiences of grief and bereavement.

The 8th house is the dragon's lair and any planets here are forged in the heat of that encounter. Even with no planets here, you can look to the sign on the cup of this house, and the planetary ruler of that sign, to tell you how you approach life's more extreme experiences and some of the key resources you might call on when things fall apart.

If you have Mercury in the 8th house then it might be an advantage to have a guide in the underworld - a counsellor or therapist, friends with good listening skills or knowledge of the terntory, or even just keeping a diary or personal record as a way of sorting through and understanding emotional experiences. If you have Venus in 8th house you can be very cautious in love and at the same time you can experience a lot of transformation through other people.

Or with Capricorn on the cusp of the 8th, you no doubt have a stoic approach to hard times, with the ability to lay aside your own feelings if someone else really needs your help. The position of your 8th house ruler Saturn in your chart gives clues as to how you can flex this stoicism even further, helping you to stabilize and feel rooted and secure.

💘Emotions����

The Moon is the barometer of your inner feelings and describes gut reaction and also what you need in order to feel nurtured and safe. Anxiety arises when the Moon is under pressure. If you have the Moon in Scorpio for example, your instinct might be to cope with trouble alone, shutting yourself off so that you can draw deeply from your own resources. Or with Moon in Libra, you can nurture yourself by trying to create harmony and balance, even if this is just for one precious hour each week in a yoga class. The more difficult life gets, the more we need to pay attention to the Moon's promptings, through its particular realms of food, rest, and self-care.

The Sun -keeping our eyes on the prize can be a good way of seeing ourselves through troubled times. There has been the idea that a human life unfolds, that we begin as a seed containing its own purpose, and that the trials and tribulations we encounter along the way are in fact an integral part of the journey. The Sun in particular in the central light in your chart, whatever you are in the process of becoming.

Venus square to Saturn suggests that the desire nature has somehow not been given room to grow, which in relationships might emerge as barriers to intimacy or believing that one is unlovable. Or Neptune opposite the Sun might reflect a sense of loss in connection to father and therefore a longing for the masculine power which the Sun represents. These kinds of deeper dynamics can become crystallized as entrenched beliefs we have about ourselves, about other people, or about life itself. Self-awareness helps to release us from these

Home

The 4th house describes both your home of origin and the one you have created (or will create) for yourself. It is both the bricks and mortar and the atmosphere and dynamic that binds the family unit. This is also the tap root down into your history: your genealogy and family tree. Whatever planets reside here, and planets conjunct to the IC (the cusp of the 4th) will form your foundations

The MC and 10th house lie opposite the 4th house and between them they denote the idea of parents - mother traditionally in the 10th and father traditionally in the 4th, but we might take the view that whichever parent provided 4th house things (security, lineage, surname) belongs in the 4th, and whichever parent provided 10th house things (socialization, authority, plans for the future) belongs in the 10th, which for most of us is likely to be both parents. Just as the 4th describes the kind of home we create for ourselves, so the 10th will describe what kind of parent you might become, taking control and responsibility.

Home

Taurus in 4th house- you like a stable, comfortable home and perhaps a life somewhere close to nature and somewhere that is peaceful and relaxing. You are usually used to a stable life and can live a more luxurious life. You have to feel the home to live in it. A home can contain lots of greenery, a garden, a balcony, and a home where you feel safe. You may also enjoy filling your space with art, flowers, and elegant decorative pieces.

Aries in 4th house- Your home may be very busy, you may move a lot and changing homes may be quite frequent. You are used to living a lively, chaotic life. Your home can be very fiery and full of life. Your home might reflect your active personality with bright colors, bold designs, or minimalistic yet functional decor. Your home can be a place for action, self-expression, and renewal— a space where you regroup and prepare for your next adventure

Pisces in 4th house-Your home may have a soft, calming, and almost magical atmosphere. You may feel drawn to incorporating water elements into your home, such as aquariums, fountains, or artwork featuring oceans, lakes, or rivers. Alternatively, you might enjoy secluded spots even within bustling cities.

Capricorn in 4th house-your home is more than just a physical space—it's a foundation for stability and achievement. You may strive to build a secure and structured home environment, emphasizing discipline and tradition. Your home may have a classic, understated style.

-Rebekah🧜🏼‍♀️💕🎨

[sweethoneyrose83]

Liminal spaces-themed voicemail writing prompts:

"I don't know where I am." – The voicemail is from a loved one who sounds disoriented, describing a vast, empty mall with no exits. Their voice fades as if they’re walking deeper into the unknown.

"I swear this place wasn’t here before." – A friend calls, leaving a message about a strange gas station that appeared on a road trip. The voicemail ends with static and a faint voice in the background.

"I waited for you, but you never came." – The message is from someone who claims to have been standing outside your house for hours—but no one was ever there.

"It's the same hallway, over and over." – A caller frantically describes walking through an endless, flickering office corridor, doors leading nowhere, footsteps echoing, but no sign of life.

"I found the old arcade again." – The voicemail details a childhood hangout that was torn down years ago. The caller insists they just walked inside, but something feels…off.

"I see someone that looks like you." – A voicemail from an old friend says they spotted someone who looks exactly like you in an abandoned train station—except you were nowhere near that place.

"Don’t come looking for me." – A final message from a lost friend who vanished years ago, sounding like they’re in a vast, empty parking garage, their voice echoing endlessly.

"The hotel room is wrong." – A distressed voice describes how they checked into their room, but the hallway outside keeps changing. The room number doesn’t exist.

"Please answer. I keep seeing the payphone, but you never pick up." – The message is from an unknown number, talking as if they’ve been calling you for years from a forgotten, abandoned place.

"There was a door here yesterday." – A panicked voicemail about a missing exit in a subway station, the voice growing more distorted with each word.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Through the Static

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, brief mentions of drinking, fluff

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy! The reader is a radio operator in this one while Ghostie is injured.

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The forest was a maze of shifting shadows and biting cold, the moonlight barely cutting through the dense canopy. Ghost pressed a gloved hand to his side, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage he'd hastily wrapped around the wound. He didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t.

His comms had been destroyed in the ambush, but the battered field radio he'd salvaged crackled faintly in his ear. It was his only connection to the outside world, his only chance at survival.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the knobs. Static hissed, wavered, and then—

“This is Operator Delta… Anyone receiving? Over.”

Ghost’s hand froze. A voice.

“This is Bravo-Zero-Six,” he rasped, his voice low and strained. “Stranded. Injured. No extraction in sight. Location unknown. Over.”

A pause followed, then your voice returned, calm and steady.

“Bravo-Zero-Six, I’ve got you. Can you describe your surroundings? Over.”

Ghost exhaled through his nose, forcing his mind to focus. “Forest. Sparse cover. Northwest of the last known position. Nightfall. No landmarks.”

“Copy that,” you said, your tone professional but warm. “Head north. I’ll guide you to a safe zone. Stay on this channel, and keep moving. You’re not alone, Bravo-Zero-Six. Over.”

Not alone. The words shouldn’t have mattered, but they did. Ghost adjusted his pack and began moving again.

Hours stretched on, his body growing heavier with each step. The cold seeped through his gear, and the ache in his side turned sharper, each breath a reminder of the shrapnel lodged there. But your voice on the radio was constant, grounding.

“Still with me, Bravo-Zero-Six?”

“Still here,” he muttered, his voice taut with pain.

“How’s the injury?”

“Manageable.”

“Sure it is,” you replied, a teasing note slipping into your tone. “You’re not going to impress me by bleeding out quietly, Ghost.”

He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“Well, good,” you said. “Because I’d like you alive enough to buy me a drink when this is over.”

Ghost blinked, caught off guard by the casual boldness of your remark. He hadn’t expected warmth, humor—not from someone on the other end of a radio in a dire situation.

“Make it out alive,” he said, his tone gruff but not unfriendly, “and we’ll talk.”

The clearing you’d guided him to came into view just as Ghost’s legs threatened to give out. The faint thrum of helicopter blades reached his ears, growing louder as he stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last.

He collapsed onto his knees, his vision blurring as his body finally gave in. Your voice crackled in his ear one last time, soft and steady.

“Hold on, Ghost. They’ve got you now.”

The recovery ward was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the steady beep of a heart monitor the only sounds. Ghost blinked against the brightness, his body heavy with exhaustion but alive.

The radio on the bedside table caught his eye—a battered relic from the field, but the sight of it brought back the sound of your voice, the hours of guidance that had kept him moving.

The door creaked open, and his gaze snapped toward it.

“Permission to enter, Bravo-Zero-Six?”

Your voice, softer in person but instantly recognizable, sent a strange flicker of warmth through him. You stepped inside, a faint smile on your lips as you approached his bedside.

“Ghost,” he said, nodding slightly.

“Operator Delta,” you replied with a small grin. “But some people call me Daisy. It’s a nickname.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in days. “Pleasure to meet you properly.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy with unspoken gratitude. Finally, he added, his voice softer than usual, “But you can call me Simon.”

Your eyes flickered with surprise, your smile softening. “Simon, then.” You sat down in the chair beside him, leaning forward slightly muttering your name to him, “But Daisy works, too.”

The room fell quiet again, not awkward but comfortable, the weight of everything that had happened settling between you.

Weeks passed before Simon was cleared for light duty. When he finally reached out to you, it was through an unassuming message:

“You still want that drink, Daisy?”

The bar he chose was quiet, tucked into a corner of town far from the noise and bustle of crowded streets. Simon arrived early, dressed casually in a dark jacket and jeans. His mask was gone, though the balaclava he wore was a reminder of the man most people knew him to be.

When you walked in, he stood, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move. You smiled when you saw him, and something in his chest eased.

“I was starting to think you’d chicken out,” you teased as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice lighter than usual.

The conversation flowed easier than he’d expected. You talked about everything and nothing—the absurdity of some missions, favorite songs, even the meaning behind your nickname.

“Daisy?” he asked, a brow lifting.

You laughed softly. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’ve got a habit of finding light in dark places.”

Simon didn’t say anything, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

When the night came to an end, he walked you to your car, the cold night air nipping at his skin.

“You surprised me, Simon,” you said as you turned to face him.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t think someone like you would keep a promise like this.”

He tilted his head, his gaze steady. “You kept me alive, Daisy. Least I could do.”

The warmth in your smile made something in him shift, something he couldn’t quite name. For the first time in years, he thought that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to face everything alone.

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

[pittsick]

LOVE ME TO DEATH .ᐟ

part one ・ part two

summary: After surviving the Stanford massacre, you try to start over—move away, change your name. But Art, Patrick and Tashi were never caught. Strange messages and disappearances begin again, and the paranoia you thought you’d buried resurfaces. You’re not sure if you are being hunted… or if they’re luring you back in to finish what they started.

cw: 1.5k words. apt!scream au. paranoia and stalking. psychological trauma. gaslighting. violence (implied). threatening messages. fear and dread. obsession. loss of control.

genre: psychological horror / slasher / thriller.

taglist .ᐟ @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @magicalmiserybore, @destinedtobegigi, @fwaist, @idyllicdaydreams, @sohighitscool, @shahabaqsa0310

You don’t dream about the knife anymore. You dream about the silence that came after it. The moment you realized no one was coming. The moment their hands let go of your throat—not because they took mercy, but because they wanted you to live.

You were their final girl. And you didn’t ask for that.

After the attack, the cops found your dorm soaked in blood—whose? You never knew. Your screams woke up the entire west quad after escaping the athletic building lockers. You gave them names—Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson—and you gave them details. You told them where the rest of the bodies were buried; little secrets the killers had told you before letting you go. Which drawers held the Ghostface masks. What the blood under your fingernails meant.

But they were already gone. No phones. No footage. No fingerprints. Like the whole thing had been a story you made up during a psychotic break.

But you know the truth. They let you live. And monsters don’t vanish forever.

You moved across the country six months later.

New name. New school. No tennis courts. No whispers of Ghostface. You enrolled in a tiny liberal arts college in Vermont where no one had ever heard of Tashi Duncan or her star-crossed boys. You found an apartment—alone this time. No roommates. No shared keys. The walls were thin, and the pipes moaned in the winter, but at least it was yours.

You even got a therapist. Sometimes you lie to her. Sometimes you don’t. Mostly, you tell her you’re fine. Mostly, you try to believe it because life goes on.

But it starts with little things, at first. A knock on your door when no one’s there. A lightbulb unscrewed. A voicemail filled with static. You chalk it up to anxiety. Or trauma. Or both. The mind plays tricks when it’s lived too long in fear.

Then you find a postcard. No return address. No note. Just a photo of Stanford’s tennis courts. You stare at it for hours. Your hands don’t stop shaking for days.

You start checking your locks.

Twice. Then three times. You push furniture in front of the door. You stop answering calls from unknown numbers. You carry a knife in your jacket, one in your bedside drawer, and a third tucked between your mattress and the wall.

You tell yourself it’s just leftover fear; a scar from a time when your life wasn’t your own. But sometimes, at night, you hear the floor creak, and you know you locked the door.

You see her at the grocery store, just for a second. An hallucination, a dream, something real. A flash of dark curls. Her beautiful skin. That posture you could recognize anywhere—the cocky, impossible tilt of someone who never lost anything in her life.

Tashi.

You drop your basket. Run to the end of the aisle. Gone. You ask the cashier if they saw her, they say no one matching that description came in tonight.

You don’t sleep anymore. You stop going to the store. You stop going anywhere.

You install a camera. Just one, to be sure. Outside your door. You check it every night like a drug you can’t escape, refreshing the feed, watching for a shadow that never appears. Until one day it’s turned around, facing the wall.

Your therapist says you’re experiencing PTSD-induced paranoia and you simply nod at her.

But in your gut, you know, they’re still out there. And they’re not done with you.

The power goes out one night during a storm.

You light a candle. Sit in the kitchen. Try to calm the breathing that’s too shallow, too fast. You try not to think of knives or black robes or dripping masks. Then your phone buzzes. A single message. No number that you recognize.

“Still bleeding, final girl?”

You drop the phone. The screen cracks. You throw up in the sink that night, sweat spilling through every pores of your body with the fear consuming you. It’s like an awake-nightmare.

You go to the police the next morning. Again, like you had done before; a few days after Stanford, a week after Stanford, a month after Stanford – remembering the paranoia.

You tell them someone is stalking you. That you’ve received threats. That you survived a massacre and the killers were never caught. They write it all down.

They promise to look into it. They never call back. They never did.

You start to think you’re losing your mind.

You hear music sometimes. A tennis match broadcast faintly through the walls. A whisper behind your head when you’re brushing your teeth. You hear your name in the shower steam. You unplug everything. Cover mirrors to not see behind yourself. Start sleeping in the tub with the door locked, a knife in hand and every noise waking you up.

But they keep getting in. Somehow. They always get in.

You wake up one morning to find a trail of red shoe prints across your carpet and you almost throw up again. They are tiny tennis court prints. A racket on the table of your living room—you haven’t played tennis since Stanford. You never wanted to hear about it ever again.

Like someone dipped them in blood. You call the cops again. They don’t find anything, no prints, no camera footage; nothing.

The next time you see Patrick, it’s in a dream.

He’s sitting in your kitchen. Perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other, sipping tea from your mug like he’s lived here all along. “You’re slipping,” he says without looking up.

“I’m not.” You try to convince yourself – him, it’s all the same. Your heart is in your throat with the fear you feel. He’s not real, he’s not here; but he still has that hold onto you that you can’t escape. “You’re unraveling,” he continues. “It’s okay. You weren’t meant to live through it. That’s why it hurts so much.”

You try to scream, but your voice is gone. Patrick finally looks at you, and he’s wearing the mask. The scream is his now. Quiet and observing.

You try to leave town after a few days. Throw clothes into a bag. Book a motel two states away. You don’t leave a note. You don’t tell your therapist. You just go.

Halfway down the highway, your car dies like it was meant to be. Completely.

You sit on the shoulder, shivering, dialing roadside assistance. Then you check the trunk. Inside—under your spare tire—is a Ghostface mask. And a photo of you sleeping in the Vermont apartment.

You stop fighting it after that. You stop trying to convince anyone. No one believes the girl who lived. No one believes the crazy girl.

And they’ve made sure of that. They’re not just stalking you anymore. They’re gaslighting you from the inside. Everything around feels like a joke they created; a world just for you to suffer the lies and manipulation.

The final straw is the rabbit. You find it on your porch one morning. Tiny. White. Gutted. Its throat slit clean, like a signature – like something to remember them by. Pinned to its side is a note written in perfect, feminine script; the handwriting of Tashi that you can visualize back on the Stanford books.

“You should’ve died when we gave you the chance.”

You move the next day. You don’t care where. Anywhere but here.

The new place is better. Brighter. Busier.

There are windows that face the street, and you can see people. Real people. Families. Kids on bikes. Joggers with golden retrievers. It helps. For a while. You let yourself laugh again. Smile at strangers. Go out with friends you made in the tiny city.

You even start writing about what happened. Not for anyone else. Just for you. Just to get it out of your body before it rots you from the inside. Your therapist says it’s good progress. That you’re reclaiming your narrative.

That you’re healing. That you can be better.

And then, on a rainy Tuesday morning, you get a package. No return address. Inside: a VHS tape and a matchbook from Stanford’s campus bookstore. You don’t own a VHS player, but your neighbor does.

You tell her it’s for a film class and you watch it alone. It’s footages of you, in your old dorm. Sleeping. Showering. Crying into your pillow after the attack. You see Tashi in the corner of one frame. Art in another. Patrick whispering into the camera, smiling.

“We missed you.”

The walls start closing in again. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You let yourself go.

You start hearing tennis balls thudding in the hall at night. You find your own handwriting scribbled across mirrors. You find locks broken that were never touched.

Sometimes you think about just walking into the woods, into the dark, into paranoia. But that’s what they want. They want you gone; but why?

So you start preparing. Not to run. To fight. To take back what’s yours. You buy cameras, wire your windows, train yourself to wake at every sound. You read books on serial killers, on survival, on how to set traps.

You wait. Because they’re coming. They always do. And this time, you’re not going to let them write the ending. But deep down; you know what you really fear.

Not that they’ll kill you, but that they’ll love you while they do it.

And that part of you… will love them back.

[cupidologys]

⸻ THE ART OF DYING WELL.

pairing: aizen x reader

word count: 2k

synopsis:  "lovers? we are much, much worse."

notes: good luck!

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

It’s not like you planned on killing the man you loved. You had wished for it, certainly. You had dreamed of it too—often enough that the steady, sickening crunch of your blade through his chest was well-memorized. In such dreams, the same scene played out, over and over and over, until you gasped awake, sweating and shivering from the chilling dread burrowing into your skin. 

His eyes would stare into yours, hollow and still. His lips, slightly parted, only whispered one thing: weak.

He called it out into the static space. The only sound breaking the eerie silence was his voice, heavy and mocking, as that one word repeated in vicious tandem. 

Weak for not letting go. 

Weak for what you felt. 

Weak for what you could not do—what you could not bring yourself to do—and deep down, you knew that weakness would ruin you. 

Just like Aizen did when he unraveled the Seireitei to a state of near collapse. 

They were ill-prepared for what he had set in motion and only desperately held on to the hope Ichigo and yourself brought. The Substitute Shinigami was an unknown and powerful variable, while you, as the Arrancar’s prisoner, had access to their inner workings. 

Aizen didn’t like it when you referred to yourself as a “prisoner” or his actions as what they blatantly were: kidnapping, so you continued to do so at every chance possible. It irked him—that small ounce of defiance. It made a man like him, weighed by hubris, sink a little deeper. 

The slight twitch of his lips every time—a signal of his discomfort— made you smile. You could still get under his skin. You revelled at that fact. Any chance to fight back was an opportunity you seized; Even though fighting him physically was out of the question, you at least had that slight over him. 

You didn’t ask him to take you with him. You didn’t ask him to spare you. And you certainly didn’t ask him to hold you captive, sequestered away while war rages on in the land above. 

You didn’t ask for any of it. So, you would make him pay for it in any way you could. 

Despite that, there had been a question nagging at the corner of your mind since the day he swept you away. As fitting of its subject, it asked something treacherous. 

The fact of the matter was: Aizen had spared you. He had taken you from your home and turned his back on everything you knew, yes, but he had also kept you safe—and not only safe, but well-fed, pampered, and shielded away from the violence. 

Violence he perpetuated, you reminded yourself. 

It did not matter how fancy your room was. It was still sealed by four impenetrable walls—a cushy cell made impossible to escape. It was a prison forged to hold its inhabitants captive.  

Aizen may not have shackled you with chains, but freedom was as lost to you as the man you once knew. 

Despite that, you had technically not planned to kill Aizen. Not today, at least, which is why the sight of his blood dripping down the dagger in your hand makes you scream. 

The shock of the sight jolts you awake. You find yourself springing up in bed, sweat beading on your skin as the nerves slowly dispel. The sheets are crumpled up in your fists and you try to let go, but the tension hasn’t yet dissipated. 

It was another dream?

Even in dreams, he haunts you. 

This time, however, it felt too real. It was strange. The vividness was startling—bordering on traumatizing—and you can’t shake off the foreboding feeling clinging onto you. He was right in front of you. Pale, cold, and lifeless. 

The door clicks open and Aizen strides in with a palpable air of urgency. There’s a crease in his brow, indicating worry. 

“A nightmare?”

You don’t even reprimand his intrusion. You are far too exhausted by what you just experienced. 

“Yes.” You run your hands over your face, trying to rub away the stress.  “Or maybe a very lovely dream.”

“Care to share it?” He inquires. 

“With you?” 

Aizen nods, moving closer. His steps are light and smooth, almost like he is floating. Maybe he is. 

“I want you to leave,” you whisper. The words are soft and unhurried, but they carry an unbearable weight. 

“Will you be alright?”

You scoff. “I am in a prison of your making. It doesn’t get any more secure than this, right?”

“I heard you scream,” he replies coolly. 

“Yes, well…” You lean back onto the headboard and stare up at the towering, empty ceiling. “If we’re both lucky, one day you will hear far worse.”

Aizen doesn’t leave. Instead, he makes his way even closer, until he hovers at the end of your bed. 

“What did you dream of?” 

Why are his words spoken with such gentleness?

“Your death. Your murder.”

A pause. “And it scared you?”

“It delighted me,” you lie. 

If he’s bothered by your words, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and makes to leave. Out of habit, you reach out a hand to stop him, only to freeze as you realize what you’re doing. Your grasp falls short and you watch as he ignores the gesture—for your sake or his, you aren’t sure—and turns his back to you. 

No more words are spoken as Aizen vanishes, leaving you to cold silence and muddled thoughts. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You keep me confined here. Why?” 

The question has been in your mind since the beginning, and your curiosity has finally reached its boiling point—alongside your irritation.

Aizen looks up from the book he had been reading and tilts his head in consideration. 

“Are you concerned for your safety? I promise no harm will come to you.”

“Your promises mean nothing,” you say bluntly. “Answer the question.”

He closes the book in his hands, but not before smoothly folding a corner crease to keep the page. He sits at the opposite end of the large coffee table, facing you directly. You had been reading something of your own when Aizen decided—much to your protests—to join you. It has been an hour of silent reading and uncomfortable tension—at least on your part. Aizen could not look more relaxed if he tried. 

“Let me ask you something then-”

You interrupt him. “I asked first.”

Aizen only smiles. 

“Indulge me?”

Again, you ignore him. “Why not just kill me?”

His smile fades. “I don’t want you dead.”

“Why?”

“So many questions…”

“And you still haven’t given me an actual answer!” You snap. 

He’s still infuriatingly calm, as always. You resent the fact you can’t leave—that every sense of your space is dictated by him. You want to be away from him, more than anything. Staying here with this man, stuck in this beautiful, suffocating room, is a tremendous effort. 

His continued silence drains you. You slump, anger whisked away and replaced by exhaustion. 

“Do you want me to hate you?” You whisper. 

“Quite the opposite. I would never hurt you.”

“So you say,” you reply dryly. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Is that what you told Hinamori before you stabbed her and left her for dead? Hm? Is that what you said to Central 46 before slaughtering them all?”

He sighs. “You can believe what you want.”

“Oh, but I can’t, can I? Thanks to you, I can’t even trust my own thoughts, much less my beliefs.”

“Your beliefs are your own to have. I would never take that away from you.”

“Ah, right. Just my freedom then.”

“What is freedom in a meaningless world?”

“Enough with the philosophy, Aizen. I’m sick of running around in these circles, chasing my own tail in search of answers.” You lean forward and hold his piercing gaze. Eyes so full of wisdom and judgement—how easily you could get lost in them again, just like before. “Tell me why.”

Something flickers across his expression, but whatever it is, remains unnamed. 

“This is how I guarantee your safety and secure my weakness.”

Your confusion must be evident because Aizen continues. 

“I can predict many things. I can plan and organize down to the very last detail—until the future unfolds along the seams of my script. I can prepare in every way imaginable. All of that… and I still cannot control everything. Not yet.” He drums his fingers on the armrest, frustration lacing those last words. “Your safety couldn’t be guaranteed unless I secured you myself. With that, I eliminate my weakness as well. With you here, contained in this fortress, I have no need to worry about you on the battlefield.”

You stare, unable to make anything of his confession. 

“Are you saying I’m your weakness?”

“As far as I understand.”

A short pause. You nod. 

“Good.”

He quirks a brow. “Good?”

“Yes. It is good I make you weak. It will make it easier to kill you.”

Again, he only smiles. 

“I look forward to dying.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You always act like you know everything—that everything is all a part of your plan.” You look up at Aizen through tear-filled eyes. “Tell me, was this a part of your plan?”

The blood is real this time. It is warm and sticky and runs viscous lines down your forearms before pooling at your feet. You press your palms against the gushing wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. Doing so is as useful as putting a single bandage on a severed limb and hoping it’ll grow back. 

Aizen is leaned against a wall with his head slumped against your shoulder. His skin is a startling shade of white and sweat beads on his forehead. The sight makes you panic, and the panic makes you hyperventilate.  

This isn’t  supposed to happen this way. How is this even possible? This is Aizen, of all people—the closest thing to a God the world has seen. How could Aizen be this shivering, weak mess bleeding out in your arms? 

The blood won’t stop. His clothing is soaked a deep red, forming a dark ring in the area around his chest where a hole has split it open. The sight makes you nauseous, but your desperation to save him overtakes that feeling. 

“I need to call for help. Comms are cut but maybe if I-”

“No.” His voice is so quiet that, for a split second, you think you’re hearing things. 

“What?”

“It is inevitable.”

“What are you talking about? You are not dying like this. You’re too smart for-”

He cuts you off again. “Which is…” he groans as he shifts back, head lifting to look at you through lidded eyes. The pain is tense in his face. “Which is how I know it is inevitable.”

Somehow, he softens. “You do too.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you face him—and reality. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

His head falls back and he lets out a pained breath. Your hands are still on his chest, stained red with his blood. 

“I regret I could not be what you wanted.” Each word is quiet and strained. Your heart clenches in response. 

“For a while, you were,” you reply. You can barely speak the next words without choking on them. “I did love you. The ‘you’ that was presented to the world, at least.”

“Good.” He nods. 

“Aizen?” Your voice trembles. The acceptance is numbing. It is turning you to stone. 

“Yes.”

Do me a favour and die well. Die… happy. It will lessen the pain.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Keep that promise for me, won’t you?” 

…

“Aizen?”

You wait, but an answer doesn’t come. 

It never comes. 

It takes his death for you to realize that your relationship with Aizen was a frantic undoing of legacy and trust. It was doomed from the very beginning—just as anything he touched would be.

Perhaps death came for Aizen because of that—because it was the only thing that had the power to free him from the confines of a world too small for him. 

Perhaps death was exactly what he needed.

You did not think you could envy death until now. 

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless, Rose Walker Additional Tags: It's An AU Or Is It, There's a Complicated Relationship To Canon, A Murder Mystery But Not Like You Think, Academic Drama, Art History, Historical Mystery, Angst and Romance, Professor Hob Gadling, Modern Era, Dreams and Nightmares, Past Character Death, Possibly Unreliable Narrator, They’re Soulmates Your Honor

NOTE: If you want to read or catch up from the beginning, here’s chapter 1.

[xioterep-art]

New POV! I got the idea all thanks to this playlist!

POV: you shock Scaramouche with your sudden dominance.. || 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

Bossy Scaramouche x obedient Subordinate Reader (what he thought)

Trigger warning: suggestive themes, violence, curses, slight nsfw (suggestive), bullying, dom reader.

Disclaimer: the art is not mine, it belongs to たなみ on pixiv!

You were the most obedient subordinate he could ever have, which was annoying him for some unknown reason. He finally got a brainless idiot human at his disposition, yet why was he so unsatisfied? Scaramouche couldn't understand the reason behind this. All he had to do was look at your dumb facial expression, and he would sigh deeply with his usual gloomy frown.

As usual, Scaramouche was sitting in his assigned office, working on some paperwork when you entered with some rapport in your hands, that dumb smile as always was on your face. Avoiding to look at your face, Scaramouche didn't want to get irritated more as he was already, all because of that arrogant bastard, Dottore.

"My lord, here's the rapport you asked for," you said quietly as you walked to his side. Humphing in response, he does not raise his head to look at you, and as his loyal subject, you understand very well what he wants. All he needed was to think, and you would already take action. From an outsider's perspective, it would look as if you two were communicating using telepathy.

Putting the rapport at his side, you stood silently next to him as you waited for an order, which was weird knowing that you were that talkative and annoying type of person who even in front of Lord Scaramouche would not shut up.

Scaramouche kept working without giving the order to leave. As he ignored your presence, you kept your mouth shut as you were strangely in a bad mood. Usually, when you are in his presence you seem to forget all your problems, yet, today, you feel annoyed, and it even surprised you.

Frowning slightly, you kept your posture straight, neither moving at all nor looking at what the sixth was doing. Just when you were minding your own business for the first time, you suddenly heard a sneer escaping his beautiful mouth that made you finally glance his way.

"This bastard! I am going to fucking kill him someday!" The Balladeer roared angrily. He is most likely talking about the second again, you assumed unfazed as you calmly stared at the scene of Scaramouche throwing things to the other side of the room.

You sigh softly with a smile that wasn't a smile, "quell down your anger, my lord..." You said as you walked up to the mess created by the almighty Balladeer and reached to clean it.

As you finished the cleaning, you stood up with the pile of papers in your hands when you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your forehead and soon enough you felt the hot red liquid sliding down your cheek. You froze while looking straight into Scaramouche's eyes. The pain became slightly unbearable as you squinted your eyes when the sixth lord stood up and walked up to you angrily.

"Put that shit away and fucking scram, stupid monkey!" He said as he kicked your side, venting his anger on you.

Now, you must admit that this got on your damn nerves. To be his stepstone every time someone messes with him is fucking annoying. Usually, you would take on his wrath gladly, yet this time you didn't feel like it.

What about you? Can't you feel anger or vent it? You don't even know what was wrong with you.

Snapping back to reality, you saw his hand flying towards you. He was about to push you but you grabbed it firmly, unfazed when your eyes met his deadliest glare.

"Fucking let go, now!" He articulates slowly, clearly pissed off. "No," You simply answered, which left him stunned for a moment.

Feeling the air becoming static, you sneered as you pushed him violently onto the desk. A loud noise was heard when he came in contact with the hard material, earning him a loud groan.

This completely took him off guard. His obedient dog was biting back! He couldn't believe that. Gasping slightly, he felt pain in his right side as it dumped into the edge of his desk.

That sure was painful.

Wanting to face you again, he put a hand on the desk for support, and as he was about to turn towards you, he was again being pushed against the flat surface.

Not understanding what was happening to him, he suddenly had to face you as you were looking down at him, sending shivers down his spine.

The way you looked at him left him breathless. This mean version of you was new to him. he had never seen this side of you, nor did he even give it a chance in his imagination.

The sixth Harbinger's stunned expression soon turned into anger, "what the hell you are doing?" he yelled, trying to push you aside, and of course, you were not budging at all.

You were a strong and talented Dendro swordsman recruited by the Fatui a long time ago, and you were assigned to Scaramouche on the first day since then you have taken all his anger and snarky attitude. Sometimes, he would treat you even worse than shit if you commit the slightest mistake, while some other times, he would act as if you did not exist.

If it wasn't for the admiration you held for him, you would have long ago snapped. Just like now.

You were between his legs with him pinned by you on the desk, one of your hands next to his head with your eyes squinted and a frown on your face as you kept looking at him intensely, stealing away his words.

Feeling the energy shift in the air, Scaramouche gasped as he felt something rolling around his wrists. It was your Dendro ability. Trying to fight back, Scaramouche squirmed under you yet the roots violently pinned both his wrists above his head in response.

"You are annoying, my lord," You said softly as you kept looking at him, "let go of me! you fucking dog!" He snaps back.

You chuckle as that free hand of yours caresses his white soft-looking cheek, "My lord is the prettiest, " you compliment him, "what a shame that such a beauty has a sharp and nasty temper..." You ease up the frown on your face as you lean more toward him, a dangerous glint in your eyes.

"W- What is wrong with you? back off!" He yells again, squirming around, his face flustered while looking away.

"You could've used your Electro power to stop me, Lord," you chuckled sarcastically, your breath now mixed with his, "I had enough of this, you see..." You vented as you bit his lower lip.

The frozen Scaramouche widened his eyes. The Balladeer seemed to forget how powerful he was and only used his legs to kick you off of him, his face blushing wildly.

Not letting go of his lower lip, you grabbed one of his flying legs and secured it by putting it over your shoulder.

"I think that lord Scaramouche needs some punishment, right?" You whisper in his ear in a dangerous tone, not caring anymore about the consequences to come.

[alittlesongbirdchirps]

🐦🔫 HONEY I SHRUNK THE ROBINS

Damien shoved Tim as they entered the cave.

“Drake, your foolishness allowed the cretin to get away.”

Tim quickly caught himself before falling and turned around glaring at Damien, his eyebrow twitching in irration.

“Bat protocols; hit with anything unknown, return the cave, someone who never lets anyone forget they are the blood son of the bat should know that.”

Damien's jaw tightens

“And someone who should know their place imposter should not order me around.”

He stated through gritted teeth, before turning away and going to hang his sword up when Tim scoffed and muttered something under his breath; as he was about to press his comm to let the others know they had returned and briefly report why there returned earlier, Damien's snarl cut him off.

“What was that, Drake?”

It was more like damned than a question, Damien’s grip grew tighter on his sword as he stepped away from the wall mount.

Tim rolled his eyes in response, not fazed at all.

“I said nothing, You are hearing things again, demon.”

Damien suddenly launched at him, Tim quickly moved his hand away from the comm dodging quickly, before shoving Damien back, who instantly prepared himself to launch another attack at him.

This time, however, he pointed his sword in Tim’s direction.

“You dare mock me and then try to fool me,you are a coward, but that’s nothing new, Drake.”

He snarled, raising his sword high, ready to charge,Tim quickly ready himself, preparing for the assault.

But it didn’t happen,he watched as Damien let out a cry before falling to his knees, clutching his side.

Tim let out a scoff.

“A bit of a delayed reaction, and I didn’t even shove you that hard, trying to use a tactic like that,that’s low even for you demon spawn and-“

“shit.”

Realisng Damien wasn’t faking, he quickly rushed forward.

“Damien?!”

Panic was in his voice as he reached to check his vitals, while his other hand was about to press on the comm until he suddenly felt intense pain, just like Damien falling to his knees.

Overwhelmed by the searing, crushing pain in his bones, Tim couldn’t scream,unlike Damien.

His eyes slammed shut instinctively, but as soon as the pain subsided, he tremblingly opened his eyes and hurried to see if Damien was okay.

A groan escaped Damien’s lip, which quickly prompted Tim to recheck Damien’s vitals and his body for any injuries, finding none.

Which in Tim’s mind could only mean one thing: that the Ray that they were both hit with earlier was the cause.

He pressed his comm in attempt to update the others. Only to be met with static, leaving his brow furrowed in confusion.

“comms are down?”

That wasn’t the only strange thing he was beginning to notice, as a strong smell hit him it smelt damp except the smell was so strong it smelt like it was coming from everywhere.

Along with that, he now noticed the environment was different, instantly thinking the worst, that they may have led the villain back to the cave and now they were kidnapped.

That dark theory was quickly disproven as his eye continued to scan the surroundings, leaving him with the shocking realisation, no they were still in the cave, it’s just everything seemed to have grown, or maybe it didn’t grow, maybe they shrunk.

Damien’s voice cut him out of his train of thought.

“what’s going on Drake?”

he asked, sounding rather groggy.

Tim let out a breath of relief.

“Good, you’re alive.”

Damien looked offended

“of course I am. I am not a weakling unlike you.”

Damien spat, as he began to push himself up, legs wobbling, almost looking like a faun.

Tim grinned.

“wipe that look off your face, Drake, before I slice it off.”

Tim faked pouted

“But you’re just so precious.”

He mocked his older brother’s voice. Damien’s eyes narrowed probably plotting out Tim’s death before Damien finally noticed their environment.

“I’ll ask again, what’s going on?”

He damned looking around at the unfamiliar environment, but Tim didn’t even need to answer as he seemed to already figured it out,he looked rather bewildered

“This is the reason we go to the cave when hit with an unknown.”

He told in a smug tone.

Damien scoffed in annoyance before looking around once again at how massive everything was now, his grip on his sword growing tighter.

Tim pressed his comm again as if hoping it would work, but it didn’t.

He sighed.

“At any point, while we were coming back, you didn’t happen to let anyone know, did you?”

Damien scoffed.

“That’s not my job,besides the point why does that matter to our current predicament?”

Tim paused, trying not to snap because this situation was serious,he needed to treat this like a mission gone wrong.

Tim’s hands were clutched together tightly as he spoke.

“Comms are down, which means we can’t tell them of our current predicament, which also means they don’t know we returned, which means they don’t know we were hit with an unknown.”

Then Tim gestured to their surroundings, dust floating past them.

“They aren’t gonna see us,I mean, look at how much bigger everything else is in comparison to us right now..”

Damien’s face fell.

“Are you implying that no one will know we are in here? Father and Grayson won’t see us?”

Tim groaned in annoyance, rubbing his temple, and sarcastically responded.

“Who would have guessed you only mention those two. The others as well, Damien.”

“Their the only two who matter.”

Damien sneered.

Tim rolled his eyes, placing his hands in front of himself almost defensively.

“Let’s just not fight for a second. I need to figure out how small we are.”

Damien went to respond, but Tim held one finger up in front of his face.Shushing him.

“How dare you think you can-“

Tim cut him off

“Where a quarter of an inch at most, comparing us to other items in the cave right now.”

Damien growled.

“Your calculations must be off, because that would mean there are insects who are bigger than us!”

Damien’s eyes bored into Tim, but seeing how serious Tim was caused him to falter. The situation finally fully sinking in.

“Most insects eat smaller insects in their diet, we are smaller than most insects....”

It was almost a whisper.

Tim’s face softened, getting closer to him. He would have crouched if he wasn’t sure that Damien would have slammed his elbow into his gut.

“I know Damien. Unfortunately, that’s not our only issue. As we established, the others won’t see us, which points to a high probability of being squashed, then eaten by bugs.”

Damien’s face grimaced before growling.

“How dare you even imply father would break his no-kill rule?”

Tim wanted to hit his head against a wall. He thought he was getting through to him, so he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“He doesn’t have a sixth sense for shrunken people Damien, and neither do the others.”

He stated in frustration.

“Look Damien, our main issue right now is to avoid being squashed.”

“So our first priority should be getting to higher ground and our second property should be to find a way to alert the others of our current situation. Which our best bet would be the bat-computer.”

Damien looked around before spotting the giant bat-computer. He could barely make out because how large it was, as well as how far it seemed.

“It looks like a mountain Drake, how do you even think we could get to it?”

Tim sighed.

“I know that’s why I said second priority because that’s at least a two-day walk, not even thinking about any other issues that might come up.”

He quickly smiled.

“besides that’s still a positive.”

Damien made an Are you serious face.

“A positive? Are you serious Drake, you said it’s at least a two-day walk, not to mention how long it could take us to climb it!”

Tim shrugged.

“it is a positive because we aren’t further away than we could be.”

Damien's hands shock angrily by his side before he sarcastically responded.

“Oh, but I guess we could use our grapples, but wait, everything is a hundredth our size.”

“They won’t hook to anything!”

It’s taking everything in Tim not to strangle the brat. He quickly moved his hands through his utility belt pouches.

“Listen, Brat, I have things in my utility belt for a situation where I can’t use a grapple.”

“Oh, do tell Drake.”

He snarled.

Tim begun to pull out a pair of suction cups.

Damien gaped, and he looked rather confounded.

“How do they even fit in there?”

Tim smirked.

“The unknown mystery of the bat uti-“

He was cut off, as there was a very loud rumble.

He and Damien’s hands instantly went to cover their ears in hopes of blocking out the almost ear-shattering sound.

Tim quickly took his hands off his ears, pointing to his utility belt. Damien stared down in confusion before watching Tim pull out the earplugs,his eyes widened and quickly did the same.

They could still hear the sound, but it wasn’t as painfully loud as it was. These were, after all, Canary-proof earplugs.

Tim was trying to decide what to do next and quickly because he and Damien both knew that loud rumbling could only belong to one thing; an engine of a vehicle.

But before he could think too hard, his body moved on its own and he flung himself in Damien’s direction, grabbing the now thrashing boy in his grip.

If it wasn’t for the earplugs, he could bet Damien would be screeching at him.

Damien’s thrashing was making it harder to hold him.

It was clear he hadn’t realised what Tim did and right before Damien broke out of his grip, a giant boot slammed down right next to them and the sheer force sent them flying back.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Dick jumped out of the Batmobile first, doing a stretch, moving his arms and legs.

“First one back, how unlike you.”

Dick teases before Bruce lets out a grunt, coming around the other side of the vehicle.

“Unfortunately, I have a report I need to make to the league.”

Dick only smirks, hands behind his head.

“Well, whatever the case is, baby bat will probably celebrate staying out longer than us.”

Bruce nodded, a slight smile appearing on his face.

“Yes, I hope those two are getting along.”

“You say that as if neither of them are smart enough to realise what you were trying to do.”

Bruce sighs, going towards the bat-computer, slumping against the chair tiredly.

“Let’s just hope it works.”

Dick only grins

“They’ll be fine. Give it enough time and they’ll be getting along.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim groaned in pain and was thankful for all his gear.

He quickly took the earplugs out before slowly getting up.He felt rather dizzy and sore.

“Damien?”

He coughed out, a bit winded.

When Damien didn’t answer, his heart stopped. He quickly dragged himself up and his face fell for a moment, only to calm down when he saw Damien already sitting up. He seemed to be in a state of shock, fear across his face.

“Are you okay?”

Tim’s voice was soft as he spoke, concern and worry laced within it.

Damien’s head moved in his direction, processing what Tim had just asked before his face of fear slipped turning into anger as he glared up at him.

“I’m perfectly fine, you imbecile. I didn’t need saving, especially not from you.”

Tim could have taken this moment to tell him without him, he would be mush on the ground, but he didn’t.

All he said was.

“Okay.”

Damien didn’t move from his sitting position, but he spoke.

“What now? You claim to be so smart Drake, you must know what we should do now.”

Tim paused.

“Yeh-Uh.”

Now he was beginning to process,how their lives nearly just ended. His nails were digging into his palm as he thought, but he shook his head, snapping out of it.

He needed to put processing this to the back of his mind. And start thinking logically.

He took a deep breath in before speaking.

“Like I said earlier, we need to get to higher ground, so where out of harm’s way.”

His eyes quickly moved around before spotting and pointing something in the distance.

“I think that’s the med-table. I can’t tell at this size, but it should be about an hour’s walk. It’s the closest thing.”

It was silent between the two; before Damien let out a shaky brief and pushed himself up.

“Then what are you waiting for, you fool let’s go.”

(Hope you like it. I was trying to use more descriptive words lol, sorry for any grammar mistakes.)

I think I’m slowly getting better at writing lol.

[hollowmem]

Found in the lab

GN, Hybrid! Reader and John Price

I decided to take on a 2 week challange that may or may not extent to a month, we will see. I will be posting everyday, a new story with a prompt I will get for that day

Day 7: Found in the lab with Price

It was another mission for Task Force 141. Go in, clear, and secure the building. Nothing new for them, mission as any other. But this time, it wasn’t like the usual routine. Today, things went south quickly. They were welcomed with fire. The enemy didn’t hesitate to throw everything they had, forcing Task Force 141 to fight their way through. It was a long battle, but after what felt like an eternity, they managed to push them back, clearing the building room by room.

They split up to cover more ground, each heading in different directions to clear the rest of the structure. Price, as always, found himself heading to the basement. The building had the familiar look of one taken over and repurposed as a base. Abandoned, but with the unmistakable mark of an enemy occupation—a cold, clinical feeling in the air, like everything in the building had been to fit their purpose.

When Price reached the basement, the massive doors creaked open, and he stepped inside. He immediately felt something was off. The room was too… pristine. Clinical. This wasn’t just an enemy stronghold. It was something more. Price moved cautiously through the dimly lit room, eyes scanning the surroundings. The walls were lined with strange diagrams and notes that didn’t make sense. A series of lab tables were scattered about, filled with unknown vials and equipment. It looked like a laboratory, but not one for science as Price understood it. At the center of the room, inside a massive crate, was a figure. It was still, but Price could tell it was alive, barely. A breathing mask covered their face, and their body lay motionless. As Price stepped closer, his eyes narrowed, taking in the details of the figure's features. This wasn’t just a person anymore. The ears were the first thing that caught his attention. They were on their head and animalistic, not human, twitching slightly. Then there was the tail swaying ever so slightly behind them, almost like it was responding to something unseen. It wasn’t just the ears or the tail. It was almost like they had been... altered. Price’s gaze flicked to the IV line snaking into their arm. Whatever was being pumped into them wasn’t normal, not by any stretch of the imagination. He felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. This wasn’t just some twisted experiment—this was something other, something dangerous.

The ear twitched again, and Price instinctively took a step back, his hand resting on the grip of his rifle. Was this a test? Were they creating something new, something feral? Was this their weapon? "Bravo 6, I need backup down in the basement," Price said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He needed them here, fast. What he was seeing didn’t make sense, and it was more than just strange. This was something else entirely. As he took a few steps back, still gripping his rifle tightly, Price didn’t waste any time. He quickly made the decision to report what he had discovered, trying to wrap his head around it as he spoke aloud to himself. “Bravo 6 to Watcher 1, how copy?” He muttered under his breath. “This is Watched 1 send traffic” A female voice responded on the other side. “Laswell, this is Price, we have a big problem” Her voice crackled back through the static, sharp and attentive. “How big?” "They were conducting an experiment… turning a human into something… else. Animal-like. I don't know what we're dealing with, but this is way beyond a simple operation." As he spoke, Price's eyes flicked back to the figure in the crate, the eerie stillness of it gnawing at him. His grip on his rifle tightened as the weight of the situation settled in.

"Laswell, they’ve got a person down here, or something that used to be a person. IV hooked up, breathing mask on, and-" Price hesitated for a moment, his voice faltering slightly. "-and they're not fully human anymore. I don't know if it's genetic manipulation or something worse, but I need you to send someone down here, now." Laswell’s voice came back quickly, a hint of concern seeping into her words. "Price, we need details. Are they hostile? Is the subject aware of their surroundings?" Price’s eyes narrowed. The figure’s ear twitched again, but they hadn't moved beyond that. The subtle signs of life were unnerving, and the unknown stretched before him like an unmarked minefield. "No sign of aggression, not yet," Price replied. "But we can't take chances. Whatever this is, it’s not right. They could be dangerous, and I’m not sure how much longer they’ll stay passive."

There was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, all Price could hear was the static of the comms. The weight of his words hung in the air, as though Laswell was processing the gravity of the situation. "Roger that," Laswell finally said, her voice steady. "I'm rerouting a team to your position, but we’ll need a full report once you’re able. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we make our move." Price nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. His eyes stayed locked on the figure in the crate, the faintest twitch of an ear drawing his attention once again. "Understood," Price said. "Get them here fast. I’m not sure how much longer we’ve got before things go south down here." With that, he cut the transmission, his thoughts already shifting back to the unknown figure. He was used to dangerous missions, but this? This was different. The walls of the basement seemed to close in around him, as if the very air itself was charged with something unseen. Every instinct screamed that whatever was happening here, it wasn’t just an experiment. It was the beginning of something much darker.

Price’s pulse quickened as he stood motionless in the basement, his rifle still at the ready, eyes never leaving the figure in the crate. Every nerve was on edge, every second feeling like an eternity. The silence in the room pressed in on him, suffocating, as if the very walls were conspiring to keep him there alone with the unknown. He had no idea what was in that crate—what they had been doing. His mind raced with possibilities, but none of them were good. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was happening down here, it was only the beginning of something far bigger, far more dangerous. How much longer? He kept glancing at his watch, but it was like time itself was slipping away. Every second felt heavier, as if something was about to break in the stillness. The figure in the crate hadn’t moved again, but Price wasn’t fooled. The faint twitch of the ear—that was something he wouldn’t forget. He’d fought too many enemies to know that nothing was ever as it seemed in these kinds of situations. This wasn’t just a human subject. It couldn’t be. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights above him was the only sound now, a reminder that he was truly alone in this room. The team was on their way, but they were still too far out.

The seconds stretched on as Price scanned the room once more, eyes darting between the strange, clinical equipment scattered about. He felt the growing unease at the back of his neck—like he wasn’t just dealing with the remnants of some enemy operation. No, this was something more dangerous, something new. The sort of thing that couldn’t be undone. And Price was right in the middle of it. The stillness broke as the figure in the crate groaned quietly again. It was soft, barely audible over the hum of the room. But Price heard it—loud and clear. His grip on the rifle tightened, his posture tensing, ready for anything. His mind raced with questions. What was this thing? What was it capable of? And then, as though in slow motion, the figure shifted again. This time, it was more pronounced, the body twitching, fingers curling. Price’s breath caught in his throat. No. Don’t move. But the figure did move. Their chest heaved slightly as the breathing mask stayed firmly in place. The IV line continued to pump something into them, but there was no telling how much of their humanity was left. His heart pounded in his chest, but Price kept his focus, trying not to let the creeping fear get the better of him. Just wait. The team would be there soon. The figure's eyes fluttered. Price could just make out faintest shift of the face as the person stirred. This isn’t right. Price’s thoughts were racing, each one darker than the last. He could feel his body instinctively reacting, poised for combat even though he wasn’t sure what he was about to face. Come on, Gaz. Ghost. Soap. Hurry.

The seconds ticked by in a blur, the wait growing unbearable. Price’s fingers drummed on the grip of his rifle, and his eyes flicked toward the door—still silent, still empty. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. It was faint at first, but as they grew louder, Price’s body relaxed just a fraction. The team was finally here. He stepped toward the door, his eyes scanning the hallway outside the basement. His breath slowed. They were almost there. The door burst open, and Gaz, Ghost and Soap stepped in, rifles raised and scanning the room in an instant. “Price,” Ghost said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “What the hell is going on down here?” Price didn’t waste time. He nodded toward the crate. “Whatever that is… it’s not human anymore. They’ve been experimenting on people. Turning them into something else.” Soap’s eyes darted to the crate, the same unease creeping into his expression. “Jesus, Price. You sure about this?” Price glanced back at the still figure, which was slowly moving propping itself on arms. “I’m sure. We can’t wait any longer,” Price said, his voice low but urgent. “We need to contain this before it gets worse. No idea what this thing’s gonna do, but we’re not taking chances.” Soap gave a grim nod. “Let’s move.” With that, they advanced cautiously, moving toward the crate as Price kept his rifle ready. The figure in the crate let out a low growl, their eyes now fully open, but they didn’t seem to focus on anything. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable. Whatever was going to happen next was out of their control.

[ghoulsverse]

Chapter Three: Subject 00-113

3.1k Words | [tags] PTSD, Mentions of abuse

Chapter Index | Ao3 Link

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“The hardest part isn’t pulling someone from the fire. It’s convincing them they aren’t still burning.”

The quinjet touched down with barely a whisper against the rooftop landing pad.

Wanda watched the skyline through the small window by her seat, still half asleep. The city wasn’t buzzing yet. No honking cars, no blur of lights. Just that strange quiet that clung to mid mornings when the world hadn't quite put its armor back on.

Fitting.

Behind her, she could feel Aliah shifting restlessly in the seat, wrapped tight in the silver emergency blanket like it could somehow make her invisible.

Natasha was already up, moving with that same catlike, unbothered grace she always had before a mission… or after one they hadn't expected.

The ramp lowered with a hiss.

Cold air flooded the cabin, sharp enough to make Wanda blink hard once, twice.

Aliah didn’t move.

"Come on. It’s okay." Wanda said gently, standing and offering her hand without expectation.

For a long beat, Aliah just stared at it.

Then, slowly, she unfolded herself from the seat and followed.

Not touching. Not grabbing. Just moving in the shadow Wanda made for her.

Bruce was waiting at the far end of the platform, arms loose at his sides, wearing a soft hoodie and sneakers like he hadn’t been briefed that they were bringing back a potential unstable asset.

Wanda appreciated that.

So did Aliah, if the way she didn’t immediately spark was anything to go by. She was still on edge, but she didn’t feel threatened.

Steve and Sam stepped off the jet behind them, staying a few paces back… clearly trying not to box her in. Natasha flanked Aliah's other side without a word, her presence solid and non-threatening.

It worked.

Aliah kept walking.

Small victories.

"Hey there." Bruce said when they got close enough. His voice was low, even. Like he was greeting a spooked animal, not a teenage girl wrapped in fear and static. "I’m Bruce. I’m not gonna poke or prod you, okay? Just wanna make sure you're feeling alright."

Aliah’s fingers twitched at her sides.

Wanda could feel the tension climbing her spine, that buzz of energy crackling just under her skin.

She stepped a little closer, not blocking Bruce, but standing between Aliah and the unknown anyway.

"If you're hurt." Wanda said softly. "Bruce can help. But only if you want."

Aliah’s eyes flickered between them… wide, calculating, too old for her age. Whatever her age may be.

Then, finally, she nodded once.

Tiny. Barely more than a dip of her chin.

Bruce smiled. Again, small victories.

"Alright." He said gently. "Let's get you somewhere quiet. No tests. Just a check-up."

Aliah flinched at the word ‘tests’, but Wanda caught it… and Bruce did, too. He didn’t push.

Just turned and started walking toward the door inside, slow enough that Aliah could set the pace if she wanted.

Wanda glanced at Natasha once as they followed, just a flick of her eyes. Natasha didn’t say anything, but the tight set of her jaw said plenty.

They both knew it.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Wanda could feel it in the tightness of Aliah's movements, the way her feet barely made noise against the floor, the way her head kept snapping toward every creak and hum of machinery.

She was absorbing everything.

Aliah kept her eyes flickering. 5 exits. 7 people. 2 flights of stairs.

Not that any of this information was useful for her, but it was comforting. She could never escape with other people in the room who were powerful like she was. It's just what she was trained to do.

Catalog everything. Forget nothing. 

Bruce led them toward the temporary medical bay, repurposed conference room, wide open, sterile as a lab. No locks. No restraints.

But the moment they crossed the threshold, Aliah froze.

Wanda felt the shift in the air before she even turned.

Aliah’s body went rigid, her breath hitching sharp and fast. Her fingers twitched violently and some of the metal tools began to float. Sparks of white energy flickered uncontrolled at the tips of her hands.

Hydra Base: Hemlock - 2 Years Ago

Aliah sat bare, in nothing but a hospital gown on the edge of a hospital bed. Her eyes flickered around, German and Russian soldiers walking around with clipboards on the other side of a 3-inch pane of glass while Doctor Evez stood next to her with a long needle that could only be compared in size to an epidermic needle.

“One last injection, and you will be our greatest achievement.”

“No more after this?” She asked in a soft, timid voice.

“No more, 113.”

Aliah nodded, wincing as the probe went in. She stayed quiet as Doctor Evez conducted his procedure, him speaking aloud to the soldiers on the other side of the glass. Accent thick.

“Genesis Subject 00-113 has shown remarkable adherence to advancements. The donor genetics are exceptionally compatible.”

“This is the final procedure needed to stabilize the DNA. Since the donors are both enhanced, one genetically and the other post term, it is imperative that the two samples merge completely before they can begin to grow on their own. Since Subject 113 is 12.7 years post full-term, the cells will continue to regenerate until the subject has reached 21 years of age.”

A silver/blue liquid began to filter in the needle. It burned slightly.

“Subject 113 is the only full term success of these donors. Unfortunately any other samples of the donors were used in the previous test subjects. A perfect specimen for the Widow selection. Subject 00-113 is one of a kind.”

He turned towards Aliah with a sick smile on his face. “Aren’t you, 113?”

The burning stopped, her eyes and senses can tell she’s not in the facility anymore, but her feelings still exist.

Wanda took a step toward her, but the girl recoiled instantly, stumbling back into the doorframe with a clang.

Aliah shook her head and dropped to her knees.

The white energy surged around her in a wild pulse, sharp enough to make the light panels flicker.

Bruce immediately stepped back, hands up, his voice calm. "Okay. Okay."

Natasha moved subtly… placing herself between Aliah and the nearest sharp object, casual and non-threatening.

Wanda crouched down low, palms open, heart in her throat. “What do you need?"

Aliah’s breaths came in ragged, fast little gasps, her eyes wide and wild. Glowing.

Wanda didn’t dare reach for her. Not yet.

Instead she did the one thing she knew would calm her. She let her own magic show.

Red mist drifted lightly from her palms, swirling harmlessly into the air. Calm, controlled, gentle.

Not a weapon.

Not a trap.

A simple message. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Aliah stared at the mist.

Her trembling slowed, barely, but enough. Enough for Wanda to see her. Enough for Aliah to blink hard, trying to drag herself back from wherever she’d gone.

Wanda kept her voice soft. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

Aliah didn’t answer with words. She just glanced at the med bay again… At the too-bright lights, the clinical smell, and shook her head violently.

Wanda nodded. No hesitation.

"Okay." She said. "No hospitals."

She turned her head toward Bruce and Natasha.

“Do you want to come upstairs? I can show you some TV shows that I like to watch.”

Aliah nodded, her eyes slowly returning to her normal color. Her fingers didn't stop trembling but she followed close behind Wanda and Natasha.

The elevator ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind.

The heavy, uncertain kind. The kind where every floor ding sounded too loud against the tension stretched thin between them.

Aliah stayed close to Wanda’s side, her hands still trembling but only slightly. White energy flickered faintly at her knuckles, but it didn’t lash out.

Not yet.

Natasha stood on the opposite side of the elevator, arms folded, watching the numbers light up one by one.

She wasn’t guarding. She was waiting.

Like she knew that Aliah could take care of herself, but that she wouldn't turn for help. Natasha saw herself in the young girl. She looked at the girl almost in remembrance. When Clint had first brought her to the tower, she felt like an outsider.

The doors slid open onto the residential floor Wanda and Natasha shared… simple, private, a little worn around the edges in the way real homes were.

The common area was dimly lit by a single standing lamp.  A soft throw blanket was crumpled on the couch. Fred the half-dead plant sagged sideways in his pot.

It smelled like cinnamon candle wax and whatever Natasha’s version of dinner had been the night before.

It didn’t smell like hospitals.

It didn’t hum with the weight of surveillance.

It felt... human.

Wanda stepped out first, glancing back to offer the smallest, most careful smile.

"You can stay here with me and Nat." She said quietly. "As long as you want."

Aliah hovered at the threshold for a second, like she wasn’t sure she was really being offered anything.

But then she crossed over.

Small, silent steps.

No explosions. No resistance.

Just a girl stepping into a place that didn’t expect her to be dangerous.

Wanda kicked off her boots by the door, peeling off her jacket and tossing it haphazardly onto the couch.

Natasha hung back by the window, flicking the blinds half shut without being asked. Dimming the outside world a little more.

Small acts of protection.

Not orders. Not commands.

Just... space.

"We can put something on, keep you distracted so Bruce can make sure everything is okay.” Natasha spoke smoothly.

Aliah didn’t answer. But she didn’t retreat either.

Wanda crouched and flipped through a few options, scrolling past news broadcasts, action movies, dark crime dramas.

Too loud.

Too violent.

Finally, she landed on something soft and ridiculous, her favorite. The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Gentle colors. Dumb jokes. A world with stakes small enough to laugh at.

Wanda hit play.

The TV glowed to life.

Aliah moved hesitantly toward the couch, still wrapped in the silver blanket like it might deflect betrayal.

She perched on the farthest corner, spine stiff, eyes locked onto the screen with the kind of sharp, terrified focus Wanda recognized too well.

Natasha sank into the armchair without a word, boots still on, one arm draped casually over the side.

Wanda took the middle seat… close enough for Aliah to feel, but not close enough to trap her.

She kept her hands visible. Kept her voice low. Her breathing is steady. And let the movie fill the space between them.

It wasn’t much.

It wasn’t a solution.

But it was a start.

And sometimes, survival wasn’t about running faster or fighting harder.

Sometimes it was just about finding a couch, and two strangers willing to sit still long enough for you to believe the world might not be trying to kill you after all.

Bruce stood there, wearing the same hoodie and sneakers, holding a small tablet tucked against his chest.

He didn't step inside.

Didn’t cross the threshold without permission.

"Just a quick visual check." He said gently, addressing Wanda, not Aliah. "Nothing invasive. Nothing scary."

Natasha glanced back at Aliah, watching, tense but silent. Wanda knelt beside the couch again, making herself smaller, less imposing.

"Would it be alright?" She asked Aliah directly. "Bruce just wants to make sure you're feeling okay. You can say no."

For a long moment, Aliah didn't move.

Then, very slowly, she gave one jerky nod.

Bruce entered carefully, staying several feet away.

No tools. No wires. Just a small light he kept pocketed.

He scanned Aliah visually… pupil reaction, breathing rhythm, minor tremors in her hands. He spoke softly as he worked.

"You’ve been through a lot." he said. "No one's expecting you to be okay overnight."

Aliah didn’t answer.

But she didn’t flinch away when he checked the old bruises on her wrists from whatever Hydra restraints had left behind.

Wanda stood closely, not hovering. “I know it’s hard right now, but if you remember anything, it would really help.”

Green eyes looked void of any emotion. Choosing carefully on what to say or think around the infamous Wanda Maximoff.

She’d heard whispers of her around Hydra. The runaway.

If she could get away, then that garnered some kind of trust.

Aliah opened her mind up softly to Wanda. “Subject 00-113. That’s what I was called.”

Wanda nodded softly and turned towards Natasha before speaking to Aliah again. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

“I can only remember that I had two donor samples and that they said I was almost 15 years post full term.”

“Is it okay if I share this with Nat?”

A soft nod.

The witch stood and pulled Natasha to the corner of the living room, keeping her eyes on the young girl whose focus was being pulled by the noise of the TV.

“She was given a number for her identification and I think she’s about 15 years old.”

Nat crossed her arms over her chest and spoke quietly, her mind trying to piece together the information. “Did she say anything else?”

“She remembers that she was made from only 2 donors.”

“Meaning only 2 samples of DNA.”

When Bruce finished, he nodded once, respectful, and stepped back immediately.

"All good." He said quietly. "No more check-ups unless you want them."

He turned to leave without lingering.

Natasha shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The show droned on in the background. Aliah perched on the far edge of the couch. Still braced for impact. But here.

Still here.

Wanda stayed cross legged on the floor, her back against the couch, close enough for Aliah to feel her presence but far enough not to crowd her.

Natasha had moved to the far corner of the room, pulling the window blinds lower with two fingers, cutting out the skyline’s last glimmer of sun from the afternoon.

Then she settled into the armchair, loose and casual, as if she'd just come back from a routine mission and this was just her ritual. Comfortable.

Her body language was perfect, lazy, indifferent… but Wanda didn’t miss the way Natasha’s eyes flicked toward every tiny noise Aliah made.

Protective.

Quiet about it.

But there.

Aliah hadn't said a word since Bruce had finished his careful check.

She still sat curled on the corner of the couch, a silver blanket clutched around her, eyes half lidded and distant.

Natasha could tell she was fighting sleep.

However long the girl must have been on edge, staying awake to assure her survival in an abandoned facility. Now again, in a foreign building with a bunch of people she doesn't know.

Aliah would drop at any second assuming for that time, she’d been awake.

50 hours. Since they received word of the facility. Then drafted a mission and rescue.

Around 50 hours, this girl had been awake. Ready to run at any moment.

But for now, she wasn’t running.

For now, she stayed.

Wanda let the quiet stretch.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt necessary.

Every second they didn’t demand something from Aliah was another second proving they weren’t here to chain her down.

A particularly ridiculous scene flickered across the screen and sharp noise escaped from Aliah's corner of the couch.

Not laughter.

Not quite.

Just a quick, startled huff of breath, immediately smothered like she hadn’t meant to make it.

Wanda pretended not to notice.

Natasha did too.

The movie kept playing.

The world stayed soft for one more minute.

Wanda let herself lean her head back against the couch, closing her eyes briefly.

She didn't sleep.

She wouldn’t, not yet.

There was too much weight still hanging in the air, too many unanswered questions.

Where Aliah had come from. What Hydra and the Red Room had done to her. Why did her powers felt so familiar.

But she intended to find out.

Somewhere across the room, Natasha shifted just enough to kick her boots off, letting them thunk quietly against the floor. She didn’t speak. She didn’t leave.

Neither did Wanda.

Neither did Aliah.

Natasha being the first to break the silence. “You can sleep. We won’t leave.”

Aliah just shook her head.

Without thinking it over anymore, Natasha grabbed the pillow from behind her on the chair, tossing it on the floor in front of the couch. Then she got down and slid into the space next to it. “If you can feel people like Wanda can, feel me here. I won’t leave your side while you sleep.”

Minutes go by, feeling like hours.

The widow returned her focus to the TV, allowing the girl to make her own decision. On her own time.

It was subtle, but it worked all the same. A small figure slid off the corner of the couch and laid her head down on the cushion.

For the first time in what must have been days, Aliah closed her eyes in a room that didn’t expect anything from her.

And the three of them stayed like that… Suspended in the slow hum of the TV, the warmth of shared breathing, the fragile peace of a night that hadn't shattered.

Not yet.

“How did you do that?” Wanda asked, just above a whisper.

Natasha let herself smile at the mess of hair next to her lap. Just close enough to feel the presence and warmth but not close enough to touch. “Beds and couches are too soft.”

“What?”

“When I first defected… I had to sleep with handcuffs on the bedpost.” She started. Speaking softly, monotone. “They made us sleep that way in the Red Room to make sure we wouldn’t leave or escape. It was a bad habit, but for the first few months here, it was the only thing that brought me comfort. The beds were too soft. It wasn’t what I was used to. I couldn’t sleep that way.”

“Nat…” Wanda’s voice cracked but Natasha just waved it off, having had time to process and accept her own past.

“If she was raised by Hydra, I’m assuming she never had a real bed. Maybe a cot. The couch is too soft. The floor isn’t.”

The witch just nodded. She blinked a few times to hide the wetness behind her eyes. So many emotions were flowing through her that she didn't know how to process.

She's been living with Natasha for years now, but she never knew this side of her.

Then the young girl who slept quietly on the floor, having never known a normal childhood.

What a mess this was.

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Taglist: @seventeen-x

[ackx-rman]

tea and you. levi ackerman

part. V

part. IV

Warnings: angst, blood, death, smut, unprotected sex, swearing, graphic scenes, idiots in love

three years ago

the humid summer air hung heavy, clinging to the cobblestones under my worn boots. sweat trickled down my temple, today was it. graduation. the culminating of three years of brutal training, pushing myself until my muscles screamed and my mind threatened to shatter sometimes. a nervous flutter tickled my stomach, a strange mix of anticipation and the familiar adrenaline that always surged before a challenge.

i’d aced the cadet corps, topping my division by a mile. not that the numbers mattered much to me. people seemed to like me well enough- i tried to treat everyone with kindness, and i suppose my knack for strategy and sheer physical strength didn’t hurt. they’d even given me a nickname: “the strongest woman.” it felt…odd. like a label someone else had slapped onto me. it wasn’t me. what mattered was what lay beyond these walls. the scouts. the very thought sent a thrill through me, a yearning so intense it ached in my chest. there was nothing for me here, trapped within these stone confines. it felt like a cage. i was desperate to break free.

being “the strongest” meant whispers followed me like shadows. i’d overhear snippets of conversations, hushed tones of carrying on the dry wind. the military police, those pampered elites stationed in the interior, had apparently assumed i’d be joining them, i could practically picture their pristine uniforms, their polished boots that never touched dirt, their smug smiles. the thought alone made my stomach churn. their comfortable lives, their sheltered existence…it wasn’t for me. not even close. i craved the raw, untamed world beyond the walls, the danger, the freedom. i needed it like i needed air.

the scout regiment, of course, knew about me. how could they not? hange, bless their heart, had practically bounced with excitement the first time we met. their questions about my training, my strength, and their theories on titan biology had come at me in a rapid-fire barrage. leaving me slightly breathless but strangely invigorated. they saw something in me, i think. something beyond just strength. erwin, with his sharp, calculating gaze, had also seen that spark. i felt it in his presence, a quiet intensity that spoke volumes. he didn’t say much, but his eyes held a knowing look, like he understood the fire that burned within me.

and then there was captain levi. he was…different. silent, almost brooding. his grey eyes, sharp as shards of ice, seemed to pierce through me, assessing every move, every breath. he rarely spoke to me directly, but i’d catch him watching me during training, his gaze intense and unreadable. we were polar opposites- my outgoing nature clashing with his reserved attitude- yet there was something there, a silent understanding that hung in the air between us. a shared weight, perhaps. the weight of responsibility, the burden of strength. i could feel it, a tension that crackled like static whenever we were near.

the moment of truth arrived, one by one, the last ten cadets stepped forward, pledging allegiance to the military police, choosing the comfortable, secure life within the inner walls. i watched them, a strange mix of pity and understanding. they sought safety, a predictable existence. but that wasn’t my path. my heart beat to a different drum, a wild, untamed rhythm that echoed the vast unknown beyond the walls. when my turn came, i didn’t hesitate.

a wave of excitement rippled through all the cadets as they could now reach their new destination, but it was nothing compared to the pure joy radiating from hange. they practically vibrated with energy, rushing towards me with erwin trailing slightly behind, a small smile playing on his lips. “i can’t wait to have the strongest woman on my squaaaaaad!” hange exclaimed, their eyes sparkling like a child on christmas morning. they turned to erwin, their enthusiasm barely contained. “she’ll come to my squad, right? it only makes sense!”

before erwin could even open his mouth to respond, a figure materialized from the shadows near the back of the crowd. levi. he moved with a quiet grace that always unnerved me, like a predator stalking its prey. his voice carried across the training grounds with surprising clarity. “no,” he said, “i want her on my squad.” his gaze locked onto mine, those sharp, grey eyes holding me captive. it wasn’t a request; it was a declaration. a challenge.

my heart pounded in my chest. this wasn’t how i’d imagined things going. i’d expected to be placed under hange’s command, as we talked, to dive headfirst into their eccentric research. but levi…his gaze held an intensity that made me feel both seen and utterly exposed. i took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. this was it. my first real interaction as now, a member of the survey corps with the commander and two captains, the three individuals who would likely shape my future with the scouts. “commander erwin,” i said, offering a respectful nod. then, shifting my gaze two the two figures flanking him, i added, “captain levi, captain hange,” acknowledging them with another nod, trying to keep my expression neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions raged. this was going to be interesting.

erwin, his expression a familiar blend of weariness and a gentle, almost paternal smile, returned my greeting with an incline of his head. hange, however, reacted with characteristic drama. their face crumpled into a theatrical pout, their lower lip jutting out. “why not my squad?” they whined, throwing their hands up in exasperation. “i met her first!”

levi didn’t even deign to glance away from me. his grey eyes remained locked on mine. “shut up, four-eyes”, he retorted, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth.

hange, undeterred, pressed on, turning their pleading gaze to erwin. “but erwin, we talked about this! she was supposed to be in my squad. we had plans!” erwin chuckled, a wry smile playing on his lips as he glanced between the two of them, a silent observer of their familiar squabble. “you can’t own her, hange,” he said, “i thought you understood that.”

i, meanwhile, found myself simply staring at the scene unfolding before me. hange’s dramatic outburst, levi’s unwavering stare, erwin’s quiet amusement- it was all rather surreal. it felt…nice. just a bit. to be the center of attention, to feel so valued, so wanted. i hadn’t expected to cause such a stir. i continued to stare between the three officers.

hange growing increasingly frustrated by erwin’s calmness and levi’s silent stubbornness, finally turned back to levi, their voice rising in pitch, “but why?” they demanded, throwing their hands up in the air, “why do you want her on your squad? tell me a reason and i can think of letting you have her”

levi’s response was curt, his voice devoid of any emotion, as if he were discussing the weather rather than a person. “the reason doesn’t matter,” he didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer an explanation, as his gaze was still on me, as if daring me to challenge him.

erwin began to explain, his voice calm and measured, attempting to diffuse the rising tension. “i’ts true that hang asked me earlier if y/n could be in their squad-” but levi interrupted him, cutting him off mid-sentence, as he often did.

“i don’t care who asked you first,” he stated firmly, the words were clipped, precise, and carried an undeniable weight of authority. “she’s coming with me.”

hange’s shoulders slumped. they knew better than to push levi too far, especially when he adopted that particular tone. “this is unfair!” they muttered, though the complaint lacked its usual vehemence.

a moment of silence fell over the small group. this was my chance to assert myself, to take control of the situation. my voice, though soft, carried a note of resolute determination that cut through the stillness. “can i have a word?”

the effect was immediate. all eyes were now solely focused on me, their curiosity piqued. the tension in the air became less about the squabble between hange and levi and more about what i was about to say.

“it would be nice to be with hange since we-” i began, trying to find a diplomatic way to express my preference without causing further conflict. but before i could even finish what i was trying to say, levi cut me off, a single, stern “no” silencing me instantly.

erwin, observing the exchange, couldn’t help but smirk, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. “you know,” he mused, a knowing glint appearing in his eye as he addressed the group, “i think it would be quite advantageous to have the strongest soldier working alongside the strongest woman.”

hange’s eyes widened in surprise, their head snapping towards erwin, they knew they couldn’t fight that, at all. levi, however, remained impassive. erwin chuckled softly, his gaze sweeping across the small group, taking in each of our reactions.

“well,” he continued, a playful tone in his voice, “isn't it a good idea?” he paused, allowing his words to hang in the air for a moment. the implication was clear: he was endorsing levi’s claim.

i glanced at levi, a strange sensation washing over me. it was flattering, to say the least, that the strongest soldier, captain levi, wanted me on his squad. it was intimidating. he was known for his demanding nature and his unwavering expectations. he noticed my gaze, nothing seemed to escape his sharp eyes, giving nothing away. it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“well,” erwin announced, “i think y/n will be in levi’s squad,” he paused, then offered me a warm, reassuring smile. “but if you want to change your mind, y/n, there’s always hange’s squad, or even mine.” it was a generous offer, a subtle way of ensuring i felt i had a choice, even though the decision seemed all but made.

hange groaned in frustration, they knew when they were outmatched, and arguing with erwin when levi had already made his intentions clear was a lost cause. levi, on the other hand, simply nodded, as if the matter had been settled from the start. i returned their nods, accepting my fate, or perhaps, my opportunity.

“i can’t believe this!” hange said, crossing their arms over their chest and turning away.

i couldn’t help but laugh at my new friend’s antics. their over-the-top reactions were endearing, even in their frustration. even erwin chuckled, knowing full well that there was no changing levi’s mind once it was made up.

“you’re laughing too now?” hange exclaimed. they turned back to face us, their eyes wide mock betrayal. “i feel betrayed!”

“sorry, hange,” i said, still smiling, “i swear, if its really difficult to be in levi’s squad, i’ll switch to yours,” it was a promise i intended to keep, a way to reassure change and ease the tension

“please do,” hange pleases, their eyes widening with hope, “it’s going to be horrible with him.” they lowered their voice to a whisper, as if levi couldn’t hear them even though he was standing right there.

levi clearly having heard every word, snapped, “shut up,” his tone so sharp it cut through the lighthearted atmosphere like a knife.

“should we go then?” i addressed levi, breaking the brief silence.

he simply nodded at me

and so, i found myself walking beside him, following him onward his squad. the short walk felt significant, each step taking me further into this new chapter. as we approached, levi stopped, his posture becoming even more rigid, if that was possible. “all of you, listen. this is y/n. she’ll be joining our squad from now on. all of you, present, or don’t, whatever.” his tone was dismissive, as if introductions were a tedious formality.

a ripple of murmurs went through the group. i could feel their eyes on me, assessing from head to toe. i could almost hear the whispers in their minds: a new cadet…joining our squad…she is a rookie, their eyes widened, a mixture of awe and apprehension playing across their faces. i could see the questions forming: is she really that strong? can she keep up with levi’s demands?

levi’s already frayed patience finally snapped. he surveyed his squad, his expression hardening. “well,” he barked, his voice laced with impatience, “are you going to keep staring with your mouths open like a bunch of gaping fish?”

his sharp words made the others turn out of their daze. petra, always the cheerful one, was the first to recover. a wife, genuine small was given to me as she waved enthusiastically. “are you really y/n?” she asked, her voice bright and curious. “the strongest woman?”

i blushed, a nervous smile tugging at my lips. “well, uhm, i guess?” i replied, a slight awkwardness creeping into my voice. “i don’t really like that nickname anyway.” it felt…boastful, somehow, and i wasn’t one for drawing unnecessary attention to myself.

levi observed the interaction from beside me, his expression unreadable as always. he stood there, a silent sentinel, taking in the scene. the other members of his squad, still a little awestruck by my presence and perhaps intimidated by their captain’s, started to introduce themselves one by one. there was oluo, with his gruff attitude that seemed more bark than bite; eld, who offered a polite nod and a reserved smile; gunther, who seemed quiet and watchful; and then there was petra, who was still beaming at me with that infectious enthusiasm.

“it’s nice to meet you all,” i said, my smile genuine and warm as i met each of their eyes. “i hope i’m not a burden and that i can be of help,” i meant it sincerely. i wanted to prove myself, to earn their respect, and to become a valuable member of the squad.

my words seemed to put the others at ease. they returned my smile, their initial apprehension fading, replaced by a more welcoming face. i could tell they were already starting to warm up to me, to me not just as “the strongest woman” but as…well, as me. a sense of belonging, however small, began to blossom in my chest.

on the ride to our now, officially new home, i found myself riding alongside levi. the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the road, a steady beat accompanying the nervous flutter in my stomach.

“captain?” i began, my voice a bit hesitant, unsure of how to initiate a conversation with the notoriously taciturn captain

he turned his gaze towards me, a silent question hanging in the air.

“what is it?” he inquired, his tone gruff but not unkind. I could detect a hint of…something.

“i just wanted to say thank you”

levi raised a single eyebrow, “and why are you thanking me?”

“i mean,” i stammered, trying to find the right words, “for the opportunity you gave me to be in your squad. i know hange really wanted me on their team, and i appreciate you…well, you know, choosing me.” i trailed off, feeling a little foolish for making such a big deal out of it.

he looked at me for a few seconds. the silence stretched between us, the only thing i could hear was the sound of the horses. “no need to thank me,” he finally said, “you’re strong and that’s what matters”

“well, i just wanted to thank you,” you mumbled, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness. “sorry.”

he looked away, a slight frown creasing his brow. “you don’t have to apologize,” he muttered, sounding almost irritated, “it’s stupid”

“yeah, sorry- i mean, nevermind,” you said, feeling yourself blush again

he turned his head to look at you again, his expression unreadable. “do you always apologize so much?”

you bit your lip, a small smile playing on your lips. “sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft.

“you need to stop apologizing for things you don’t have to apologize for, brat,” levi said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the bluntness of his words. the unexpected softness in his voice makes a fleeting warmth spread through you.

“fine, captain,” you muttered, subtly increasing the distance between you. you weren’t sure why, but the urge to create a little space between you and your new intimidating captain was almost instinctive. his presence was…intense. like standing near a tightly coiled spring, ready to unleash at any moment.

levi watched you with a curious expression, his gaze following your movements. “what are you doing?” he inquired

“uh…i guess going with the squad and leaving you…alone, until we arrive?” you said, your voice trailing off as you realized how that sounded. you immediately regretted it, your cheeks flushing crimson. i wanted the ground to swallow me whole. god.

he huffed, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. “stay close,” he ordered, moving closer to you again, “you’re the new one, i don’t want you far if we have an attack”

“yes, captain,” you replied, a slight smile playing on your lips.

he didn’t say anything else, his gaze fixed on the horizon. his expression remained unchanged, a face that betrayed no emotion. he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but a subtle sense of satisfaction settled within him. he was glad that you were in his squad. glad that, ultimately, you’d been placed under his command rather than hange’s. your presence…it was…he trailed off in his thoughts, unable to define the feeling. it was unfamiliar, a subtle shift in the usual order of things. you were, on the surface, mostly like any other soldier in his squad- strong, skilled, dedicated. and yet…there was something different about you.

he found himself observing you, almost unconsciously, drawn to details he normally wouldn’t even care about. the way the sunlight caught in her hair, turning the strands into a halo of light. the determined set of her jaw as she navigated the rough terrain, a clear indication of her focus. the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the expression of warmth that seemed to illuminate your entire face. the gentle way you caressed your now horse’s neck.

without you knowing it, he’d started frequenting the training grounds more often. he would position himself at the edge of the camp, a silent observer amidst the trees, his gaze fixed on your movement. he liked, enjoyed, watching you train. your movements were so fast, precise and powerful. he found himself anticipating your presence, scanning the crowd of cadets until he found you, even before this official transfer. he’d never spoken to you directly until now, but he’d been watching. waiting.

he pushed the thoughts down, dismissing them as irrelevant. he was a soldier, not a poet. emotions were weaknesses, distractions that could get him killed, or worse, get his squad killed. there was no room for such frivolous things in his life. duty and survival were all that mattered.

“it’s going to be fun,” your voice cut through his internal thoughts. he turned his head and saw you looking at him, with that smile, that smile that radiated optimism everywhere.

he looked back at you, your gazed meeting for a fleeting few seconds. your smile. it was…something. it truly was. a warmth seemed to emanate from it, a light that momentarily pierced through the hardened shell he’d built around himself. he quickly looked away.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about, brat,” he muttered, his voice again gruff, the familiar harshness returning as a defense mechanism. he scowled internally. he needed to focus.

despite his gruff words, a small thought lingered in the back of his mind. yes, he thought to himself, it’ll be interesting.

author's note: short but y/n pov cause yeah. thank you for reading, next chapter will be interesting *wink wink* and long. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

pt VI