#to do it now while some of them are still alive

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Zayne’s non-mc significant other. Red String of Fate AU

Imagine being born with the ability to see the red strings of fate. The ones that tied people together. Lovers, soulmates, the people meant to find each other.

Imagine some were strong. Some were gentle. Some were ugly and sharp. And you... you could cut them. Not to play with people's lives, but to help. You only ever cut the ones that hurt. Obsession, possession and the pain pretending to be love.

Imagine never once had a string pointed at you. Never. Not once.

but Imagine you tried to love anyway. Quiet, careful tries. But each time, they were already tied to someone else. So you let them go. You always let them go. You told yourself it was enough to help others. That not everyone gets a string. That maybe you weren't meant to belong.

Imagine then came Zayne. He didn't have a string at all. Nothing pulling him toward anyone. Not even the hint of one waiting to appear. Just stillness.

Imagine the way he looks at you was like you weren't anything. Like you weren't broken or forgotten. You didn't fall fast. You didn't rush. You built something slow and steady. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe love didn't need fate. Maybe it just needed someone to stay.

Imagine he knew what you could do. What you could see. So one night while you were sitting beside him, your head on his shoulder, he asked gently.

"If I ever get a string and it's not for you. I want you to cut it." You hesitated. Just for a second. "Alright." And he nodded. He trusted you.

Imagine weeks have passed then months. Still no string. Still just the two of you. Happy in the quiet way. The kind of happy that doesn’t shout or shine. It just lives in the little things. His sleepy voice in the morning. Your laughter when he made tea wrong again it was super sweet like what in world-. His hand finding yours under the table. Yours holding on, always. Until tonight.

Imagine you were visiting him at the hospital. The two of you were heading to a restaurant after his shift when you saw him come out. And there you saw it. A faint glow. Scarlet and soft. Spinning from his ring finger like a whisper, like a promise. And it wasn't pointing at you.

Imagine it heads down the hall. Past the sterilized white walls of the hospital. To Room 212.

Imagine you have seen her before. A patient. Someone Zayne has cared for, carefully, gently. A kind girl with a tired laugh and too many paper cranes tucked under her pillow. You never sensed anything romantic. You never even worried. But the string doesn't lie.

and Imagine its there now. Shimmering. Real. And for the first time in your life, your heart aches not just for someone else but for you.

Imagine, strange enough. Your heart didn't drop. It didn't crash. It just stilled. Like everything inside you went quiet at once. And you stood there staring at the string that wasn't yours.

Imagine the way he saw your face change. He stepped closer. His voice softened. As if he was trying to figure out what's wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asked, holding you gently by the arm. "Nothing." You smile at him. He did not buy it. "Did it happen?" He asked. "Do I have a string?"

Imagine the way you looked at him. The man you loved. The man who had been yours. Not because fate said so, but because he chose you. Every day. Again and again. And you said. "No. Not yet."

Imagine you lied. Because if this was fate choosing for him. If this string led him to happiness. You wouldn't take that from him. You loved him too much.

so Imagine you smiled. Let him pull you into his arms. Let him hold you like nothing had changed. You let him, the way he kiss the crown of your head. You savour it.

Imagine you close your eyes. Then you blink. But you could still see the string. Bright. Alive. Stretching toward someone else. And you didn't say a word.

because Imagine, love isn't always holding on. Sometimes, it's letting go quietly. Even when no one sees the breaking. Just loving someone enough to lie, so they never have to feel the weight of goodbye.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: karma's a bitch cuz I literally was about to passout at the local market. I'm so embarrassed. Thou shall not set foot on the market for at least a month XD

: also if you know my reference for this one and the last one. I see you're a people of culture;)

[akeaaan]

If Only...

Jinu X fem.Reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is my fourth fanfic of jinu and I'm going crazy someone stop me please. Also I'm losing ideas so if you have any request please do drop a note. I still have another idea of angst until I make some soft happy endings lol

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ If Only...

It was never supposed to happen.

You weren't supposed to feel this. To hesitate.

But fate — cruel, laughing fate — had always toyed with you, over and over again. And here you were, caught in its trap once more.

Your scythe had cut down hundreds of their kind. Demons had crumbled into dust at your feet, your blade unflinching, your heart colder each time.

But now?

Now you couldn't kill even one.

Why him?

You didn't belong in the spotlight. You hated it — the blinding lights, the staged smiles, the never-ending swarm of paparazzi. The fake interviews, the forced poses, the soul-sucking brand deals. You hated being told to be perfect.

So you stayed in the shadows, right where you belonged.

You let Huntrix shine in the public eye: Mira, Rumi, and Zoe — the idols, the faces, the voices. They danced in the light, while you hid behind soundproof glass.

You were their producer — the faceless fourth. The one who stayed up late tuning tracks, patching lyrics when writer's block hit, and crafting every beat that sealed away the honmoon. You wove magic into the melody, just like the ones before you.

Because this was tradition. Always three on the stage. Always one in the dark.

You were older than them — not by much, but enough to feel responsible. You were their unnie, their protector. You had more battle scars, more stories, more secrets. That's why they never worried when you went on solo missions.

And that was your greatest weapon: anonymity.

The demons thought there were only three.

There had always only been three — as far as they knew.

But behind every generation of Hunters, there was someone else. Someone offstage. Someone who wrote the songs, not to climb the charts, but to trap the shadows lurking in the echoes.

You didn't need powerful vocals.

You had powerful visions.

And now... your power betrayed you.

Your mind spiraled. A million thoughts screamed inside your skull.

Should I let my heart keep listening? Up 'til now I've walked the line—nothing lost, but something missing...

You had everything, didn't you?

A found family that never let go. Best friends who would die for you. Your parents—alive and well. A career that others only dreamed of.

So why... why did your chest ache like something had been carved out of it?

And then—you saw him.

That's when it clicked.

What you were missing wasn't something. It was someone. It was love.

The kind that doesn't knock politely—it breaks the door down and stands in your ruined threshold.

You cursed yourself, quietly, for saying yes to Bobby.

"Come on," he had begged, "You've got the lightest schedule. Just help us set up the fan sign?"

And because you were you—softhearted, capable, and impossibly easy to guilt-trip—you agreed.

Even went the extra mile.

You planned the whole event. Stayed up finalizing logistics. Then told the rest of the staff to clock out early and go home to their families.

Now here you were. Alone in the quiet morning, taping up last-minute signage outside the venue.

You were halfway through unfurling a tarp when you spotted them—four bundled shapes huddled in sleeping bags along the curb.

"...Idiots," you muttered, frowning. Fans like these were rare and reckless. Sleeping outside just to be first in line for autographs?

You shook your head and kept working—until one of them stirred. One pulled back his hood and stood, dusting off the creases from his shirt.

That's when you saw him.

Eyes still puffy from sleep. Hair a soft, tousled black. That calm, unreadable face framed by the dawn's early light.

Back then, you had no idea who he was.

You'd been off the grid for days. Locked in the studio producing songs for idols you barely knew. Huntrix had been hunting without you. You hadn't checked socials in a week.

So when he stepped forward and said—

"Uh... can I use the bathroom?"

—you didn't even blink. Just sighed, rolled your eyes, and jerked your head toward the venue.

"This way."

No thanks. No recognition. He simply nodded and followed.

You didn't think much of it. You were too busy—back to climbing a wobbly stool to hang the tarpaulin behind were the girls will be sitting .

Balancing on tiptoe, gripping the thin banner with cold fingers.

Until a quiet voice called behind you:

"You know, that thing's totally uneven."

You didn't have to look to know it was him.

"And you're going to fall if you keep shifting like that."

You gritted your teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he said flatly. "At least let me help."

You finally glanced down—and your heart skipped. He was already walking toward you. Calm. Composed. His face unreadable, but his hand was outstretched, palm open like he already knew you'd take it.

You didn't.

And in that split-second—of course—you slipped.

"Shit—" you hissed as your balance gave out and gravity claimed you. The ground rushed up too fast. You braced, eyes squeezing shut, waiting for the sharp slam of wood against your back—

But it never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall mid-air like it was nothing.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you cracked one eye open—then the other.

There he was.

Smug. Too close. Too confident.

That crooked smirk on his lips practically screamed "told you so."

His dark eyes flicked over your face, glittering with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. The hold on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in his grip.

He was close. Too close.

You could feel his breath against your mouth. Hear the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart. And yours—yours was stammering like it didn't know what to do with itself.

He tilted his head a little. "You always this stubborn?"

You swallowed hard. "You always this annoying?"

His smirk widened—but his eyes softened, just barely. "Only when I'm right."

Later that afternoon, the event hall buzzed with energy—fans lined up, banners waving, cameras flashing. But your focus narrowed sharply when your eyes caught a familiar face.

Him.

He was back, but not alone this time. He stood upfront at the signing table with a few others you recognized from earlier—those same guys who'd been in the sleeping bags back at the entrance. And now they were freshen up, styled, and posing as if they belonged.

The Saja Boys.

You stood stiffly near a concrete pillar, arms crossed, trying to keep your face neutral. Rumi, Mira, and Zoe exchanged less-than-thrilled glances. No one had told you this was going to be a joint fan sign. The Huntrix event you had personally organized—put your own hours into, from venue to logistics—was now sharing space with a brand new K-pop boy group?

Your eye twitched.

You caught sight of him again, seated right next to Rumi. They were speaking quietly, heads close. Something about the way he leaned in, relaxed but confident, made your skin prickle.

"Do they know each other?" you murmured to no one in particular.

You flagged down one of the event staff, your voice firm. "Who approved the seating chart? Who is that?"

She gave you a sheepish smile, clearly overwhelmed. "Oh—uh, that's Jinu. He's the leader of the Saja Boys.

Your stomach dropped.

Leader? Of course he is.

As if on cue, Jinu glanced up from the table and locked eyes with you across the venue. Recognition flickered instantly in his gaze—and then he smiled.

That same maddening, devastatingly charming smile from earlier. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn't bother looking back.

The moment you stepped off and slipped behind the black curtains marking the backstage area, it was like you could finally breathe again. The air felt less heavy away from the flashing cameras, squealing fans, and—most of all—him. You paced for a second, then stopped by a corner to scroll through your phone, pretending to be invested in it. Anything to not think about the way your stomach twisted when he was near.

The distant noise of the crowd faded just enough for you to hear footsteps. Lazy, heavy, tired ones. You looked up.

It was Jinu—of course it was. He stood a few feet away, sharp eyes unreadable beneath dyed bangs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, the rest of the Saja boys passed by in a blur of exhaustion—Abby tossing his bouquet dramatically into a trash bin, Mystery yawning, Baby leaning heavily on Romance's shoulder as they all disappeared toward the van.

But Jinu? He was the only one who didn't just throw the bouquet in. He placed it gently—deliberately—on top of the pile. A folded piece of paper stayed clutched in his other hand, something he didn't discard. A letter from a fan, maybe. Or something else.

You glanced back down at your phone. He didn't leave.

"So what are you to them?" he asked, voice smooth, slightly amused. "Their manager? Event organizer?"

You looked up again. He was staring at you, head slightly tilted, brows raised in quiet challenge. The others were gone now—just the two of you. You squared your stance.

"I'm their producer," you replied flatly, folding your arms. Cool. Professional.

Jinu's lips tugged into a half-smirk as he slowly folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "And you planned the fan event too? Damn. All in one, huh?"

He took a few slow steps in your direction, casual but not aimless. Calculated.

"I'm a perfectionist," you said simply, holding his gaze.

"Mm. Figures," he said, voice lower now as he closed the distance just a little more, eyes scanning your face. "You've got that look. Like nothing ever passed by you."

There was something in the way he said it—less teasing, more observant. He didn't mean just the event.

You looked away first.

You always did.

And ever since that day, your lives kept tangling—deliberate or not. Jinu always seemed to be just a few steps behind you. Or ahead of you. Or waiting.

There was something about the way he smiled—just a little too slow, a little too soft. The way his eyes held yours longer than they should've, almost as if memorizing the shape of your face each time. And then there was the way his gaze would flick down to your lips before rising back to your eyes, like a secret only he knew.

It wasn't just glances. It was tension. Thick and charged, like static before a storm.

The day he reached out—his hand resting on your waist to move you gently aside in the crowded idol common room—it felt like something clicked into place. The contact lingered. Not enough to raise suspicion, but just enough to make your breath catch.

Then there were the late-night run-ins. The 24-hour convenience store closest to your apartment, where you'd both pretend surprise even though you frequented it around the same hour. That time he "accidentally" found you working late in the studio, hunched over your laptop, trying to produce a new track under deadline.

"I didn't know anyone else was here," he'd said. But his voice didn't match the words. It was too calm. Too knowing.

Neither of you made the first move right away. But one night, you both stopped pretending.

Your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, then hungry. The kiss tasted like everything you'd both been holding back. Like the first breath after drowning.

And somehow, it felt like more than just a kiss. It felt like a beginning. A fragile, burning beginning.

You were falling for him. And he was falling too.

But then you heard it.

A conversation behind closed doors—Huntrix voices lowered in warning, laced with urgency. Jinu's name. A word you weren't meant to hear.

Demon.

Your heart plummeted like it had been cut loose from your chest.

Enemy.

And now, here you stood—frozen in place, suffocating beneath the weight of everything you knew and everything you felt. Love, twisted with betrayal. Warmth, laced with danger.

I can't decide what's wrong, what's right... Which way should I go?

The lyrics echoed in your mind, torn from a memory you couldn't quite silence. A song that once comforted you—now mocking your indecision.

Your scythe's blade hovered dangerously close to Jinu's neck. Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from fury barely contained. Your jaw locked as your blurred vision clung to the shape of him. The boy you used to trust. The demon he became.

Jinu didn't move. Didn't even raise his eyes to meet yours at first.

The wind whispered across the rooftop ledge, catching the hem of his jacket and brushing through your hair like some ghost trying to push you apart. He let out a slow breath, and when he finally looked at you, it wasn't with defiance.

It was guilt. Heavy. Real. Like he'd been carrying it for lifetimes.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said quietly, voice low and raw.

Your grip tightened on the scythe's handle. The curved blade shimmered under the moonlight, inches from his skin.

"You lied to me," you hissed, each word heavy like it cost you something to speak them aloud. "All this time. You were one of them."

Jinu lowered his gaze again. "Four hundred years is a long time to regret something."

"Don't you dare make this poetic," you snapped. "You could've told me. You let me care about you—trust you—when you knew what you were."

He didn't defend himself. Just stood there, letting your anger land where it may.

"I'm still me," he finally said, barely louder than the wind. "Even if the past is monstrous... I never stopped being me when I was with you."

Silence stretched. Your blade didn't waver, but your heart did

You didn't know when the tears started to fall—only that they burned on the way down.

All this time, you thought he was your safe place. The quiet in the chaos. But now... now he was the very storm you'd been trying to survive.

Jinu stepped forward—slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew one wrong move would shatter everything.

"You're right," he said softly. "I should've told you. I should've let you hate me from the beginning. But I didn't want to lose you before I ever had the chance to keep you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, half-choked and broken. "So instead you let me love a lie?"

He flinched.

The scythe dropped from your hands with a metallic thud against the rooftop. You couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't hold anything anymore. Not the rage. Not the love. Not the grief curling inside your ribs like fire.

"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you," you whispered.

Jinu looked like he wanted to speak, but the words never came. Maybe there weren't any left that could fix this.

And maybe... that was the point.

You turned away from him, the wind now at your back. The skyline blurred through your tears, the city below indifferent to the war inside your chest.

Behind you, Jinu didn't move. Maybe he knew chasing you would only make it worse.

Maybe he knew he'd already lost.

Your voice broke the silence one last time, barely above a breath:

"If only I knew what my heart was telling me... Don't know what I'm feeling, is this just a dream?"

And then you were gone— leaving Jinu standing alone beneath the stars, with nothing but regret and the sound of your fading footsteps.

[goatsong0]

it seems like no one interpreted the latest tadc episode the aame way i did so here goes:

1. i took the friends line to mean jax was friends with the entire previous cast, and has been here the longest. by entire previous cast i mean like, 4-5 characters that were around whenever he got there, and that slowly abstracted and got replaced by the crew we know. not just ribbit

2. i think it's pretty safe to assume that his whole cruelty schtick is something he formed over time as more and more of his friends abstracted to protect himself from having to deal with making new friends and then watching them abstract. he's trying to keep himself sane, alive, and to some extent happy

3. jax and ragatha have such an intense rivalry because they have opposite coping methods and not because they're siblings. ragatha copes by being kind to everyone all the time, being liked, never being hurtful, and keeping the peace. jax copes by isolating himself through cruelty. they inherently clash with each other and that's why they can never get along

4. i don't think ragatha and jax both lived on a farm and shared a mother or whatever. i think jax also had a rough home life, and the shot of him looking down is him realising he has more in common with ragatha than he wants to admit. im pretty sure the "it reminds him of the farm" thing was goose fucking around

5. caine can and has absolutely altered the minds and bodies of the cast. he says he cant in the pilot, and i don't think he was lying intentionally. i think his ai is starting to glitch, and has been for a while, like with bubble and some of the other npcs. he's likely been able to do this for quite some time, and i reckon he had a restriction coded in to prevent that, but it broke down. however, because it's hard coded, he still thinks he can't, or at least is unable to acknowledge it to the humans.

things are really starting to ramp up now and im soooo excited yayayayayy

[thunderbolt-ing]

Three Roommates and a Loft [3]

PREVIOUS | NEXT The One Where You Get Romanoff'd: A lifestyle adjustment, a bed-rotting intervention, a surprise guest, and a rebound roster. Yeah, you'll probably regret this later. Warnings: none, just pure silliness and slight (stupid) sexual innuendo. I'm sleep deprived when I'm writing this, so this is just pure crack. Word count: 6.6K (sorry for the mistakes, i dont proofread as you already know)

You were jolted awake at exactly 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the unmistakable sound of an old-timey trumpet muffly blaring through the ceiling, specifically, a World War II-era jump blues song. 

🎵 He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,

He had a boogie style that no one else could play,

He was the top man at his craft,

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille, 

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B! 🎵

There was only one possible culprit: Steve Rogers. 

His room was directly above yours, and apparently so was his nostalgia-fueled alarm clock. The song continued at full volume for a solid two minutes before Steve finally got up and shut it off. 

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the end of it. 

Next came the footsteps. Then the light stomping. Then… counting… and grunting…? 

Was he doing pushups? At six-thirty-five in the morning? On a Sunday? 

You buried your head under a pillow and groaned. The realization settled slowly and painfully; the walls in this loft were way too thin. Adjusting to life here was going to take time and possibly noise-cancelling headphones. Or earplugs. Definitely earplugs. 

Eventually, you managed to fall asleep again, though it was more like drifting in and out of consciousness while dreaming about WWII-era trumpets. Still, your body naturally woke up at your usual weekend time of 9:00 a.m., groggy but functional. 

Noise was already filtering in from the living room—voices, at least two of them, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone being way too enthusiastic for a Sunday morning (suspects are either Steve or Sam. You’re leaning towards Steve). 

You stared at the ceiling and sighed. 

This was your life now.

With the weight of reluctant acceptance, you braced yourself for the horror of human interaction. You got up from your bed and mentally prepared yourself to walk out of your room looking like a witch who’d just crawled out of a bog. Your oversized t-shirt was twisted halfway around your torso, your hair was an unruly mess, and you were certain that your face bore the imprint of your pillowcase. 

You didn’t even bother to make yourself look presentable. What was the point? 

You needed caffeine. You needed breakfast. And most of all, you needed to not be spoken to until at least a cup of coffee had been fully consumed. 

You sluggishly dragged yourself out of your room, your first stop being the bathroom. You just wanted to splash some water on your face and pretend to be alive. Instead, you opened the door to find a near-naked Bucky Barnes hunched over the sink, towel slung low on his hips, mid-shave. 

Your brain short-circuited, but he didn’t flinch. He just met your stunned silence with a deadpan stare. 

“Do you know how to knock?” he asked coolly, eyes narrowing like you’d just ruined his entire day. 

You blinked, fighting the instinctive downward glance that, traitorously, happened anyway. It only made everything worse. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, slamming the door shut as your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your face burned with the mix of rage and embarrassment, and now, thanks to him, you were fully and disturbingly awake. 

From inside the bathroom, you heard him mutter just loud enough to be heard: 

“Unbelievable.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped through the door, patience running thin with the lack of caffeine in your system.  

“No thanks,” he called back flatly without missing a beat. 

You were two seconds away from throwing the door open and escalating when Sam’s voice rang out from the kitchen: 

“I told y’all to come up with a bathroom system.” 

You huffed and stomped your way into the common area, still fuming. 

Sam was at the stove flipping pancakes that were definitely a little burnt, but pretending not to notice. Steve was already seated at the newly placed dining table (thanks to your charitable donation), sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal, drama-free Sunday morning. 

“Hey, sunshine!” Steve greeted you as you stepped into the room, entirely too cheerful for someone who caused your 6:30 a.m. trumpet wake-up call. “How was your first night?” 

“What is wrong with him?” you shot back, completely ignoring Steve’s question. “Does he not believe in getting dressed after a shower? Is that not a thing for him?”

Sam’s laughter echoed through the loft. “Wait—did you see him butt-ass naked?” 

Steve choked on his coffee, but being Steve, he tried to play it off with a composed nod and a sip like nothing had happened. 

You gave Sam a withering glare. “Toweled, but barely. It was an assault on my morning.” 

Sam was practically doubled over now. “Man, you and Bucky are gonna kill each other before the month’s out.” 

“Yeah?” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, I’ll make sure I get to him first.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky said unenthusiastically, stepping into the room fully clothed this time. 

“No one’s killing anyone,” Steve cut in with a chuckle. “We just need time to adjust. There are four of us now, it’s gonna take a little grace.” 

You and Bucky locked eyes over your mugs. Clearly, there was no grace, only war. 

——

After breakfast, the guys headed out for a Whole Foods run, arguing over oat milk versus almond milk as they disappeared out the door. You stayed behind, however, choosing to confront the disaster that the loft turned into from your move-in yesterday. So, with Japanese Breakfast on Sam’s speaker, you got to work. 

You hauled your boxes to the center of the living room, then tore through them with the determination of a woman who was about to perform a miracle. Blankets, candles, books, and years of collected knick-knacks found their homes. A patchwork quilt over the chaise. A vase of bodega flowers on the dining table. Your Princess Diaries poster now hung proudly beside Bruce Willis, which perfectly summarized the loft’s new look. 

In the kitchen, you replaced the single wooden spoon with actual utensils, alphabetized the spice rack (because who was stopping you?), and stuck a whiteboard on the fridge that read Weekly Chore Rotation — TBD in teacher handwriting. You almost changed your alphabet magnet message from HELLO ROOMIES to HELLO FUCKERS, but you figured you’d soft launch your personality and have them get used to the harmless kindergarten teacher first. 

Perhaps you were getting carried away, but you even cleaned the entryway. Now there was a shoe rack, jacket hooks, and a key bowl because you weren’t a barbarian. You felt very smug about your work… until you opened the hallway closet and discovered the mini-armory. 

Mounted neatly on the back wall was an array of throwing knives, each blade gleaming despite the dim light. Steve’s old, battered shield leaned against the corner, the once bright paint chipped and scratched raw to the vibranium. It looked like it had been through hell, probably had. Maybe he kept it for emergencies, or maybe out of sentiment. Above the shield, resting on a shelf, sat a worn military grade duffle bag with WILSON embroidered on the front. You didn’t dare to open it, something told you that it didn’t hold gym clothes. 

And then, there was the bundle. It was tucked in the far corner, hidden enough that it could be overlooked. Before you could even begin to think about unwrapping it, keys jingled outside, and the front door swung open with a dramatic slam. 

“Guess who survived Whole Foods!” Sam’s voice rang through the loft, followed by the telltale thud of grocery bags hitting the floor. 

You quickly shut the closet door, forcing a casual smile despite your heart hammering in your chest. “Hey! So, who won the milk debate? For the record, I was team oat—”

“Hold up,” Sam cut in, eyes widening as he entered the living room. He gasped, hand clutching his chest theatrically. “Is that Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia next to John McClane?!”

You followed him into the living room with a shrug. “Don’t they look cute together?” 

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asked, breezing past with grocery bags and heading straight for the kitchen. 

“Princess Diaries,” Sam and Steve answered in unison, though Steve was a beat slower and slightly more ashamed about knowing. 

Steve bent to pick up the remaining bags, but paused as he took in the living room. His eyes did a slow sweep across the space before he broke into a pleased, golden-retriever grin. “You redecorated.”

“Holy shit, you did,” Sam added, spinning in place to look around. “No more hostage bunker, frat house adjacent. This place has… character now.”

“There’s a key bowl,” Steve noted in delight, pointing to the entryway like you’d just placed a national treasure. 

“I’m ignoring this,” Bucky cut in from the kitchen. He scowled at the whiteboard magnetized to the fridge. “Weekly Chore Rotation? This is not elementary school.”

“Also, where are the tongs?” he asked, rummaging through the newly organized drawer with increasing irritation. 

“The rusty ones?” You asked, joining him in the kitchen. “I threw them out before it gave someone tetanus, but don’t worry, I replaced them with new ones.” You opened the other drawer and showed him the new tongs. 

Bucky turned to you, arms crossed. “So you’re in charge now?” 

You smiled sweetly. “Someone has to be a functional adult out of the four of us.” 

Steve chuckled as he dropped the last bag on the counter. “She’s not wrong.” 

Bucky muttered something about “whiteboard dictatorships” as he walked off, but not before you caught him glancing at the newly filled bookshelf. 

That was the closest thing to approval you were probably ever going to get. 

——

Adjusting to your new life at the loft with three superhero roommates was… messy at best. The only man you’ve ever lived with before was Adam, and while that came with its own set of issues, chaos had never been one of them. Adam had been neat, predictable, and quiet. The exact opposite of the three men you now shared a loft (and very thin walls) with. 

The loft wasn’t perfect. It was loud, unfiltered, and filled with clashing personalities. But oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed right now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, not to them at least, but the chaos helped. It distracted you from thinking about Adam and from falling back into the life you’d walked away from. 

Monday started off strong. 

You were in the kitchen, half-asleep and clinging to your coffee before work, when Sam practically sprinted down the stairs looking like he’d already finished at least three marathons.

“Morning, miss girl,” he beamed, already reaching for your mug as if you didn’t need it to survive. “What’s your sign by the way? Wait—don’t tell me. You’re a Virgo aren’t you? You alphabetized the spices.” 

You stared at him. You didn’t even get a word in before he declared you his ‘platonic soulmate’ three times and tried to convince you to join him on a sunrise run. It was 5:07 a.m.

Later that day, after work, you found Steve in the living room, utterly absorbed in The Great British Bake Off. You expected him to switch to something more macho when you sat beside him, but instead he turned to you with a frown.

“I just think he could’ve decorated that cake better…” 

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond at first. “You know what, you’re right. It’s lacking something and the sponge looks dry.” 

“You wanna make something better?” 

“...Sure?” 

By the end of the hour, you were in the kitchen covered in flour, while Steve was making frosting. You two were making something completely unrelated to the show, and the smell of vanilla filled the loft. Steve wore an apron that said ‘Be Patriotic & Kiss the Captain’ with an arrow pointing toward himself. You didn’t question it, but you had a sneaky feeling that Sam was the one who gave it to him. 

Steve and Sam were surprisingly easy to get along with, but Bucky on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a locked door. 

On Tuesday, he glared at you for leaving your clothes in the dryer. 

On Wednesday, you got into a five-minute shouting match because he was using your shampoo. 

On Thursday, he accused you of “hogging the hot water” like you’ve just committed crimes against humanity. 

But on Friday, your shampoo was replaced with a fresh bottle, and when you walked into the living room later, he was reading your copy of Anne of Green Gables. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you just baked the cookies that Steve offhandedly mentioned Bucky liked. He didn’t say thank you, but the cookies didn’t last a day. 

Midweek, the boys left on an impromptu mission. It was a quick recon, nothing too dangerous according to Steve, but the silence in the loft was jarring. You wandered around in your fuzzy socks, grading math quizzes with background noise from a sitcom rerun just to fill the void. 

You actually missed the chaos. 

They came back home a day later, exhausted and grumpy. You didn’t say anything, but you had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready for them. Steve muttered something about being “blessed,” and Sam dramatically asked that you platonically marry him (whatever that meant). Bucky just gave you a curt nod, which, in his language, might as well be a hug. 

On Saturday, Steve and Sam insisted on helping you grade a stack of your kindergarteners’ spelling tests while eating cereal straight from the box. 

“Why does this kid spell ‘banana’ like ‘bunahnuh’?” Sam asked. 

“Gwen spells phonetically,” you replied, like it was obvious. 

Steve, squinting through his reading glasses with a red pen in his hand, held up a paper. “What’s turlul?”

“Turtle,” you replied with a grin.

Then Sam, looking deeply concerned, held up your lesson plan. “You’re teaching them Romeo and Juliet with puppets?” 

“What? They’re five and they love tragic romance.” 

Steve chuckled. “New York kids… gotta love ‘em.” 

The week ended with you, curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, grading kindergarten science homework while Steve sat beside you, quietly sketching. Sam DJ’d badly from the kitchen while Bucky was silently fixing the crooked picture frame you meant to fix days ago. 

“You hung this badly,” he muttered.

“I’ll fix it later,” you replied without looking up. 

“It’s going to fall.” 

“Aw,” you looked up and smirked at him. “So you do care.” 

His lips twitched just a little, but you didn’t point it out. 

Living in the loft was a mess, but it was home. 

Your home.

——

Two months into living with the boys, a rhythm had settled in. It was morning coffees with Sam’s unsolicited astrology takes, quiet evenings grading assignments with Steve, and your usual snark-filled cold war with Bucky. Against all odds, the arrangement was working. And yet, even with all the laughter and distractions, the sinking feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, the stillness between the noise made it even louder. 

You missed Adam. Terribly and painfully, in spite of the hell he put you through. Some wounds didn’t announce themselves with aching pain, they crept in during the quiet, slipping through the cracks when you were doing everything to keep moving forward. 

You thought you were hiding it well, smiling when you needed to, laughing when expected. But somewhere deep down, you had a feeling that the boys were starting to catch on. 

It started with Sam. One afternoon after work, he appeared at your door without knocking, flopping onto the edge of your bed with a bag of chips and zero introduction. He didn’t pry or asked how you were, he just talked about nothing. He complained about the subway system. He argued about why almond milk was better than oat milk. He recalled the dream he had where Steve ran for mayor and lost to RuPaul. 

Then Steve started stopping by too. He’d sit in the armchair in the corner, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Sam’s ramblings and occasionally offering stories about old missions and silly anecdotes about his teammates. He talked about the Avengers often that you were starting to feel like you knew them, even though you hadn’t met any of them in person. Steve never asked what was wrong, he just stayed just like Sam did. 

Bucky never set foot in your room, but the arguments with him stalled. The sharpness between you dulled just a bit. He still glared, still muttered under his breath when you used the last of the coffee, but he didn’t pick fights the way he used to. It was as if he didn’t want to add more weight to what you were already carrying. 

At one point, the quiet sadness that had been simmering beneath the surface tipped into something heavier. A mini depressive episode, maybe. If you could even call it that. It crept in gradually at first and was barely noticeable, but soon your behavior shifted in ways the boys couldn’t ignore. 

You started locking your bedroom door after work, claiming you were just tired. You bailed on loft game night more than once, always with a vague excuse about lesson planning or needing to grade your students’ assignments. Even when you didn’t have a stack of spelling tests to get through, you stayed tucked away in your room, lights dim with Pride and Prejudice looping in your TV just to feel something. 

You stopped lounging on the couch. Stopped making dinner for the loft. Stopped bickering with Sam over his abhorrent snack combinations or baking with Steve for fun. You slipped in and out of the kitchen like a ghost, only entering when the coast was clear. You timed your showers to avoid Bucky, dodging eye contact in the hallway like it was a full-time job. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You did. It was that everything suddenly felt unbearable. Every noise, every conversation, every mundane task, it all felt too much. 

The worst part? You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself or the boys. 

By the time the weekend rolled around, you’d all but vanished into your room. The door stayed closed, the lights stayed off, and not even the smell of Steve’s buttermilk waffles managed to lure you out. 

Sam, in an attempt to get you to talk, slipped a piece of paper under your door:

Are u mad at me? Yes or no. Circle one pls <3. 

You saw it, but you didn’t pick it up. 

Later that evening, the three boys were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a terrible action movie and working through their respective takeout containers. The dialogue on the screen was awful, the explosions louder than necessary, but no one bothered to change the channel. 

Then, casually, as if tossing in an afterthought, Bucky asked, “What’s going on with her?” 

He didn’t look up from his food, he just stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Last night, she had this song on repeat. Something about a girl sitting in a restaurant, waiting or something. Played it for hours. I didn’t say anything. Kinda liked it.” 

Sam froze mid-chew. Slowly, he lowered his chopsticks. “Wait. Was she playing Right Where You Left Me?” 

Bucky shugged. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention. Her room’s next to mine, I just heard it.” 

Sam immediately placed his food on the coffee table like it had become irrelevant. “Oh hell no. That’s the emotional paralysis anthem.” 

Steve frowned. “You got all that from a song about… a restaurant?” 

“It’s not about the restaurant, Steven, it’s about the metaphor,” Sam said, deadly serious. “It’s heartbreak, it’s what you play when you’re stuck. And she’s got it on loop? Oh, I’m gonna kill that Adam guy.” 

“Who the hell is Adam?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing. 

“Her ex,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Steve and I met him briefly. Bad vibes, stank aura, absolutely zero stars.” 

“Not a pleasant man,” Steve added diplomatically. “Didn’t seem to appreciate her.” 

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then muttered. “Figures.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Figures what, Barnes?” 

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He refocused on his takeout with exaggerated interest, stabbing the piece of beef in his plate half-heartedly. 

Steve sighed and looked toward your room, his features softening. “I should try checking in on her again.” 

Sam was already on his feet, grabbing the extra box of chow mein from table. “Nope. We’re doing this together. This is a group effort.” 

Bucky didn’t move. 

Steve glanced at him. “You coming?” 

Bucky groaned, dragging himself up with zero enthusiasm. “Do I have to?” 

“Yes.” Sam and Steve said in unison, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Bucky followed them down the hallway. Sam knocked first, rapping his knuckles gently against your door. 

“I know you’re alive in there,” he called. “I can hear Mr. Darcy monologuing through the wall.” 

No response. 

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Wanna insult me? Could be therapeutic. I’m an easy target and I used up all your conditioner again.” 

Still nothing. 

Steve gave the door handle a patient turn, but it didn’t budge. “We just wanna check in. No pressure.” Steve said, his voice low and gentle.

Sam held up the box of food like you could see it through the door. “We brought noodles… and poor emotional boundaries.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve side-eyed him. “You offered yourself up for verbal abuse two seconds ago.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms. 

Another beat of silence followed. Then, from inside the room, you spoke up, your voice muffled, “Is it chow mein or lo mein?” 

Sam grinned triumphantly. “Chow mein.”

You shuffled to the door and creaked it open an inch. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because I’m hungry and you guys are loud.”

As you stepped back to let them in, Bucky was the last to follow, but not before glancing at your TV, the frozen frame of Pride and Prejudice paused on Darcy’s rain-soaked confession. He didn’t say anything, just slipped inside and quietly straightened the crooked calendar by your door as the others made themselves at home. 

Sam looked around your room, eyebrows raised at the unmade bed, scattered tissues, and the lopsided stack of grading papers on your desk. “I love you,” he said as he handed you the box of chow mein, “But this is just… a mess, and I will be cleaning while we talk.” 

You gave a weak laugh as he started picking up the empty cups on your nightstand like he lived in your room, too. 

Steve sat gently on the edge of your bed, his tone soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.” His brows pulled together in concern. “I know we’re not… the best at this kind of thing, but we care and we want to help.” 

You looked down at the box in your hands, fingers digging into the paper. “It’s not that I didn’t feel comfortable with you guys,” you said, voice tight. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And honestly, it’s stupid. I’ve been crying over Adam.” 

The words felt small and pathetic once they were out in the open. But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental.

From the doorway, Bucky shifted his weight, arms still crossed tightly. His gaze stayed on the floor, then he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “It’s not… stupid.” 

You glanced up at him in surprise, but he refused to meet your eyes. 

Sam looked between the two of you with a knowing expression. “Well damn. If Barnes is offering moral support, then you’re officially at rock bottom.”

Bucky glowered at Sam while you flipped him off. “Whatever, Wilson,” you muttered in mock annoyance. 

Steve smiled, looking relieved that they were somehow helping. “Why don’t you go and spend a day with your own friends?” He suggested kindly, his tone gentle. “Not us, you know, like… women. People who get it more than we do.” 

“Sure! That’s cute,” You said dryly, bitterness bleeding into your voice. “Except all my friends were Adam’s friends, and when we broke up, he turned them all against me. They blocked me, every single one of them.”

“That motherf—“ 

“Okay,” Steve cut in quickly, shooting Sam a look before he could finish. “I’m calling Nat. She’ll know what to do.” 

“Nat?” You echoed, confused. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” Steve clarified, pulling out his phone.

“You know… Natasha Romanoff,” Sam clarified further, seeing your confused expression. “Black Widow…? Come on, keep up.”

“Oh no, no, no,” You sat up a little, alarmed. “I am not meeting her like this. She’s going to think I’m a loser. I mean, she kills men for sport, and I’m here sobbing into my pillow over one. I’m literally crying over someone who owns a mug that says ‘Rise and Grind’, I am beyond pathetic.” 

Steve raised his brow, but you kept going.

“It’s already embarrassing that you three know,” you muttered, tugging your blanket higher. “Just give me one more week of bed rotting and I swear I’ll bounce back.” 

“You’ve been rotting,” Sam said bluntly. “We’ve hit the compost stage.” 

“Advanced decay,” Bucky chimed in, arms still crossed. You shot him a glare. “Nat won’t judge.” Steve reassured, patting your shoulder gently. “She’ll understand more than we do.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “She’ll actually be gentle, like surprisingly gentle. You need someone who gets it, because if it were me? I’d just deck the guy and move on.” 

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. “If I end up crying in front of Black Widow, I’m changing my name and I’m leaving the country.”

“She cried during Marley and Me, you’ll be fine,” Steve reassured as he pressed Natasha’s contact on his phone. 

——

The next morning, you shuffled out of your room in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks. Your only mission for the day: retrieve coffee without making eye contact with anyone. 

You failed instantly. 

All three of your roommates were seated around the dining table, and sitting casually among them, as if she hadn’t just completely caused your soul to leave your body, was her. 

Natasha. Romanoff.

The Black Widow. 

Former Assassin. Legendary Avenger. Threat to all men. 

She was drinking her coffee from one of your ridiculous mugs. She wore no tactical gear, no combat boots, just jeans and a fitted black top, with a posture so immaculate that it made you stand up a little straighter. 

Her red hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and her gaze met yours the moment you entered. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she just looked. It was as if she was quietly assessing whether you were dangerous or just a sad little mess Steve had guilted her into babysitting. 

You, of course, chose to freeze like a deer in headlights. 

Flattening your sleep-matted hair instinctively, you stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if you should apologize for daring to set foot in front of her presence. You didn’t understand why she was here. There was no way someone like Natasha Romanoff wasted time on strangers. She must’ve owed Steve big-time if she came to the loft immediately after he called yesterday. 

“Good morning,” Natasha said smoothly, voice low and unreadable. It was a statement, not a greeting. Like a poker player declaring her turn.  You stalled in real time, your brain shutting down in a panic. And then, you opened your mouth despite every survival instinct begging you not to embarrass yourself: 

“Hi. Wow. Is being hot a requirement to be an Avenger because… damn.” 

Silence. You could even hear the birds chirp outside. 

Sam snorted into his coffee. Steve blinked slowly like he was rebooting. Bucky coughed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a laugh. 

Natasha tilted her head, still expressionless. “Yes,” she said simply, and took another sip of her coffee. “That’s why Sam didn’t make the cut.” 

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was your first real laugh in weeks, and it caught everyone off guard. 

“Okay, first of all, I just didn’t sign the papers, Romanoff,” Sam shot back, pointing his fork at her like it was a weapon. “I was recruited! There were negotiations!” 

“Yeah,” she replied dryly. “Negotiations to keep you off the roster.” 

Steve hid a grin behind his coffee. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his smirk, though he kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention. 

Sam turned to you with a hand over his heart. “I’m being dragged in my own home. Do something,” he said, turning to you with pleading eyes. 

You dropped into an empty seat next to Bucky, grabbed a piece of toast, and casually stole a forkful of eggs from his plate. He shot you a look, brows knitting in mild disapproval, but he didn’t stop you. 

“Not too much on Sam,” you said with a grin. “He’s an emotional guy. He cried during Paddington 2.” 

“He went to prison!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you incarcerate a cute little bear who just wanted to make marmalade?!”

Steve nodded solemnly, like he was testifying in court. “It was deeply unfair.” 

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re all unwell.” 

“This is my life now,” Bucky muttered, sliding the rest of his eggs your way with a resigned sigh. You beamed at the gesture. 

Natasha took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning you like she was running a background check. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I like you. You’ve got potential.” 

You blinked at her, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Potential for…?” 

Natasha stood up from her chair, already grabbing her keys off the counter like this was a done deal. “Not sure yet, but you’re coming with me today.” 

You choked on your eggs. “What—why?” 

“Does it matter?” she said, already halfway to the door. 

You looked around the table like someone might save you, but Steve just gave you a thumbs up and took another sip of his coffee. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Fine or maybe dead,” you muttered. ‘What’s her idea of fun anyway?” you asked in a small, horrified voice as Natasha opened the front door. 

“Get dressed,” Natasha called. “Ten minutes. I leave with or without you.” 

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Congratulations. You’ve been Romanoff’d.”

Bucky, now taking back his eggs, gave you a flat look and a lazy wave. Then, with zero sympathy, he nudged your chair with his foot. “Go. Now.” 

You groaned, already standing. “God help me,” you muttered, fast walking to your room like your life depended on it because with Natasha Romanoff waiting at the door, it just might. 

——

Spending the day with Natasha Romanoff was nothing like you’d expected, but exactly what you needed. She didn’t drag you to brunch to get bottomless mimosas or ask how you were feeling. Instead, she tossed you into the passenger seat of a black Corvette Stingray, drove like every red light was a suggestion, and took you to an underground boxing gym in Brooklyn where she taught you how to properly throw a punch. You expected sympathy, but she gave you bruised knuckles and a protein bar. 

Later, she made you walk through the city with her, mostly in comfortable silence, stopping only to grab overpriced lattes and people-watch like spies on a stakeout. At one point, she handed you a pair of sunglasses and muttered, “Put these on. We’re stalking your ex.” You tried to protest, but she was already leading the way, reciting tire-slashing tips like they were ancient wisdom. “Don’t worry,” she added coolly, “I’ll make sure there’s no trace.” You still don’t know how she found Adam’s car, but you did it, and oddly enough, it felt like therapy. 

By the time you got back to the loft, your head felt a little clearer, your shoulders a little lighter, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest had eased. You didn’t feel fixed, but you finally didn’t feel like rotting for the foreseeable future. 

Now, the five of you were sprawled across the loft’s living room, half-watching The Princess Diaries play on the TV. It was Sam’s idea, of course. He insisted that Bucky had to be cultured, and no one else had any other suggestions. 

Steve sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, fully invested. Bucky was squinting at the screen like he was trying to solve a murder. Natasha, lounging in the armchair with her legs propped on the ottoman, glanced at you. You were pitifully curled up under a blanket with a bowl of ice cream. She gave you a once-over, then turned to Steve. 

“She needs a rebound.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to disagree, but instead he gave Natasha a thoughtful look and decided to keep his mouth shut.

You choked on your spoon. “I’m sitting right here.” 

“Exactly,” Nat said coolly, not missing a beat. “You’re sitting, you’re sad, and you haven’t been laid in…?” 

“Do not answer that,” Sam interjected, hands raised. “Please, I beg.”

Unfazed, Natasha went on. “You need someone pretty who’ll tell you your hair looks good and you know… absolutely ruin you in the best way.” 

Your face flushed an alarming shade of red as you stared hard at the TV. “I need to get struck by lightning.” 

“Whatever you do,” Bucky said flatly from the opposite end of the couch, “Do it at his place. I’m not hearing that.” 

Sam gagged dramatically. “Can we not talk about her getting defiled during Princess Diaries?’ 

“Uh-uh,” Natasha cut in smoothly, already pulling out her phone. “No talking unless you’re volunteering, I need to focus.” 

Before anyone could argue, she cast her screen onto the TV, replacing The Princess Diaries entirely. Sam let out a horrified gasp as the screen flickered. 

“Nat! Princess Mia was about to give a speech!” 

“Shhh,” Natasha waved him off. “This is more important.” 

On the screen, three crisp photos appeared in a neat row. 

“These,” she said, gesturing toward the candidates like she was presenting a PowerPoint presentation, “are all people we know. Which means they’re not losers… not really. Low emotional investment, good hygiene, passably good-looking. All solid rebound options.” 

The screen displayed the following candidates: 

Johnny Storm — Shirtless in a bathroom mirror, abs flexed, sunglasses on indoors. There was a 99% chance this selfie had originally been sent to someone else, or possibly everyone else. He looked like the human embodiment of a “wyd?” text at 2 a.m. “This guy? Really?” Bucky sighed, genuinely disappointed. “Slim pickings, huh?” “I’d steer clear with this one,” Steve added with a grimace. 

Sébastien Noir — A S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a sleek black-and-white headshot, clearly pulled from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D file (because, of course, Nat had access to that). Dark hair and a darker smirk. Very French, very suave. “Could be the next James Bond,” Natasha said casually. “Or a complete poser,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Matt Murdock — The Avengers’ lawyer. Crisp navy suit, tousled hair, holding a cane and leaning casually against a brownstone like he walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation if it was directed by Scorsese. “I like this one,” Sam said with a thoughtful nod, “Lawyers have money.” 

After much deliberation and a fair amount of peer pressure, you begrudgingly settled on Sébastien Noir. Johnny had given you nothing but red flags, and you didn’t hate yourself enough to fall for a walking thirst trap with the romantic depth of a frat boy.. 

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, was too much. Too handsome, too smart, and too put together. You weren’t emotionally stable enough to be perceived by someone that kind, and to be honest, it felt borderline disrespectful to label him a rebound. 

So… Sébastien it was. 

Tall, French, and suspiciously charming, he felt like the safest terrible decision. There was a certain relief in choosing someone who came with low expectations and virtually no risk of actual feelings. If it all went up in flames, you could just blame it on ‘cultural misunderstanding’... or Natasha. 

“Are you sure about this…?” Steve asked cautiously, like he might step in and offer a better alternative if you gave him even a hint of hesitation. 

“Not really,” you admitted with a frown. “I feel like I’m setting feminism back a few decades.” 

“That’s how you know you chose the right rebound,” Natasha nodded while typing something on her phone, probably texting Sébastien himself. 

Bucky didn’t even bother commenting. He just sat there, slowly shaking his head like a man watching a car crash. 

“What? No notes?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“This is just… unbelievable,” He simply muttered, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth like he was trying to eat away his disapproval. 

“To your slut era, I guess,” Sam said half-heartedly, raising his beer before switching the TV back to Princess Diaries like nothing life-altering had just occurred. 

——

Later that evening, on your way out of your room to brush your teeth, you caught a glimpse of Bucky standing by the hallway closet you jokingly dubbed the mini armory. The door was open, and dim light spilled out over the floor. He was unraveling a black bundle you vaguely remembered seeing months ago, back when you were just trying to store your cleaning supplies. 

You paused in your room’s doorway, unsure if he’d want company. 

The cloth slipped from his hands to reveal a silver prosthetic arm with a red star near the shoulder area. 

“So that’s what it was,” you said softly, stepping out just enough for him to hear. 

Bucky froze. His head turned slightly, shoulders tense. “You were looking around here?” 

“I just thought it was a normal closet, okay?” you said quickly, holding your hands up. “I was just looking for somewhere to stash my Swiffer and boom… murder closet.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. Barely. 

“I should throw this thing out. Make room for your junk.” 

You smiled just a little at the jab. “I don’t know…” You said, tilting your head. “I kinda think you should keep it.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s good to have a reminder of how far you’ve come,” you said, meeting his eyes. Then, with a wry twist of your lips, you added, “And also, maybe we can use it as a talking stick. In my class, we pass around this glittery baseball bat to stop the kids from yelling over each other. This could be our version.” 

That earned you a real smirk this time, brief but genuine. “You’re weird.” 

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” you said with a shrug, just as your phone buzzed. 

You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Sébastien. Bucky noticed, and his smirk immediately faded. 

“You’re going through with Romanoff’s idea?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Why not?” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “It could be fun.” 

“You’re going to regret it,” he warned, putting his old prosthetic back inside the closet like he was wrapping up the conversation. 

“Probably,” you called over your shoulder as you turned to the bathroom, “But at least I won’t be looping Pride and Prejudice in my room anymore.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just gave you one last unreadable look before retreating to his room and closing the door with a soft click.

—————————————————————————————————— End Notes: this was so dumb i cracked myself up writing this one. oh and for some reason, when i was writing this i kept imagining Sébastien (original character) as Sebastian Stan when he was the mad hatter in ONCE hashsdhasdhahdfh i need to sleep oh and i will be changing the summaries to look like friends episode titles because why not

tags: @projectjuvia @vibraniumavenger @mommymilkers0526 @iyskgd @pllwprincess @hiraethmae @b1pan1cg1rly @starstruckfirecat @soupiemeowmeow @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @cherrypieyourface @lasnych @okbutiambabygorl @herejustforbuckybarnes @ilistentotayswifttocope @s-sh-ne @ficmeiguess @alagalaska

[spoopyyaoikingdom]

I LOVE NONE OF THIS WAS SPECIFIC TO THE PHANDOM IN THE FIRST PLACE

This is just the idea of vivisection and method in general AHAHAHAHAJAJHAA AHAHAHA AHAHHHHHHHH

ALSO i assume the liver if its DP x DC ? Thats gotten SUPER HUGE. tim drake wayne (red robin) had his liver taken by Ras al ghoul of the League of assassins a literal immortal life finding death cult. (Father to Talia Al Ghoul who Bruce use to bone and train with. grandpa to damian wayne *artificially inseminatef and born and only blood relatef child bruce has. Depending on the fic*) who raised him until he went to live with bruce at age 10 (yes hes fucked up from being in a cult. Damians one of my fav characters along with jason todd wayne)

Anyway Tims SUPER FUCKING SMART. Got Ras attention as i heard it and at some point Ras took his fucking liver. And NOBODY BUT HE AND RAS and i think talia KNOW ABT IT LMAO at least in most fics i read

Lots of fics have danny related to tim or jason or damian the most (besides also bruce and clark for 2md most being like blood related to somehow or an alt dimensional version of them)

And thusly my guess is it has to do with yhat? Cuz i found this in dp dc so i dunno xD

Also yea like the other person said. It make sense u want ur experimental being to stay alive long enof to examine function if u only care abt their body and not like....their actual thoughts and feelings *coughGIWfentonparentscough*

Ahem. Anyway Hope this helps! Also have u seen the Red Duck Candle thing yet? Or the Little Baby Man Danny stuff yet? Highly reccomend.

@supremeladyoftherandom

I hope u enjoy ur time in our phandom! And join us!

And how can there not be a ridiculous ambt of angst tags when its literally abt a kid who died and spent his afterlife fighting for peoplr who didnt give a fuck for a GOOD WHILE xD ahahhahahahah its rlly dark as fuck everything yht happened to him when u think abt it all on its lonesome canonically.

He literally has been strapped down and told in show hed be tortured dissected or more and heres it every morning at breakfast. HE calls it vivisection as HE knows HES ALIVE. Other people (mean people) would call it Dissection instead.

Hes literally comstantly electrocuted,beat up, forked with, mess with his life,parents, school, bullies, and VLAD gods VLAD ALONE IS A LITERAL CHILD ABUSER

Yea this stories gonna have dark as fork elements when the people who watched it grow up and have the most brilliant minds to make an qwesome phandom that i adored as a teen and now as an aduly with even more stuff and cool crossovers *mainly DC* im in adoration

Joins ussssss

Edit: almost forgot. Im almost 30 now (ugh tht felt weird to say still a handful of a yrs off) and heres my fav gif of danny

I love this one of him hes great

A question for the Phandom.

What obsession do you people have with this kids liver why cant you just let him keep it?

Why is there a whole TAG for vivisection

like i get trigger warnings but when this specific tag has MORE THAN A THOUSAND FICS (understandable, kid is a walking science experiment) FOR THIS TAG AND THE FIRST THING THEY TAKE IS ALWAYS HIS LIVER (not understandable please elaborate. normally as a layperson i would imagine the brain would be the first to end up in a jar(normally they dont seem to care if he lives or not))

[meadowfics]

out of sight, still in my mind

namgyu x f!reader

after two years together, you, burnt out by the club scene, stay home while namgyu struggles realizing he can’t enjoy himself without you.

warnings: drugs and alcohol are mentioned. the club scene in general. mean namgyu (not towards reader). swearing. namgyu being a simp. fluff. suggestive content.

in club pentagon, the air was hot while your sight saw streaks of blues and pinks, the strobe lights slicing through the haze of sweat and perfume.

two years ago, you wove through that chaotic crowd, your confidence was a force beneath the pounding bass.

namgyu stood by the bar, sharp eyes scanning the room.

the guy was a club promoter in his element. somewhat charismatic (if he wasn't pissed off), untouchable, the guy who could make or break a night.

you caught his gaze, and held it as you approached him.

"hey." you smile, as namgyu took in your figure covered by your black dress.

"hi." namgyu says after he scanned over your body.

"what's your name?" you ask as your hand traced over namgyu's forearm.

the tall guy in front of you tried to act cool, and he is being good at doing so.

most of the women at the club threw themselves onto his bestfriend, thanos, so internally he was surprised that you wanted to get to know him... namgyu.

"its namgyu. what about you, pretty girl?" namgyu takes your right hand in his, sightly shouting in your ear due to the loud music surrounding you both.

“I'm y/n.... do you wanna dance?” you asked, your voice cutting through the music.

the heat throughout namgyu's chest seemed to grow, knowing that 'do you want to dance' means a lap dance.

most women will drag a guy to the darkest corner of the club, give them a lap dance, and sometimes things continue from there. other times, the two people usually move on.

he raised an eyebrow, sizing you up, "what do you mean?"

the club promotor knew exactly what you meant.

“follow me.”

you didn’t say anything else. you let the rhythm take over, holding his hand while pulling him away into a dark hallway in the club which led towards the bathrooms.

of course namgyu followed. he received the best lap dance of his life from you, and the conversation you guys had afterwards connected the inevitable chemistry.

by the end of the night, he had your number, and you had his touches burned into your memory.

that was the spark that lit the fire between you and namgyu.

now two years later, you’re curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, the TV flickering with some late-night drama you’re barely watching.

the clock ticks past midnight, and the city outside hums with its usual chaos.

namgyu’s out at club pentagon, doing what he does best... aka promoting, mingling, keeping the energy alive.

it’s his world, the one he thrives in, surrounded by liquor, drugs, and bodies moving to a relentless beat.

you? you’re done with it.

not him, never namgyu, but the scene.

the late nights, the sticky floors, the constant noise...it’s drained you. you’re burnt out, and tonight, you chose the quiet of home over the messy club.

you trust namgyu, though.

he’s wild, sure, but he’s yours.

he’s never given you a reason to doubt him, not in two years.

still, as you sit there in your silk pink nightgown, the absence of his presence tugs at you.

you wonder how he’s doing, if he’s laughing with thanos, the club’s usual guest rapper, or tossing back shots with the regulars. you don’t worry about him doing something stupid...he’s too loyal and stubborn for that...but you can’t help missing him.

your fingers trace the hem of your nightgown, the soft fabric grounding you as you try to focus on the TV.

it’s no use.

your mind keeps drifting to him, to the way he grins when he’s in his element, the way his hands feel when they pull you close.

across the city, namgyu’s at club pentagon, but something’s off.

the lights are too bright, the music too loud, the crowd too pushy. he leans against the bar, a tequila sprite in hand, his usual charm dulled.

he’s not himself.

normally, he’d be in the thick of it... hyping up the DJ and making sure everyone’s having the time of their lives.

tonight? he doesn't give a fuck.

namgyu is irritable, snapping at a bartender for mixing his drink too slow, rolling his eyes when a regular tries to pull him into a conversation about some new party drug that would've sent the wrong person into overdose.

“yo, namgyu, you good?” thanos asks, sliding up beside him.

thanos is a crazy person, all gold chains and purple hair, but he is observant when it comes to his people.

“nahhh, just not feeling it,” namgyu mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

it tastes like nothing, the burn in his throat doing little to spark his usual fire.

“not feeling it? since when do you not feel pentagon?” thanos laughs, clapping a hand on namgyu’s shoulder.

“c’mon, man, loosen up. have a hit, dance, do something.”

namgyu shakes his head, his jaw tight as he swats the offered blunt away from his face.

he can’t explain it, not to thanos, not to anyone.

the truth is, he misses you.

it’s a weird, heavy feeling in his chest, one he’s not used to. he’s never needed anyone to have a good time before. he’s namgyu, the guy who can turn any lame night into a crazy one.

without you there, the club feels hollow, like it’s missing its pulse.

the music doesn’t hit the same, the drinks don’t loosen him up, and the crowd just annoys him.

he glances around, half-expecting to see you weaving through the bodies, that sly smile on your lips, but you’re not here.

it’s killing him.

as thanos walks away to dance behind some girl... a girl approaches namgyu.

she is all confidence and glitter, her purple skirt barely covering her thighs, her bandeau top leaving little to the imagination.

she’s got that look in her eye, the same one you had two years ago when you offered him a dance.

“hey youuu,” she purrs, leaning closer, her breath warm with vodka.

namgyu had no idea who this girl is, and the girl didn't know him either.

“wanna dance?”

he doesn’t even look at her properly. just shakes his head, lifting his glass to his lips.

“nah.”

she doesn’t get it, stepping closer, her hand brushing his arm.

“come on, it’ll be fun.”

namgyu's patience snaps like a taut wire.

“are you fuckin' stupid or something?” he says, voice low and sharp, his eyes finally meeting hers with a cold edge.

“i said no, get the fuck out of my face.”

the woman's face flushes, embarrassment replacing her flirty smile.

“sorry,” she mumbles, backing away, her heels clicking as she disappears into the crowd.

thanos comes back after noticing the interaction.

the purple haired guy raises an eyebrow, leaning against the bar.

“damn, man, you didn’t have to do her like that.”

namgyu doesn’t respond.

he downs the rest of his drink, the burn doing nothing to fill the emptiness in his chest.

it’s barely 2 am., only an hour since he arrived, but he’s done. he sets the glass on the bar with a clink, grabs his jacket, and turns to thanos.

“i’m out.”

“out? it’s not even late!” thanos looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“what’s up with you?”

“just not feeling it,” namgyu repeats, already heading for the exit. he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, but the truth sits heavy in his mind: he can’t do this without you.

it’s not just that he misses you...it’s that you’ve changed him. you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and the thought of it scares him.

he’s never been this dependent on anyone, never needed someone to make his world feel right. not even thanos.

you? you’re his everything. the club, the drugs, the drinks... they’re all just noise without you.

the city streets are slick with a recent drizzle as he steps outside, the neon signs reflecting in puddles. he pulls out his phone, tempted to text you, but decides against it.

he wants to see you, not just talk through a screen.

the drive home is a blur, his mind replaying the night, the way the club felt wrong without you there.

he’s used to coming home at 6 am., happy and hyped up from a good night.

right now it’s 3:02 am., and all he wants is you.

you’re half-asleep on the couch when the door creaks open.

you blink, glancing at the clock, confusion knitting your brows.

namgyu’s never home this early, not unless something wild happened...like that one time he got into a fight with a drunk guy who tried to start a brawl, or the night the club got shut down early because of a busted sound system.

tonight? nothing like that.

he steps inside, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his dark hair slightly messy from the night’s chaos. namgyu's sober eyes, though, they’re what catch you.

he is tired, clearly didn't take any drugs tonight... and his eyes are heavy with something you can’t quite place.

“namgyu?” you sit up, rubbing your eyes, your voice soft with sleep.

“why are you back so early?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

your man's eyes land on you, taking in the way your silk pink nightgown clings to your frame, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across your skin.

he drops his jacket on the armchair and crosses the room in a few strides, pulling you into a deep, tight hug.

namgyu's arms wrap around you like he’s been holding his breath all night and you’re his first gulp of air. your boyfriend's scent... alcohol, cologne, and something distinctly him envelops you, grounding you.

“missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost vulnerable.

you pull back slightly, searching his face. his eyes are raw, unguarded in a way he rarely lets show.

“did you do something stupid?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

“no,” he says quickly, shaking his head.

“i didn’t. i just…” he trails off, his hands still resting on your waist, his thumbs tracing small circles against the silk, “i couldn’t have fun without you there.”

you blink, caught off guard.

namgyu, the life of the party, the guy who can charm a room with a single shout or drug, couldn’t have fun?

“what do you mean?” you ask, your voice soft, curious.

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, his fingers catching in the messy strands.

“it’s not the same. the club, the people, the drinks. none of that shit matters if you’re not there. i tried, you know? i tried to do my thing, keep the vibe going, but it felt… empty like, what’s the point?” namgyu's voice cracks slightly, and he looks away.

he’s embarrassed to admit it.

you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. you lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his long silky hair.

“i missed you too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i was sitting here, thinking about you all night.”

he pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“you’re in my head all the time, pretty girl.” he admits, his voice rough with honesty, “even when you’re not there, it’s like i can’t shake your ass off of me.”

you laugh softly, the sound muffled against his chest.

“you’re making it sound like i’m a problem.”

“you are,” he teases, but there’s no bite in it. namgyu's slender hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“you’ve ruined me. i can’t even do my job without you.”

you tilt your head, meeting his eyes.

“you’re still good at your job. you’re just… whipped for me.”

he snorts, but the smirk on his lips is soft, real.

“yeah, maybe i am.” he pauses, his gaze flickering over your face, like he’s memorizing every detail.

“not gonna lie... you’re worth it, though.”

you don’t say anything for a moment, just let the weight of his words settle between you. the TV is in the background, the city outside a distant murmur.

you’re both quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home.

you shift, pulling him down onto the couch with you, your legs tangling together as you settle against his chest.

“you’re gonna have to quit that job someday,” you tease, poking his chest, your voice light.

namgyu chuckles, his breath warm against your skin.

“yeah? and do what? sit on the couch with you all day?”

“would that be so bad?” you grin, tilting your head to meet his eyes.

he pauses, his smirk softening into something real, something tender.

“nah,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours, his fingers lacing through yours.

“that’d be perfect.”

you smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

namgyu hums, his arms tightening around you.

he's home, and he is yours.

masterlist

[sillyseraphie]

“the last flower crown”

wherein: his feelings for you haunted him like a ghost from the moment he lost you without getting the chance to see you wear the crown of flowers he made just for you.

pairing/s: mydei x gn!reader

today's teas are: angst, hurt/slight comfort!

cw: mentions of death+murder+golden blood, amphoreus quest spoilers! unedited!

others: used the song "multo" by cup of joe (actually listened to this while writing) and the anime "frieren: beyond journey's end" as the ref for this!

mydei stood there, watching a bunch of children chasing each other, their cheery laughter ringing through the air.

lost deep in thoughts, he failed to notice a presence nearing him and the soft footsteps that followed.

the crown prince felt something light dropping on top of his head, snapping him out of his thoughts. "the son of gorgo will be crowned in pretty little flowers!" your voice reached his ears, catching his attention.

the world around him felt vibrant and alive the moment his eyes met yours, ones that always brought him peace and comfort.

and oh, that smile of yours, the look of admiration in your eyes when you stare at him, your voice...

the faintest hint of love in your gaze.

they all sent fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

"it's unfair, deimos."

deimos. right, that is what you call him, and every time you do, it makes his heart race without fail.

mydei raised an eyebrow at your spoken words. "unfair? how so?"

"your beauty. it's cruel." your answer only fueled his confusion. what do you mean that his beauty is cruel? "you're so insanely pretty and effortlessly gorgeous, you could even rival women's beauty at this point. i'm envious, i must admit. no wonder lord phainon signed you up in that beauty contest!" he grumbled under his breath at the memory.

"and did i forget to mention that you look even more beautiful with flower crowns? it's lovely. i could stare and admire you for eternity." you playfully said, yet every spoken word felt so genuine.

before you could continue, the kremnoan prince beat you to it with his hand (or his golden gauntlet) placed over your mouth, and on a second thought, you could've sworn that there was a hint of shyness in the way his brows furrowed. "enough."

he brought his hand down and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze averting elsewhere when he took notice in the way you kept staring at him like he's some masterpiece made to be admired.

it didn't take long for your attention to get stolen from him as the kids called and asked you to teach them how to make a flower crown.

mydei watched you laugh at the group of children circling around you, a small huff leaving his lips when you called out to him to join you to make the flower crowns with the little ones.

how infuriating, he thought to himself, and yet he couldn't help but admire the gleeful look on your face when he finally joined you and the group of children with the flower crown you made still on top of his head (and he didn't bother to take it off).

( he found himself recalling your words earlier—how and why are you envious of his beauty, when your own outshines everything? your smile, your eyes, your voice, your body, your heart, your soul, he finds all of it beautiful. you may not see it yourself, but he can.

to him, you defined beauty itself. )

mydei closed his eyes, savoring the moment before him and the laughter that left your lips, which always sounded like a perfect melody in his ears.

but the moment he opened his eyes, everything had shifted.

the laughter that once filled the air around him faded into a cold, haunting silence and now replaced by the harsh sounds of shovels digging into the ground.

the vibrant scene before him vanished, and he was faced with a cruel reality; your coffin, being piled with soil.

his breath hitched and he could feel his heart sinking, the joy and warmth disappearing in an instant, leaving him only with a chilling, empty void. the peaceful moment he wished to hold forever shattered. the warmth of your presence, your laughter—they're all gone.

you were gone.

and he never got the chance to make you a flower crown and see you wear it on top of your head with that lovely smile on your lips.

he stood there, the weight of regret settling so heavily on him. you knew him, you saw everything in him, you understood, accepted, admired him, and yet,

he barely knew you.

years spent together without leaving each other's sides most of the time, and yet all those years felt like mere seconds to him.

he knew you were fragile, your life can be taken easily anytime.

he knew. but why didn't he take the opportunity to get to know you better while you were still there?

─────────────────────────

a life without you by his side is something mydei never wishes for.

everything felt so cold and empty since you left, bringing the warmth and radiance along with you.

why did you have to leave so soon? the question echoed in his mind.

he yearned to hear you laugh and your voice calling out to him, to see your smile, to see your eyes—ones that he often gets lost in, to feel your warm, gentle hands braiding his hair and your fingers brushing through his locks.

he yearned for you.

mydei gently placed a fresh, vibrant crown of flowers on top of your grave, replacing the old one that had wilted and lost its color.

your absence has been haunting him like a ghost. he could still hear your voice in his silent moments, calling his name.

every time he glances at the empty space beside him that you used to occupy, your face comes into his mind.

no matter how deep he buries the past—the pain, his heart still aches. it was as if his past isn't the one that gets buried, but him. it felt like he was being buried alive by his overwhelming feelings that haunted him like a ghost every night.

and it felt so suffocating, to the point he finds himself unable to escape from it and break free.

─────────────────────────

"how..."

the sound of a blade being pulled out from a flesh and liquid dripping down to the ground filled the air.

mydei collapsed on the cold, hard ground, his body now lying in a pool of golden blood.

the son of gorgo was finally meeting his end after getting rejected by death several times throughout the years he has lived in his life.

his heartbeat had gotten slower and weaker in each second that passed, his breaths shallow, the warmth leaving his bleeding body.

'become the dawn, deliverer'—was his last words, and he hoped these words would reach the hero of amphoreus.

right as the warrior was about to take his last breath, the blurry sight of golden blood pooling the floor before him shifted into a vibrant field of flowers.

and there you were, lying beside him— softly smiling and your eyes staring at him with such warmth, admiration, and pure love, the top of your head adorned with a flower crown.

the very same, and last flower crown he had left on your grave.

the sight sent a rush of warmth through his chest, and in that moment, he found himself swearing before the life in his eyes faded,

that in another life, in a different universe—where none of this chaos exists, he will find you, just like how you found him in this cruel world.

─────────────────────────

💌: thank you for coming! i hope you enjoyed today's sweet teas and tales! let me know in the comments if you wish to be tagged in my written works, i will be making a tag list!

silly taggies! @sqgeism @strawbairicake

please do not copy without permission and proper credits .ᐟ

[jedi-luca]

Head Over Feet: Chapter Seven This Kiss

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show. Slowburn 🔥❤️‍🔥

Previous Chapter

The sun had warmed the valley by late morning, burning off the last of the mist. Jackson came alive in these hours dogs barking, kids chasing each other between greenhouses, laundry lines swaying with wind-dried shirts.

You sat cross-legged in the grass outside the house, showing Charlie how to braid a daisy chain. Lili sat nearby, watching the two of you with a soft smile, while Mr. and Mrs. Cooper unpacked a modest lunch on the porch steps.

Charlie’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It keeps falling apart.”

You gently repositioned her hands. “You’re pulling too tight. Gotta be patient with it.”

Lili leaned over, offering a fresh daisy. “Try this one, bug. It’s got a long stem.”

Charlie looked up at her, grinning. “You’re good at this.”

“She’s always been good with messy things,” you said, glancing at Lili. “Art projects. Broken toys. Me.”

Lili met your eyes and held them for a second longer than necessary. “You weren’t broken.”

You gave her a little smile, quiet but warm.

Mrs. Cooper handed over a Tupperware full of peeled apples and peanut butter. “You still hate crusts, Y/N?”

Charlie gasped. “You hate crusts?”

“I don’t hate them,” you said, mock-offended. “I just respect the rest of the sandwich more.”

Mr. Cooper chuckled. “Some things never change.”

Lili added, “They used to hand me their crusts at lunch like I was a human trash can.”

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross.”

“Character-building,” you teased.

For a while, it was just simple: apples passed between fingers, sun on your face, Charlie showing off her daisy bracelet to anyone who would look.

Then Lili asked, softly, “Do you ever think about your parents here?”

You looked down at your lap, fingers stilling.

“I do,” you said. “They would’ve liked this place. My mom loved birds; she’d have planted something for every kind. And my dad would’ve fixed every busted window in Jackson, probably would have been head of patrol.”

Lili was quiet.

You didn’t mind.

You kept your voice soft. “They tried so hard to prepare us. Our cabin was full of backup plans. But they never expected me to have to carry everything alone.”

Charlie crawled into your lap with a piece of bread in her hand. You kissed the top of her head and held her a little tighter.

“Your parents and brother would have been very proud of everything you’ve done here. They were good people.” Mr. Cooper says gently squeezing your shoulder.

You looked up. And Lili was watching you not with pity, but with that same grounded awe she’d had as a kid, like somehow you always made her believe in things again.

Mrs. Cooper smiled from the steps. “You’ve built something beautiful here and you’re raising a beautiful little girl.”

Charlie beamed. “I have two houses now!”

You laughed. “That’s right. And too many people sneaking you snacks.”

Charlie blinked up at Lili, then at her parents, a soft furrow between her brows.

“Did you know my mommy and daddy?” she asked.

Lili’s smile flickered, caught off guard. “Yeah, sweetheart. I knew them.”

She looked at Mr. and Mrs. Cooper for help.

“I remember your daddy when he was your age,” Mrs. Cooper said kindly. “He was always chasing your mommy around, always with dirt on his face.”

Charlie smiled a little. “My mommy?”

“Hmhm she lived next door to your daddy that’s how they fell in love.” Mrs. Cooper smiled lovingly

“She had the sweetest voice,” Lili added.

Charlie nodded solemnly, like she was trying to hold those details tight in her mind. “I think I remember her hair. It was soft like mine.”

You swallowed, something catching in your chest.

“And what about Y/N’s mommy and daddy?” she asked. “My grandma and grandpa?”

The Coopers exchanged a glance.

“They were good people.” Mr. Cooper said softly. “But I remember her mom made the Spaghetti I’ve ever had. And her dad?” He chuckled. “Your grandpa could scare off a mountain lion just by looking at it.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Swear it,” he said, hand on his heart.

Charlie looked back at you. “Do you think they all miss me?”

Your breath caught.

You cupped her cheek gently. “They never stop.”

Charlie leaned against you, quiet now, little fingers twisting the hem of your shirt.

Lili reached over and rested her hand lightly on your knee. You didn’t look at her right away, but you didn’t pull away either.

And in the warm quiet, surrounded by a patchwork family stitched back together by time and grief and love, you let yourself wonder…

Maybe this was how healing started.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Lili wasn’t living with you, but she might as well have been leaving a sweater on your chair, coffee mugs in your sink, little things like spare hair ties and half-used tubes of lip balm on your bathroom counter.

She liked to read next to you while you worked on repairs. She’d sit cross-legged on the couch, flipping through whatever old paperback she’d found in the library, occasionally interrupting to read you a line she liked.

Sometimes you cooked. Sometimes she did.

Once, you caught her slow-dancing alone in your kitchen to a record she found buried in your cabinet. She pulled you in without hesitation. You hadn’t danced like that goofy and loose, laughing into someone’s neck. She couldn’t keep her hands off you and vice versa.

And when she said, “This feels like something real,” you didn’t answer. You just kissed her again, because you felt it too and didn’t trust the way your voice would shake if you tried to say it out loud. You were in so deep you never brought up Canada.

There were still questions you hadn’t asked.

How long would she stay?

Where would she go?

What would happen to this, to you? When her family moves on?

You hadn’t said it, and neither had she.

But it hung there.

Every time her mom talked about their route to Canada. Every time Lili curled closer to you at night looking at you like she wanted to freeze time.

Still, you didn’t press it.

Because it was good. It was better than good. It was the kind of thing you didn’t want to break with heavy conversations or stupid expectations.

You weren’t naïve. You knew this might end.

But it didn’t feel like a fling. Not even close.

You’d loved Lili once, in the way that a teenager does — shy glances, passing notes, that electricity when your hands accidentally touched.

But now?

Now you were starting to fall in love with her as the person she’d become. As the woman who saw your scars and didn’t flinch. Who listened when you couldn’t find words. Who kissed your shoulder when she thought you were still asleep.

It was scarier than you expected.

But also… it made you feel alive again.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Lili’s fingers traced soft circles on your forearm as the two of you lay on the bed, half-covered in the glow of the window, half-wrapped in the hush of dusk.

You thought back to Cam picking up Charlie earlier.

“I’m betting on you losing it tonight. If I win I don’t have to do laundry for a month.” Can smirked, leaving with Charlie.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, brushing her thumb along the inside of your wrist.

“I’ve been thinking..”

“About?”

“About you.” you whisper, turning on your side.

“Dangerous,” she teased, and you smiled faintly.

She leaned in, kissing you slowly, like she had all the time in the world. And maybe, in that moment, she did.

“I want you, Lili.” you said, voice barely audible.

Lili stilled, lifting her head to look you in the eye. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, breath catching. “I’ve never done this before, but I'm in love with you.”

She kissed you again, this time with something deeper, reverent, patient, grounding. “I think I’ve loved you since we were kids.” She whispers.

It was perfect to you. It wasn’t choreographed. There were nerves and laughter and quiet moments of hesitation. But none of it mattered. She guided you through it with nothing but love. Because with her, it felt right. Safe.

The sounds of her moans spurred you on and on. You wanted to hear every whimper, every sigh, groan and moan from here on out. Mapping every inch of her body.

After, you lay tangled in the sheets, chest to chest, her fingers combing gently through your hair. You didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. Curled up in your arms like she understood the weight of what had passed between you. Like she wasn’t going anywhere, not tonight.

And for the first time, you felt like you’d stepped into something new. Something whole. Something real.

The morning after, you woke first.

For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, listening to the hush of the room. The soft, steady breathing beside you, the rustle of sheets when she shifted, the quiet creak of the house settling.

Lili was still asleep, tangled up in your blankets, half on her stomach with her face turned toward you, blonde hair fanned across your pillow.

You felt weightless and strong all at once.

There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it.

You didn’t feel different, exactly not the way movies or books made it seem. But you felt anchored. Seen. And when you looked at her again, you felt calm in a way that hadn’t existed in you for years.

You brushed a piece of hair from her cheek. She stirred, eyes fluttering open.

“Hi,” she smiled, voice raspy with sleep.

“Hey.”

A pause.

“Last night wasn’t a dream, was it?”

You shook your head.

She smiled wider. “Good.”

You leaned in and kissed her as she giggled, slow and warm. It felt easy now. Familiar.

Like this was always where you were supposed to be.

She made you breakfast and coffee barefoot in your shirt. You kissed her shoulder just because you could. She smiled without looking up.

You were in love with her.

And it didn’t feel confusing, or unfinished, or like something you were chasing after. It felt like something that had found you. It truly felt like a love story unfolding, and to the town it was.

It started with a kiss.

Not the nervous kind. Not the careful, aching first one by the fire.

But the one a few days later, in the middle of Jackson’s main road, when Lili pulled you toward her and kissed you in front of everyone quick, soft and sure, like she’d never known hesitation. Her fingers curled around yours like she meant to keep them.

And you let her.

You smiled into her mouth.

And the town noticed.

It spread faster than news ever should. Whispers behind tomato crates. Smirks passed between kitchen staff. A few knowing nods from people you barely talked to.

But none of it mattered. Not really.

Because Lili looked at you like she knew your soul. And every time you touched her, the noise faded.

You rode into town with her hands around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. You split peaches on your porch, juice sticky on your fingers, her laugh easy and unbothered in your ear.

You’d never had something like this.

Never known what it felt like to be chosen out loud.

She reached for your hand during dinner. Called your name like it was a love song. Rested her forehead against yours at the stables and kissed you like there wasn’t a crowd nearby watching it all unfold.

And Charlie adored her.

She held Lili’s hand like she was made to fit there, all tiny fingers and soft trust. The three of you walking home from the mess hall felt like a picture you never thought would exist for you — warm, full, right.

Lili braided her hair on the porch. Read her stories at night. Kissed her on the forehead like she’d known her forever.

You didn’t want to think too hard about how fast it all came together.

You didn’t want to ruin it by asking how long something this beautiful could really last.

Still, you noticed Dina.

Not at first. Not in those first flushed days, when your world had narrowed to warm hands and sunlit bedsheets and the way Lili whispered your name when she thought you were asleep.

But then… little moments.

You caught her once in the market, standing behind a cart of squash, her eyes on the two of you like she’d forgotten what she came there for.

You passed her by and smiled. Just a small thing — polite. She didn’t smile back.

Another time, at the stables, she walked in mid-laugh, mid-kiss, mid-something private between you and Lili. And you felt it. That flicker. That pause.

She didn’t say anything. Just turned, and left.

It started to happen more.

You’d feel her eyes on you in the mess hall. Out on the field. After patrol. Nothing was said but you could feel her pulling back, pulling in, like she was quietly making herself smaller.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

You had everything now. The love you’d waited for. The sweetness of being wanted back. It felt unfair to mourn someone who’d never really been yours.

But sometimes when Lili was asleep and the fire was low you’d remember the sound of Dina’s voice when she said she wasn’t ready.

And wonder. Could you have felt this way if it was her instead?

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Dina noticed a difference in you Not all at once, but in the way you carried yourself. The quiet peace in your face, the way your eyes didn’t search the crowd anymore.

She felt like she was an audience member watching a storybook romance come to life. The whole town talked about how cute and picture perfect you and Lili were together.

How could they not? You; this perfect dreamboat of a person and Lili a sweet blonde green doe eyed girl that made you lovesick.

Dina saw you walking through Jackson with Lili’s hand in yours. Saw you play with Charlie together, whispering and laughing about something no one else knew.

And it hit her one morning in the market when you passed her and smiled but nothing more.

You had truly moved on. You had given Lili something so sacred and not just your virginity but your heart.

And she hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding onto the idea that you wouldn’t.

She thought back to the moment she found out it was the last time she spoke with you.

A few weeks back

It wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

Cam had swung by the stables to grab some supplies. Dina was there, brushing down her horse, sleeves rolled up, brow sweaty from patrol. The two hadn’t talked much lately, not since the last town hall where things got heated over security detail. Still, there was a loose familiarity between them. The kind that lingered even when you weren’t feeling especially friendly.

“Hot out,” Cam offered, grabbing the reins beside her.

Dina nodded. “Yeah.”

They worked in silence for a bit. Just enough for Cam to let her guard down.

“You hear about the infected run near the old tracks?” Cam asked.

Dina shook her head.

“Y/N and Lili handled it. Took down ten, cleared the entire tunnel. No backup.”

Dina paused, just briefly, before continuing her work. “Of course they did.”

Cam side-eyed her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Cam let out a soft whistle. “You’re never ‘fine’ when you say it like that.”

Dina’s jaw ticked. “Why are you telling me this?”

“No reason,” Cam said with a shrug. Then, too casually: “Just… damn. You’d never know that was their first week together. They work like a team. Maybe it’s all the… practice.”

Dina blinked. “What kind of practice?”

Cam froze. Shit.

“I mean-” she started to walk it back. “Nothing. Just-”

“You mean sex,” Dina said flatly.

Cam winced. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.”

Cam blew out a breath. “Look, I figured you knew. Y/N told me after it happened. It was… special. Not just sex. Like, real. The kind of first time people hope for.”

Silence.

Dina’s hands stopped moving. Her fingers curled tightly into the reins.

She nodded once. Too slow. Too controlled.

“I see.”

Cam backpedaled hard. “Hey Dina come on. I wasn’t trying to be cruel. You’re the one who told Y/N they deserved a better first time, remember?”

“I still said no,” Dina said, voice sharp now, low and bitter. “Even if I wanted to say yes.”

Cam hesitated. “Then maybe it’s good they’re with someone who wanted to say yes back.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Dina stepped back from the horse, stiff.

“I have to go,” she muttered, grabbing her pack.

“Dina…”

But she was already walking off. She didn’t turn back.

Later that evening you found Dina sitting on the edge of the greenhouse steps, half-shaded, legs stretched long across the stone path. The afternoon rain had passed, leaving the air thick and soft, the smell of wet leaves still clinging to everything.

She didn’t look up when you approached.

“Hey,” you offered gently.

“Hey.”

You sat beside her, keeping a bit of distance. The silence hummed between you. She was peeling a pear with a knife, slow and methodical. She handed you a slice without looking.

“Thanks.”

A bird chirped somewhere overhead. You watched it flit between the branches, trying to read her face from the corner of your eye.

“You okay?” you asked.

She shrugged. “Long patrol. Cam got on my nerves.”

You hesitated. “She say something?”

Dina paused. Her knife slowed for half a second.

“Nothing important.”

You nodded, but you felt the shift. Something had cracked between you, something small but sharp. You didn’t know what she’d heard—but you knew enough to suspect.

She finally glanced at you. Her eyes weren’t angry. Just… tired. Guarded.

“You seem happy,” she said softly.

You blinked. “I… yeah. I guess I am.”

She gave a hollow smile, then looked away again. “That’s good. You deserve that.”

You swallowed. “Dina…”

“Don’t,” she said, too fast. Then quieter, “Don’t say anything kind right now.” Her voice wavered on the edge of crying.

You sat back, hands curled on your thighs. “Okay.”

A moment passed. Then she whispered:

“Did you ever think about what it would’ve been like if she didn’t show up that day? After I poured my heart out?”

You looked at her. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. But her voice trembled like something had broken loose and she didn’t know how to catch it.

“I did,” you said honestly. “Of course I did.”

That made her inhale sharp through her nose.

“I told myself I was protecting you,” she murmured. “But maybe I was just scared.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

She looked down at the slice of pear in her hand, untouched. Then she set it aside and stood.

“I should go. I told JJ we’d read before bed.”

You nodded.

“Dina-“

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond.

And this time, you didn’t stop her.

Next Chapter

[destinysbounty]

On the topic of mergeswap AUs, most of the ninja could be shuffled around to different Merge scenarios with equally compelling results, but I maintain that by far the most *interesting* swap would be Lloyd-Zane. That is to say, Lloyd gets put in the coma pod while Zane is left alone in the monastery.

Out of all the post-Merge scenarios, I think Lloyd would most severely be fucked up by completely sleeping through it - he wakes up to find that not only is the world different, but his friends have spent *years* struggling to survive without his help. He's supposed to be their leader, their guide, the chosen savior of prophecy. It's his job to look out for them, isn't it? But he wasn't there. The world fell apart, his team is in shambles, and everyone has suffered innumerable traumas as a result...and he wasn't there for any of it. Knowing Lloyd, the self-imposed guilt would absolutely eat him alive. Also, once again he is chronologically displaced - before it was the age of his mind and body being mismatched, and now he is once again missing several years of his life.

(Also I think it's funny if we put Lloyd in Zane's pod specifically, especially if he's still the Conduit. Because that means he woke up, immediately jumped into the fight against Imperium, and then like 10 minutes later volunteered to take on life-changing god powers from some random talking dragon. All without any context for anything that is going on whatsoever.)

As for Zane...god, where do I even start.

So, putting Zane in the monastery is fascinating for a number of reasons.

Out of everyone on the team, the ones who consistently cope with isolation the worst are Cole and Zane. That's not to say the others enjoy it, per se, but they're all at least able to lock in and get shit done as needed, trauma be damned. But Cole is very community-oriented and comes a bit unglued in the absence of a community to rely on (DotD, s10), and Zane...oh boy.

Zane is usually the one to die, so he is rarely put in a position of grieving the others. His only instances of mourning the absenceof a loved one are:

His father, which happened off-screen so we don't know how he handled that initially (he seems to be okay in s3, but knowing Zane he probably just repressed the feeling and moved on)

Nya in Seabound, which he was so ill-equipped to deal with that he turned off his emotions entirely

Pixal in DR, where he was so unable to handle her absence that he straight up stapled a photo of her to a broom and started talking to it. Also with Kai getting lost in superhell, which we don't really see him grieving over but also we don't see much of that from anyone so uhhh I'm choosing to ignore that for now.

Picture it. Zane, alone in the monastery, with none of his friends around and no way of knowing what happened to them. All he can do is sit and hold vigil in the hopes that they will eventually come back (something something Echo Zane lighthouse parallels). I'm not saying Zane would start taping his friends' photos to random appliances by the end of week 1 and cry over his tenth ice sculpture of Pix by week 2, but uhhhh....actually no that's exactly what I'm saying. Provided he doesn't miraculously find a way to get himself killed while chilling in the monastery, I give him like 6 months before his sanity completely unravels.

Another reason for swapping Zane into Lloyd's spot is that whoever is in the monastery at the start of DR also gets to be the mentor to the new ninja. And that puts Zane in a *very* interesting position.

Zane is, on both a meta and narrative level, a support character. He's your medic, your backup, your HQ, and he can even be your damsel in distress. He's not really a leader by nature, and it is rare for him to take charge or assume a position of authority unless the situation demands it of him. He's generally content to sit back and let everyone else take charge - he let Cole take the lead during the prison break in s4, he's one of the only ones not to express pushback when Lloyd officially becomes the leader, etc.

It's actually a bit odd how rare it is for him to lead, bc it feels like everyone else has way more instances of flexing their leadership skills. Off the top of my head, i can think of exactly three occasions where Zane assumes a position of authority:

For about 10 mins in s5, which ends in him glitching out and talking backwards

In s14 when he became Captain Zane, but that was mostly for comedic effect, and authority goes back to Lloyd and Nya once the situation actually gets serious

In s11 when he became Ice Emperor, but he had to be magically corrupted, mind-wiped, AND gaslit in order for that to even happen.

(You could argue he took charge during the Snake Jaguar incident, but he didn’t take charge of the whole team and also it didn't end well.)

All this to say, Zane doesn't have a positive track record with being in charge. Probably even worse, now that he has all that Ice Emperor baggage to deal with.

So what do you do with a character like that? Naturally, you give him a gaggle of wide-eyed children to look after and tell him to teach them how to be ninja. Lloyd was already hesitant to be their master in canon, but Zane would be even worse.

Furthermore, Zane, uh...doesn't really have many friends outside of the ninja (aside from his falcon, who hasnt existed in the show for years). Cole has the Upply and the Finders, Nya is close to Ronin and became good friends with Bentho, Kai has Skylor and Wyldfyre, Lloyd had the resistance and Akita and now the next-gen kids, Jay started an entire cult in Prime Empire and also seems to be on good terms with Unagami, and even Wu is close to Faith...but who does Zane have outside of the team? Vex, maybe? Possibly Borg, even though that relationship isn't explored onscreen? Sally, who gets one whole episode spotlighting her and Zane before vanishing into obscurity?

This even continues in DR, too. Theres a new cast of characters to befriend and connect with, many of whom share a lot in common with Zane, but he doesn't really interact at length with anyone but his old friends and Frohickey.

True, a lot of that can be blamed on Zane's gradual narrative dehumanization depriving him of meaningful personal connections, but in-universe you could also attribute that to his self worth. Zane is so wrapped up in his belief that he exists to serve and protect, and he is so strongly devoted to the ninja that he can be a bit one-track-minded about it. He loves his family so much that he doesn't have time to care for anyone else in the same way. They are his world, his everything, his life's purpose...without them, he is nothing. Can you say "codependent"?

But now, he's alone in the monastery. He doesn't know if his friends are alive. All he can do is sit and pray and hope they come back to him. And after years of waiting, he crosses paths not with his family, but with two new kids. They want him to teach them to be ninja. But Zane is too afraid - afraid of leaving his post, afraid that being in charge will bring out his inner Ice Emperor...afraid of betraying his family by finding a new one.

He does agree to help them in the end, if only because he exists to protect and they need protection. But the whole time, he is afraid, and anxious, and painfully unsure of himself. But just as he teaches them how to be strong, how to fight, how to be brave and kind and selfless...they teach him how to believe in himself. How to reclaim his sense of identity. How to stand on his own without his friends, and how to make new ones. How to live for his loved ones, rather than dying for them.

(And yeah, okay, a small part of it this is definitely spite for the way he's been unilaterally snubbed by DR canon. I won't deny that)

Personally, if I were to write a mergeswap AU that's probably the direction I'd take. But then again, I might just be on some next-level copium and desperately trying to make Zane actually relevant to DR in some meager way

[pushspacetocontinue]

"I couldn't break the mop he was carrying. It was a metal handle, and I wasn't as strong as I am now, but I did the next best thing and broke him instead," Travis said, "A month of detention, but it was worth it, and I told the younger kids that if he dared do it again, just to tell me."

And the janitor hadn't dared try it again from what he had heard. He had learned a lesson from having the absolute snot beaten out of him and seeing how he liked someone bigger than him treating him like that.

"I'm not good at being sneaky," Travis said, "I'm hardly subtle about anything, me. But I bet the effect when one of you two do it. I imagine it happens a lot by accident too though."

Of course, Travis hadn't known about it, but there was that time where had Erica had inadvertently snuck up on Antonio before their mission to rescue Leofric.

"I never got a chance to do it when she was alive," Travis said, "I was in prison when she died. That was the third best news I got in there. The second of course was the news that I was finally getting out."

But Travis did look interested.

"I think I might just have to do that, thanks for the tip," Travis said, as he started to get driving away from the area. As disappointing as the car itself was, at least it was a smooth ride so far, "I wonder if she'd be able to see Lewis and let him know that we're doing all right. I'll have to hear those stories sometime. And that's up to you, Willow. I'm good either way."

Travis then grinned.

"Now that's a song of choice."

Russell didn't seem to notice that Lucien and Rook were keeping a slightly firmer eye on him for the moment. He was more focussed on looking at the things around them.

"Heh, it's not, not as yellow though, or, or, or as terrifying," Russell said, "At, at least not, not to use right, right now. I, I guess it, it knows we're, we're not threats, and, and with Rook here taking, taking us through."

He really had no idea how it worked in all honesty, so it was just a guess.

"I suppose it is a bit more like the Infinite Ikea," Bill said with a grin as he took in the details a bit more now that the plague doctor mask was off properly.

Antonio managed a small smile of his own at Rook's comforting gesture, reaching up to gently pat her hand with his own.

"That sounds about right, arrogant prick," Bill said, "He would think he's the best so why bother to improve? Even I'm constantly learning new things, and I'm centuries old."

"We all are," Leofric agreed, "Perhaps he would have been different in another life, a timeline far from this one, and ultimately, it did little to serve him. But in this one, he simply became a power hungry bully, as you said, Veronica, and if we do have to face him again, then I will do without hesitation."

"Some people just shouldn't be parents," Bill said, before he smiled at Rook, "I'm glad I didn't either. And I'm glad I was with you, well, everyone here, to deal with him together."

But then he spoke up as soon as Veronica said what to do.

"It's almost like we're ducklings," Bill said, as soon as he realised just what Veronica had mentioned before, "Oh dear..."

It looked like he was going to be the one taking the express route today.

"No, I, I don't mind," Russell said, "As, as you said, it has been a, a long fight and if, if you gotta, you gotta fuel up, you, you gotta..."

Not the most eloquently put, but hopefully it still got the point across.

"Yeah, you do what you need to do," Simon said.

Leofric just nodded.

"We can wait for you, sorellina," Antonio agreed, "You've been brilliant today."

"I suppose while she does that, we can take a moment to have a look at this gold pile," Leofric suggested, a subtle way of telling the others to allow Rook some privacy.

Erica, of course, couldn't do anything but cheer at that. "Heck yeah! That guy deserved all the bruises he got."

Somebody had to stand up for children. It was nice of Travis to take the matter into his own hands.

"It sounds like willow and I." Erica said, before she pointed to her double, "She scares people just by standing around and nobody ever hears me coming!"

Both taking great pleasure from the effect they had on people. Willow's attention briefly shifted to the car as Travis got it started and listened to the noise of the engine just a moment before losing interest. Disappointing like its former owner. She might let the others keep this one, after all.

"I'm sure it would be her pleasure to do so." Willow replied, "You should inquire about it directly. There is a high chance she already has some stories to share."

It would have been beneficial in more than a way. The ghost lady would have loved to brag about doing something like that. Having that waiting for her on the other side might have actually persuaded her to take time off more consistently with her needs.

"Let's leave the area. Then I will provide directions to our destination." Willow instructed, "Or we could have a little fun with the GPS."

"We should put on that song that plays in that sketch with the three guys in the car!" Erica suggested.

"We shall, Erica."

They could indulge as long as it was funny.

Like a good host, Rook was keeping track of her guests, especially the ones who had visited before. Russell had made it through on his own last time, strong of the fact that the pocket didn't enjoy holding onto regular humans.

That had changed, but Lucien was already on the case.

"Well, now we know what it feels like to visit the Backrooms." the half fae mused.

"It's more like that infinite Ikea thing." Rook replied. She was quick to summon two endless shelves filled with all kinds of books and knickknacks that stretched past them as far as the eye could see.

It was an excuse to flex the full extent of her occult collection, but it also offered a distraction while she quietly reached to place her hand on Antonio's shoulder. Younger siblings had to be supportive too when needed.

"In my professional opinion, his entire family has never really shined in that regard." Veronica said, "They're just a bunch of power hungry hypocrites. It wouldn't surprise me if he was actively discouraged to improve his technique. He wouldn't be this deranged if he did. They essentially ruined their own child."

As a parent, she simply couldn't stand the thought.

Rook briefly looked at the chainmail, before shutting the chests. "I'm glad you didn't need that."

The battle had gone better than she could have ever hoped for. Both chests floated up to an empty spot on one of the shelves. They would be safe there for the time being.

"Alright, then. Let's all line up and follow mum outta here!"

Veronica sighed and moved to lead the way. "The first one to make a duck joke will take the express way out."

Lucien opened his mouth to reply, but decided for his own good to keep quiet.

Rook fell into step, moving more quickly now that her wings were gone.

"Do you guys mind if we stop by my stash? It's been a long fight..."

Her marks were starting to nag her already.

[overangel]

I just thought of this while in the middle of sending the ask about hair pulling, but what will happen to the Batfamily's love interest when they fall for darling and how do they feel about their man being in love with their stepsister? Do they know darling or did they find out about her after their bat started pursuing her instead of them?

(I'm so sorry for sending so many asks😭)

-🦇

𝑾𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍?

Dick = Starfire & Barbara

Kori understands, but Barbara breaks.

You helped him see that his worth wasn’t tied to who he was with or how he made people feel. Your concern for him was genuine, your observations impassioned, and for some reason your words reached deeper than anyone else’s ever had.

You were right. He had a problem but had been at it for so long, he didn’t know how to stop and who he would be after if he ever did.

He took a step back and saw what he had been doing with his life. He was sexualized since he was a boy and bounced between women like a pinball, leaving a trail of broken hearts and feeling emptier from each relationship.

He was looking for something he couldn’t find in himself, something he was sure he could only find in another person.

You helped him see that he was so much more than a body, a face, or a fantasy, and he fell.

The exact opposite of what you wanted.

Kori understands his feelings completely. Her people are driven by passion, and she could feel his love for you practically radiating off his being simply from your name being mentioned. 

His change was subtle but couldn't go unnoticed by someone who loved him as deeply as she did. He wasn't always "on" like before. Whether as Dick Grayson or Nightwing, he was always being watched, admired, devoured. He was never caught at a bad angle, and he still wasn't now—Dick Grayson didn't have bad angles—but he was simply being now. When was the last time he could take a deep breath and feel his lungs expand and taste the sun on his tongue and smell the scent of daisies on the air? It was when his parents were alive. And now, it's after falling in love with you.

He was less touchy and more relaxed. He took things at a slower pace, and was less compelled to sprint into danger or into an entanglement. He wasn't constantly seeking validation to distract him from the pain.

She wasn’t an idiot.

Kori loves love, and she loves Dick and wants him to be happy even if it’s not with her. You wouldn't back down if she fell in love with her adopted sister either (if she had one), so how could she have the gall to discourage Dick? She wasn't a hypocrite.

That doesn’t stop her from initially wanting to fight you to the death for him, but she doesn’t need to lose a fight to see she’s already lost.

She and Dick sat in a long silence, their faces saying what words couldn’t. 

It’s over. 

It had been over the moment you touched his heart.

Barbara can’t be calm, cool, and collected in this scenario. Barbara could let things slide within reason, and had to get used to the insanity life threw at her at every turn, but this was something she didn’t think she could accept.

 A knee jerk reaction tells her that this is wrong! You might as well be Dick’s sister. She shames him for being promiscuous, and lets loose on all the ways this wouldn’t end well for him.

What? He ran out of options and started looking close to home? (she’s a hypocrite and knows it, but emotions are irrational and she’s letting every single one take over)

So what if you were an adult and got your body back? You were Bruce’s daughter that made you off limits, especially to him (who said?). Dick was just lonely and bored and looking for an exotic distraction.

She belittled him in every way and he just stood there. Staring into her eyes, he was an immovable mountain.  

“Are you done?” She was hurting and she wanted to hurt him even more. He knew this and let her lash out and she hated him for being the bigger person.

“I never knew you were a creep.” She spat out from bitten lips.

“I didn’t know you were so small-minded.”

She swings on him and he lets her chop connect. She kicks him in the gut and he doesn’t dodge. He merely bends but his knees don’t buckle. His face is impassive as if she’s just a gnat in front of him.

He waits for her tantrum to end and for all of the fight to leave her so he can help her crawl into her bed. She's dissolved into tears, and her fiery hair he once loved is a curtain hiding her shame.

He leaves their—no, her—apartment. He’s moving out today. He leaves his key on the table and doesn’t look back.

He’s going home to you.

Jason = Ravager

Ravager tries to hit him where it hurts. 

It’s no secret that Jason pushed people away, including the rare few with good intentions. Especially that rare few. He could’ve had something good with Ravager—Rose Wilson—but it was a different day, same story. Jason didn’t want to let himself be vulnerable. If he let someone in, they’d see the things he never let see the light of day for a reason.

They'd see the beauty, but a lot more ugly, and he wouldn't be able to live if someone he loved saw who he really was and couldn't accept him.

It was a shame. They had so much in common. They both knew pain like an intimate friend, were the black sheep of their families, and learned that life wasn't fair before they could even walk. 

They could’ve been so good together, and Jason once regretted pushing her away, hating himself for once again not knowing how to be happy. But now? He was relieved he had pulled away. It was like he unconsciously saved himself for your arrival.

And because things could never be easy for Jason, Rose had fallen back into his life acting like they had never been apart right when he was trying to build something that would last with you.

She was startled and that rarely happened. He wasn’t the same old Jason she knew. He didn’t run from his feelings, he embraced them. He no longer hid his insecurities with dark humor and one-liners, and now he walked like man who knew who he was and was confident with his choices.

He didn’t need Batman’s or anyone else's approval and even more, he didn’t want it. 

He had changed in ways she thought he never could in his life and she was smart enough to find out why that was.

He had been setting up his scope when she cornered him on a rooftop one night. “Seriously?” She hissed. Her mouth curled into a disgusted snarl. “That’s low even for you.” Jason merely squinted, his mind turning over what she could be talking about.

“Aren’t you taking your daddy issues a little too far? Going after his daughter?”

Jason’s blood ran cold and his eyes, that you lovingly called ‘teal,’ flashed with the toxic green of the pit. 

“Watch it, Ravager.”

She leaned in, “Or what? You’re too scared of women, but your sister’s fair game?”

He took one controlled breath. There would not be a third chance after this.

“That’s not the case. I’m not afraid. I’m in love.” The toxin switched to that lovely teal when he thought of you, “She makes me better.”

Ravager scoffed and it almost sounded like she was gathering spit, “She’s a bandage for the bigger problem.” He could feel her roll her eyes under her ask. "You're fucked, and so is she."

He didn’t hold back, but he didn’t kill her either. They had been friends once. 

“Real rich of you talking about daddy issues.” He knelt beside her battered and broken body and wiped the blood from his blade on the skin beside her empty eye socket. He had removed her mask and eyepatch during the fight and dug in a thumb to completely immobilize her. The scream that erupted from her throat was inhuman and he grinned in wolfish satisfaction.

Anyone would deserve it for talking about you like that.

“She’s not my sister, and even if she was,” He turned his back on her, who was fighting unconsciousness, “that wouldn’t stop me.”

Tim = Bernard Dowd

Bernard loses his first love.

Tim had chosen Bernard out of love, but Tim didn’t have a choice when it came to you. The obsession took root and thrived without sunshine or water. A single breath from your pretty lips was enough to nurture the sprout into a full bloom, its creeping vines wrapping around his heart and mind, forever entangled.  

Bernard thought they had settled into something almost normal like how a relationship should be. He discovered Tim’s secret identity, and shared how Tim let him be his true self too. All of the excuses, why Tim had to rain check or go help Dick or Bruce with something spontaneous during all hours of the day, started to make sense to him.

It didn’t take long for that momentary peace to be disrupted.

He first noticed the way Tim looked at you. Well, ‘look’ wasn’t strong enough. The way Tim watched you. He stared unabashedly with dilating pupils. Bernard could see Tim’s eyes moving, devouring every minor detail of yours and then committing it to memory until he could see you again. You always greeted Bernard kindly when you came across each other, and hardly spared Tim a glance, but to his horror, Tim was grateful for any little crumb and walked on air if you even said “Hi.” to him.

It’s like Tim knew where you’d go before you even got there. So many times had he moved their study session to the dining room or den before you walked in, only for you to turn back and for Tim to plead for you to stay. Bernard watched it all with a sour taste in his mouth and sinking feeling in his gut.

Tim switched date spots to wherever you were and made it look like a happy coincidence (only happy for him). He changed his habits to fit your taste, suddenly craved your favorite foods, and was always anticipating your needs. 

Bernard knew it was over when he and Tim were hanging out in the garden, but Tim had been watching you water the plants in silence, not acknowledging Bernard for two hours. 

Bernard whispered quietly, “She’s your sister, Tim.”

“Huh?” Tim was suddenly brought back into his own body.

“What do you think people will say when they find out? You’re Mr. Wayne’s adopted son and she’s an heiress.” He can’t believe he had to spell it out, but it was like wasn’t aware at all. This was a scandal that rivalled being Red Robin.

No! Tim Drake, wealthy in his own right and adopted son to Bruce Wayne fucking Y/n L/n-Wayne—Bruce Wayne's only biological daughter who was discovered in one of the most shameful moments of Bruce's life—would be infinitely more scandalous to the masses than simply finding out some rich kid was a vigilante.

Tim turned his head and locked eyes with Bernard. Something was missing behind Tim’s blue eyes. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Yes it is! I’m your boyfriend.”

Tim’s brows scrunched up, and his voice was dipped in pity. “Bernard…”

Bernard jumped to his feet and almost knocked over the lawn chair. “Don’t you dare, Tim! Don’t look at me like that.”

Tim sighed and swung his legs over the side of the recliner to face him. “Listen, I have a lot to thank you for,” Tim threaded his fingers together and rested on his knees, “but it’s best that we stop now.”

“Are you really breaking up with me for your sister?”

Through gritted teeth, “Stop saying that. She’s not my sister.”

“Well, she’s your adopted dad’s daughter so what do you think?”

Tim raised a thin brow and the pretense of pity to let Bernard down easy vanished. “I think this relationship’s run its course.”

Bernard’s shoulders dropped and his lips trembled. “This can’t be real, Tim… It could be anyone. You could go back to Stephanie, but does it have to be her?”

Tim’s resolve is unshakeable. He knew that this was taboo. He knew the dangers, he knew the ridicule, but he was ready. He had a contingency for anything that would inevitably come your way and was more than prepared to drag you down to hell with him.

“It can only be her.”

Tim sat back and resumed admiring you from a safe distance. “Alfred will show you out.”

Damian = Flatline

“Then what was all that “girlfriend” crap about on the island? What was that kiss, Robin?”

Damian was a lot taller than he had been on the island when he was barely a teen battling with self doubt and a cowl he may never fit. His shoulders were broader, his gait longer, and his horizons had broadened since you had come into his life.

“That was a long time ago.” 

“Not long enough for you to fall for your own sister!”

Damian almost tsk’d but reined it in, not wanting to seem dismissive to the girl who once meant so much to him. You taught him to be this considerate even to people he barely wanted to spare a glance.

He was young when he got his first “girlfriend,” hell, he thought of Flatline as his girlfriend before she even considered the possibility. He had been some dorky kid in a costume to her, and she had literally ripped his heart out when they first met.

He seemingly fell for her more and more, but now? He was taking back that title by force. You were the only one who would be his girlfriend, lover, and wife. He would scrub away any speck of him ever having been “unfaithful” in his past even if you didn’t know or care.

He couldn’t let anything tarnish his purity for you.

“Emotions ran high, Flatline. We were literally fighting for our lives if you don’t recall.”

“So, now it was a spur of the moment thing?” Her painted face contorted painfully. He had made her feel, and now he was just taking this back?

Damian let loose a ragged sigh and pinched his nose bridge in irritation. “I admit, I had a crush on you. However, I was child." He looked at her now like she was a child he had to explain things very carefully to, "Now, I'm a man, and she's the woman I'll love for the rest of my life."

Damian had been the one to show her that she had a choice. That she could be more than a killing machine.

"And you're just taking everything back?"

Damian's eyes flashed. He was a Wayne, but Ra's Al Ghul's roots ran deep and if you were ever in danger he'd chuck the code out the window.

"I'm not taking anything back. I was always hers from the beginning."

Bruce = Selina Kyle

“You monster!” Catwoman screeched through blood red lips and pointed canines. Her leather whip found its target, lashing at Batman’s eyes before he could fully avoid the danger zone. 

The Cat was chasing the Bat with bloodlust in her eyes, and rage pumping through her veins. He retreated, “You don’t want to do this, Catwoman.”

“I know exactly what I want, you freak.”

She closed the distance between them and slashed at his face with diamond claws, “She’s a child!”

“She’s a grown woman now.” 

The claws drew blood, but he managed to grab her wrist and put her in an armlock. She huffed through gritted teeth, “She was a teenager when she got here. Just a girl, and your daughter! You were supposed to protect her from freaks like you!”

Those words didn’t hurt him. No one could say anything worse than he had already thought about himself. 

Catwoman broke free and flipped to kick him in the jaw, he blocked it effortlessly, and became more serious. He had battled with this crisis every second of every day since he discovered you were the vigilante he had been lusting and longing for. He put himself in more life and death situations than usual, and took risks that almost promised he'd come out maimed.

He knew this was wrong, but he couldn't stop. Did he want to?

“I’ll kill you!” She shrieked, and her moves become more erratic. She was too emotionally invested in your situation. She thought of you and only saw a sixteen year old girl who had lost it all. A girl like you needed to be protected but she was thrown to the wolves in Gotham, and taken by the big bad wolf in sheep's clothing.

She knew how vulnerable girls like you had once been ended up, and the fear that gripped her heart made her fight even harder.

Bruce blocked and parried effortlessly as she began to lose stamina. A strong backhand with way too much force behind it sent her spiraling and landing across the construction site where the late night battle began.

"You're sick." She nearly cried, knowing she couldn't save the girl you used to be.

"Always have been."

[seroopygoopy]

☆.「 Jotun x GN! Reader 」.☆

As I was doom scrolling through TikTok, I came across a video on seals. Specifically the silly little sounds they make. Then a headcannon bloomed. Yautja’s making the same barks, huffs, and growls as these furry tubs of lard 🥹.

Like imagine just hanging out with your yautja, y’all are just doing some everyday chores or training and all you hear is this 👇

Coming from this absolute unit 😭

Like what?!!? Does anyone else find their clicking cute or is it just me? They’re menacing under scary situations but outside of those circumstances their little trills and clicks are so unique and adorable to me.

Deadass I have a whole YouTube playlist I use to lock in just on yautja ASMR’s 😋!

Brief summary: You live with Jotun (Idk if thats his canon name) and in this scenario y’all share some fruit!

Notes: There’s literally zero dialogue and it’s all fluff!! Also please excuse my grammar. English wasn’t my first language, Spanish is 🙌🏻! Also if you have any questions then feel free to ask. If you have any constructive criticism or tips on how to improve my writing, please let me know! I’m always open to new suggestions.

It’s been exactly three years since you were snatched up from earth and dropped onto the unfamiliar terrain known as Yautja Prime. A desert landscape of vast, arid expanse where the heat is top of the chain. The land is filled with shades of ochre, rust and pale sand. Jagged rock formations sculpted by centuries of wind erosion. Sparse vegetation clings to survival by a thread. The alien biology resembled earth’s own flora but these had a more volatile twist to them. More spikey, bigger and had stronger defense mechanism. No wonder the yautja were so deadly, everything was out to kill them. They HAD to be deadly to survive such a hostile world. Everything was larger and more ferocious just like the natives here.

Honestly you were shocked you were even alive but here you were currently strolling through the village with Jotun. That wasn’t his actual name of course but it was the nickname you picked out for the rotund beast. It just fit him better.

Using both your hands you carried a large basket of fruit, your limbs struggling just slightly to support it’s weight. Arms covered in scratches from retrieving these juicy treats. Defiantly worth it! these were especially sweet this time of year when the sun was practically cooking you alive. Jotun helped you with most of it since the skin of his hands were naturally more thick and suitable for the hostile vegetation.

He walked slowly in front of you carrying two baskets, each woven vessel containing diffrent fruits. You haven’t tried either yet actually. The massive yautja before you walked with a hint of excitement and anticipation in his stride. He took great delight in watching you react to new things. Like a curious puppy he’d sit beside you and just watch. Eager mandible clicks and funny seal-like sounds coming from his chest filled the air after you responded. It always shocked you to hear the various sounds yautja made.

As of now, your feet padded against the scorching sand, even wearing protective feet pads you could still feel the sting. Not as intense but it was most definitely there. Jotun and yourself were currently heading back to his home. A place you shared with him through out all three years.

Upon arrival, the three woven baskets were placed neatly on the wooden counter. You and Jotun immediately got to work with the fruit. Meticulously scrubbing away the dust from the fruit’s thick skin, Jotun separated those ready to be eaten from the ones better suited for storage. The ripest he placed carefully aside, while the rest were tucked into a makeshift cooler lined with scavenged insulation and chilled stones.

Yautja were primarily carnivorous, their culture steeped in the thrill of the hunt and the taste of fresh kill, but they weren’t above drawing sustenance from other energy sources when the opportunity presented itself.

Jotun’s favorite was a watermelon sized fruit—red skin, green frills and white flesh, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a rambutan. Only this one was freakishly large.

He sank a claw into the rind, splitting it into half with a satisfying crack. He held the other piece with one hand and waited for you to transfer it over to yours. His mandibles clicked, a purr rumbled from his chest and with that you knew he was happy.

Jotun bit down on his half, clear juice dripped down his tusks as another purr erupted from within. You couldn’t help but giggle at his purring. It reminded you of a seal but only deeper and coming from a mountain of a man. He turned his gaze to you, slightly lowered himself and gently pushed the fruit you held up to your face. His scaly hand dwarfing your own.

Puppy dog eyes, glowing with a beautiful red hue, gazed up at you with a mix of fondness and curiosity. A soft chuckle slipped from your lips, unable to resist the innocent plea in that look. You couldn’t keep him waiting, How could you with a look like that?

Your teeth sank into the tender white flesh, the sugary fluid flooded your tastebuds. A soft moan surged from your chest as you chewed on the fruit. The texture was tender, almost melting, and the subtle coolness contrasted with the warmth of the air around you. He watched intently, anticipation shining in his eyes, as if sharing in every bite. Water-like juice ran down your chin similar to when jotun bit into his own.

Then a completely new sound filled your ears. Almost like a purr, but different—rougher, deeper, with a strange rhythm to it. You bared your teeth in a wide grin as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. The sound was quirky, no doubt, but so unbelievably precious, especially coming from muscle man over here, whose usual demeanor could be carved from stone.

Jotun turned his head to the side like a confused pup, his brows knitted together, face shifting in that slow, deliberate way he always moved. Analyzing, observing, puzzling it out. What was so funny? Had the fruit triggered some odd chemical reaction in your brain? Some euphoric side effect he’d overlooked?

Then it dawned on him.

The realization hit him with a slow-burning certainty. Jotun’s eyes narrowed while his mandibles pressed back into place. A low rumble filled with annoyance mixed with your laughter. That noise he made—a gentle trill, part rumble, part something new was his people’s way of showing they were very happy.

Yet without doubt here you were laughing. Not at him just at the silly noise he made. There was no mock, no malice, nothing that deemed your laughter as teasing. It was just laugh of pure joy.

His grumble of irritation shifted to deep laugh. A moment of vulnerability between two souls from diffrent origins, cultures, and most notably—diffrent planets. To one, the other was alien and to the other, the same.

Two beings sat on soft furs while enjoying simple, mundane fruit. No words were ever exchanged. No shared tongue was needed to find comfort in each other's presence. Only shared laughter.

[toaarcan]

Thinking about Transformers: Decepticons (2007) again.

It's a more obscure bit of TF fiction, but basically it was a game released for the DS as a tie-in for the 07 movie. That sounds like a recipe for disaster, but the game is actually really fucking good.

The game and its Autobot counterpart, released concurrently, both play well and have some excellent voice acting (Cullen and Welker are there, of course, but so are Steve Blum, Keith David, Daniel Ross, etc), but I don't want to talk about that, I want to talk about the Decepticon version's story.

The game puts you in control of a rookie Decepticon soldier, armed with the unique ability to store multiple vehicle forms and switch between them almost on the fly. Initially, he serves as Starscream's protege, deployed to Earth to assist in the hunt for the Allspark, and also to ensure Megatron never awakens from his icy imprisonment.

Over the course of the game, the protagonist is gradually recruited into Megatron's cult of personality, primarily by Barricade, and slowly turns on Starscream until he finally decides to help revive Megatron instead. Megatron makes his triumphant return, swears vengeance on the Autobots, humanity, and Starscream... and then everyone dies.

Yeah, in the console version of the game, the Decepticon campaign is a pretty generic villain campaign ending. The Autobots all die, Megatron wins and claims the Allspark, and the Decepticons take over Earth.

The Decepticon story on DS is a grim deconstruction of the faction that shows their ideology to be a farce, frames their loyalty to their leader as the source of their downfall, and ends with only Megatron still alive.

At the start of the game, the board is set up so that Starscream is the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron disappeared into space in search of the Allspark thousands of years ago, and ended up frozen beneath the Hoover Dam, and Barricade, Brawl, and Blackout are desperately trying to find him. Also, this is early, early Bayverse lore, so Megatron is literally a spark-eating cannibal. That will be important later.

Midway through the second act, the protagonist asks Barricade why the other Decepticons view Megatron as so much better than Starscream. Barricade replies that it's because they know where they stand with Megatron. Starscream is, well, Starscream. A cowardly weasel who would kill you in your sleep. Megatron would still kill you, but he'd have the spine to do it to your face. Which is... better, somehow?

The thing is, while this explanation works on the protagonist, Barricade will later be proven almost entirely wrong.

Later, when the Decepticons head to the dam to free Megatron, Starscream finally arrives in person and orders the protagonist to kill Megatron before he can thaw out, to prevent him from ever being revived. This all but confirms Barricade's assessment of Starscream in the protagonist's eyes, and he chooses to side with his new comrades over his former mentor, helping them to release Megatron.

And it's then that we get our first look at this version of Megatron. Upon his revival, he discovers that his weapon chip has been removed, and he is unable to fire his guns this way, and so he sits back and waits for Blackout to bring it to him.

Now, that might seem normal, but not if you play both versions of the game.

A bunch of missions are either shared between both games, or really similar to each other. And this mission has a counterpart in the Autobot version where, upon escaping from Sector 7's captivity, Bumblebee finds that he has also lost his weapon chip.

Bumblebee promptly goes to reclaim it himself, and fights through the military vehicles trying to stop him with his bare hands.

Now, Bumblebee is the weakest character in both games. Megatron is the strongest. And yet it's Bumblebee who is willing to throw down unarmed while Megatron waits for his giant, fully-armed attack dog to get his guns back for him.

Megatron then hangs back after sending his troops out to hunt down the Allspark and Starscream, and he's almost immediately punished for it. As he finally decides to leave, he's shot down by Jazz, who has set up a battery of anti-aircraft turrets that will shoot Megatron out of the sky if he tries to leave.

Megatron proceeds to kill Jazz pretty swiftly, and eats him, marking the second death of the game (Ratchet presumably dies fighting the protagonist in the Qatar section), but this is just the first step.

Back in the city, Brawl and Ironhide kill each other. Brawl isn't shown dying on-screen, but given later dialogue, it's implied that he didn't make it. And it's then that Starscream makes his move and it all comes crashing down.

Starscream chases Bumblebee, who has the Allspark, across the city, eventually cornering him in a car park. He then proceeds to beat Bumblebee to death with ease. It's not a remotely hard fight. You're the second-best character in the game, he's the weakest.

With Bumblebee dead, Starscream claims the Allspark for himself. Blackout arrives to try and take it from him in the name of Megatron, and Starscream immediately kills him with a single shot, just as Barricade catches up.

Barricade suggests that Screamer come quietly, but Starscream points out that he has been leading the Decepticon Empire for countless millennia, and, unlike Megatron, successfully claimed the Allspark. But Barricade is blinded by his own fanaticism, and decides to try and bring Starscream in for treason. This goes poorly for him.

Starscream could have killed Barricade just as quickly as he already did to Blackout... but he doesn't. Instead, he takes the time to demonstrate why he was the second-in-command before Megatron's absence, and why he's held onto the leadership for all these years despite his low approval among other Decepticons, and he takes Barricade apart, leaving him dying on the floor as the protagonist arrives.

And to me, this is the first real hint that Barricade is wrong. Because while Starscream did in fact command his lieutenant to kill Megatron in his sleep... Starscream isn't actually wrong about anything he's said. He has been running the empire, and arguably built it himself, considering that the Cybertronians hadn't left their homeworld when Megatron vanished. He did achieve the long-term goal of the Decepticon faction, and contrary to the way he's characterised by Barricade, he did it by slaughtering an Autobot and two Decepticons face-to-face.

Barricade, with his dying words, tells the protagonist "Now you see what it is to be a Decepticon." He'll turn out to be wrong about that too.

The protagonist chases after Starscream, and accuses him of stealing power from the mighty, but at this point he's fully drinking the Megatron Kool-Aid.

And where is Megatron while his most loyal soldiers are dying for him, and trying to reclaim the Allspark for him? He's ignoring the whole thing to go and fight Optimus Prime.

Prime has a pretty minimal role in the game, ironically, with the lion's share of the focus being on the Decepticons destroying themselves, but he gets Megatron dead-to-rights with one of his lines during the fight: "All you know is destruction, you will never build an empire."

Megatron kills Prime, only to be blasted off his feet by Starscream, who challenges him to meet him in battle. Megatron recovers, and with the help of the protagonist, goes to meet that challenge.

Sure is strange, then, that the protagonist arrives first.

I pointed out before that Megatron hangs back a lot in this game. He sits around when his weapon chip is taken, despite a much weaker bot getting his own chip back himself. He hangs back when the other Decepticons depart from Hoover Dam, enabling Jazz to get the drop on him. He gets distracted by Optimus while the rest of his troops are actually fighting to reclaim the cube. And now, despite leaving at the same time and almost certainly having the faster vehicle mode (the protagonist is usually a helicopter at this point), Megatron is nowhere to be seen when the protagonist reaches Starscream.

This Megatron consistent leads from the rear. He hangs back, sends his soldiers in first, and then arrives to finish off the enemy after the fact. He's a long way from the bold, straightforward 'bot that Barricade describes.

The protagonist manages to wrest the Allspark away from Starscream, and slams it into his chest, but unlike in the movie, it actually only injures the protagonist, while Starscream only seems to get more powerful. Megatron finally shows up, and eventually manages to deal a fatal blow to Starscream. But Starscream remains defiant to the end, there's no grovelling or pleading for mercy, he just spits that there will always be someone to challenge his rule. Megatron dismisses that threat, and consumes Starscream's spark too, killing him, but destroying the Allspark in the process.

Megatron returns to the injured protagonist, who expresses relief at their victory, but mourns over the loss of Barricade, Blackout, and Brawl (his line "Barricade and the others..." is what leads me to assume that Brawl is also dead), only for Megatron to dismiss them, saying that if they were truly Decepticons, they would've survived, equating them to "a rust that must be stripped away," before including the protagonist in that number. The protagonist says he could be repaired, but Megatron refuses, calling it a waste of resources, and proceeds to tear apart and devour his last living soldier.

Barricade never knew where he truly stood with Megatron. None of them did. He believed that, in dying for Megatron, in valuing his loyalty to his leader over his own life, that he was a true Decepticon, only for Megatron himself to equate him and his fellow loyalists to basically a robot skin rash, and say they were never really Decepticons because they died. The protagonist is instrumental in Megatron's revival and his victory, he could very easily have followed Starscream's instruction and killed Megatron in his sleep, but that show of loyalty isn't enough. Surviving the backlash of the Allspark's destruction isn't enough. He's "weak," so he's disposable.

Barricade, Blackout, and Brawl are fanatically loyal to a violent monster that sees them as expendable tools at best, and have convinced themselves in their heads that he's this great, honourable warrior who speaks to them honestly, but he's just as much of a dirty fighter as Starscream, if not more so, and he doesn't care about any of them. And they pull the protagonist into their way of thinking, tell him that their way is the true way, and it's all wrong. If the protagonist had stuck by Starscream, they would've won and reclaimed the Allspark. Megatron, Barricade, Blackout and Brawl would die, but the faction as a whole would win.

The overall goal of reclaiming the Allspark is rendered impossible, basically because Megatron and co. didn't like the guy that achieved it, and so they die like bugs hitting a windscreen until Megatron kills him and destroys the Allspark forever. The Decepticon empire that Starscream has held together for thousands of years is doomed to crumble as its leader is killed and replaced by a rabid animal with cannibalistic tendencies.

Megatron wins the final battle, and claims victory. But his plans are ruined, his soldiers are dead, at least one of them by his own hand, and the Allspark is forever gone from his reach. He is a king of nothing, and it's blind devotion to him, and inability to accept a better alternative on the part of his followers that results in the ending being what it is.

[cafedragons]

Thoughts on Previous "Final Fusion"

Heads up at a brief sui mention, nothing graphic nor detailed.

Hi, sysblr! I've had a lot of these thoughts for a while. I fully fused in sometime around May-August of 2024.

It fell apart around February-March 2025 after a series of unexpected life events and the unfortunate beginning of post-viral trigeminal neuralgia.

Literally, it peeled apart. Dissociative barriers between parts increased a little bit, and we split three new alters. Overall, we mainly have four: Theo, Sunburst, Relic, and a half-fragment guy who we're trying to elaborate a little more for stability.

Theo is the closest to our "fused whole" self, made up of Max, Mocha, Toby, Virtue, Jukebox, and Cirrus. Sometimes, they function as "multiple", but they're mostly fully integrated.

Sunburst, Relic, and the fragment guy were all new. Sunburst and Relic split as compliments or foils, while the fragment is still just kind of hanging out. There's not severe blackout amnesia like there was before recovery, even between them and Theo. It's mostly greyout and emotional amnesia, and it's not hugely distressing 99% of the time.

The main difference in our system now as opposed to before "final fusion" is that we actually function quite a bit better this way than as one whole. As I mentioned before, I recently developed trigeminal neuralgia. I already had chronic pain that was tough to manage due to a condition since birth, but I'd had that for so long it mostly didn't bother me. TN is a whole different beast. It is the worst pain I have ever experienced, second to nothing, and it incapacitates me entirely when it flares. I cannot move, speak, or eat when it's at its worst. I can only lay down and sob until I eventually am too exhausted to be awake.

We all need breaks to handle it. Without that level of dissociation, I don't think I'd be alive (genuinely, the pain is bad enough that I've made an attempt on my life). No medications I can have are very helpful, and I can't take the ones that might be helpful without aggravating my other conditions and risking a sharp decline in usable vision (of which I have very little), so dissociating into the void is... kind of the best I have. I can handle the pain in short bursts since I'm slowly sort of getting used to it, but I need to tap out every once in a while because it really starts weighing on my mental state. (This doesn't apply when it's in full swing. At that point, consider me dead to the world because even painkillers at the hospital do absolutely nothing. Those points are somewhat uncommon as long as I'm careful not to touch my face too much or get too stressed.)

Finding this point in my life was a fine balancing act. I don't want to suffer from my pre-recovered DID like I did in the past. (Thankfully, I don't! None of my parts are scary to me anymore since... all of us have been all of them and I don't have the awful night terrors or flashbacks I used to deal with.) At the same time, I don't want to be fully fused again. It quite literally hurt too bad to be alive and I doubt I'll seek FF again unless some sort of breakthrough treatment gets inserted directly into my body.

All this to say... final fusion isn't always final, nor is it the best path for everyone. There are a lot of factors to consider. Your recovery is your own, and nobody else's business.

(At the same time, if you start demonizing final fusion in my notes, I will block you and also kick you into orbit. Final fusion is beautiful and valid even if it's not for you.)

[phantomchick]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

Jason Todd/Batfamily/DC Comics

Ye Who Enters Here by Wisetypewriter

Trips to hellish dimension are, well, not routine per say, but they have lost their edges after the tenth Titans mission. Even the invasion that triggered the need for an incursion in the inflamed realms would ultimately another day for Nightwing and his team, if not for the trial. Confess your biggest regret truthfully. Heroes have plenty to regret, but to share it is another matter entirely. And it just so happened that Dick's little brother had joined them for the ride. Or, the Red Hood’s regrets are about death, but not in the way Nightwing hoped.

Field Notes by SalParadiseLost

short stories in a demon au.

One Rule by Wisetypewriter

A promise. An oath. And a threat. Batman does not kill. Nor do his allies. Even if he has to personally ensure that they don't. Or, a dead pimp found in Crime Alley leads to Batman and Ma Gunn meeting again for the first time in years.

If all the soul-and-body scars by GavotteAndGigue

The Bat family is left reeling after Jason succeeds in taking his own life. Bruce struggles through grief as he grapples with more questions than answers. Then, over a year later, Jason is found miraculously alive inside his tomb. But Jason’s mysterious resurrection isn't the simple blessing it appears to be. For Jason, nothing has changed since the day he died for a second time, and he's still hell bent on ending himself for good. Bruce desperately searches for answers as he contends with how to keep his violently suicidal assassin-trained son from taking his own life once more.

Let the Night be Dark for All of Me by GavotteAndGigue

Jason Todd and Talia al Ghul have a complicated relationship, to say the least. They've drifted apart and had little contact ever since Jason's reconciled with the Bats. However, one night after a disagreement with his family, Jason reaches out to Talia as a last resort to help him travel across the globe undetected. Why does Jason trust her even after their history of manipulation and lies? And does Talia still have enough affection in her heart to save Jason's life once more, or will she shepherd him to his doom?

Mine by Covenyt2950

But with all the bad luck he'd been having, he should've known he wasn't ready for the sheer terror that took over his body when the driver's window rolled down, showing the face of one of the most dangerous men in Gotham. Oh shit There it was, Richard Grayson-Wayne. Nightwing. Personal executioner, right-hand man, and dear son of Gotham’s most infamous crime boss: the Bat. Or Jason is a young prostitute who's just trying to take care of his little brother. Until one night he meets one of the Bats and has to struggle to survive and run away with Tim. Or so he thinks.

Flatline by dragonpyre

Jason's an idiot. A fucking idiot. He thought he could take some goons no problem, and now he's stuck on a warehouse floor with next to no heartbeat and his family crying over his "corpse". How the hell is he gonna fix this?

The Extremely True Story of the Titans Tower Attack by Wisetypewriter

Red Hood, evil, evil bastard, decides to murderize Robin. Yeah, right.

Lazy Sunday by foxglovefriar

Shipfic nsfw

Jason Todd does not have a boyfriend. He has a dom, because vulnerability is for chumps and Jason's playing it to win. It doesn't matter that Foley likes picking soft clothes for him, or eating breakfast together, or sharing chores— look, he's only here to get hypnotized straight out of his trauma-induced cycle of self-punishment, okay?? The blow jobs are just necessary to hit that end goal! That's all!

Two Robins in the Hand by MeiliSheep

While on patrol, Jason and Dick are both turned into their 13-year-old selves. To Everyone's surprise, Two Robins get along. Specially when both realize there is something the others aren't telling them. And if Batman doesn't have Robin's back, well, another Robin will just have to do. Specially if the Robins look so alike.

Thunder Screaming in the Sky by Ellegrine

Dick stares at the dirt with horror, the taste of stomach acid thick on his tongue. No, it’s not possible. He’s hearing things. He’s hallucinating. There’s no way in hell that Bruce buried Jason alive.

Kyle Rayner's Complete Guide to getting a Malewife by MeiliSheep

Kyle stumbles his way into getting himself a male wife.

Little bird by ittybittypenguins

During Dick's visit at Jason's apartment, some things are said. All while working together to get past an impossible boss in a level where Jason had been stuck on for weeks now. He didn't expect to have such a genuine good time with the older.

HOPE THE LOVE WE SHARED CAN RESURRECT THE LAST. by orpheusaki

"I would never be mad at you for this," Bruce tells him clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding, blue eyes sharp and clear as they meet Jason's steadily, "I think you know this Jason, deep down. You know I would never blame you for any of this." Jason's heart is tight, "I'm —" Bruce places both hands on his shoulders, "Don't apologise. Just breathe with me." Jason takes a deep breath in, matching Bruce's unshakeable calmness. It's the first time in a long time that Jason feels like he can actually breathe. (Jason survives Ethiopia and returns home; this is the beginning.)

king of the lost boys by noharlembeat

This fic says Dickjay but nothing happens so you can ignore it and read it as platonic if you want. It's very very good and I love how it handled the ableism angst.

The clock stops and Jason closes his eyes. He wakes up at the manor. ~~~ or: Jason Todd lives, and how that changes things.

and when I wake up, let me be by forgotten_daydreamer

« Jason is used to his body and mind going numb, he’s used to his breath hitching, to his heartbeat slowing down so drastically that he sometimes finds himself sprawled on the freezing tiles, clutching the shirt drenched in cold sweat that’s plastered to his chest, just above his heart, mouth gaping as he regains feeling in his body. “Fine. Just一” he swallows, throat dry, “I’m only staying one night. I’m leaving at dawn.” » Jason reluctantly spends a night at the Manor, omitting some crucial information regarding the Lazarus Pit side effects.

Phone Alarms by quotidian_void

"Just imagine Jason recording Batman angrily yelling "Nightwing!" then setting it as the sound of Dick's phone alarm so in the next morning when it goes off he flips the fuck out"

Naruto

denizens of the sands of time by CherShare

Happy accidents were less rare than they used to be, even if they still had a trend of making things worse before they got better. Gaara would take what he could get.

The Milieu by funkmasterjo

Aka a series of oneshots written after gaiden but before boruto came out, a fun take on a good-at-his-job hokage Naruto.

POST SHIPPUDEN. Set after ch 1 of Naruto Gaiden: The seventh Hokage, though prior knowledge isn't really neccessary. Just some talks. Just life. A milieu.

Harry Potter/HP/Fuck JK Rowling

Letters by Morning Lilies

In the final months of the war, Harry entrusted Ron with a bundle of parchments marked 'just in case'. More than seventeen years later, Teddy accidentally unroots a bit of the past. But once he starts reading, he can't stop.

Cocktail Time by the real snape

Not many people know that Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart were flatmates once. He invited her to parties, she Transfigured his clothes, they stole each other's hair products rampantly. And now Rita Skeeter has written the full, true, frank, and delicious account of the years they spent together. Don't miss Rita's Latest Blockbuster!

Geminio by Portus

Have you ever thought "It's kind of strange that such a competent and hyper-vigilant veteran auror went down so quickly offscreen in HP." This fic might help you understand. This story has everything: Mad-eye Moody waking up and murdering his way through death eater after death eater, a time loop, a tragic backstory, a perfect title, it's a self-contained oneshot that does SO MUCH in so little time, incredibly satisfying. The tale of Alastor Moody's last day on earth, from his point of view. Followers of the Dark Lord beware! or Some things never change, no matter a past which no longer sleeps. This is a lesson Alastor Moody must learn first-hand.

If we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own by Biromantic_Nerd

Neville's shoulders hunch further. It's not just his hands that are shaking now; his entire body trembles. It's not fair. And, when push comes to shove, Harry always has been a Gryffindor through and through. (AKA sometimes it's easier to be compartmentalize your own abuse than someone else's; life isn't fair to Harry but that doesn't mean he'll allow life to be unfair to his friends)

[tofics]

I finally made time to listen to this and I am so glad I did. Let's dive straight in, shall we?

This was my very first time hearing your voice, and I feel the need to point out what a pleasant voice you have, Alex! And I do mean this in the most sincere way, coming from someone who can be very very picky about what voices to listen to. I know this wasn't the point of the podcast, but I had to let you know :)

I took notes while listening, so I'll just be going through them and kind of sort them into something more tangible as I go.

It was awesome getting to hear so many "behind the scene" thoughts from you about your writing. There were a couple of small things you mentioned that I wanted to comment on just for the fun of it:

Something that draws you to a fanfiction is if characters are canonically written. It's funny you should say that, because your characters are some of the most in-tune-with-canon characters that I have ever read. I've mostly consumed your Dean stories, and even in an AU setting (I'm looking at you, Smoke Eater) he is 100% Dean as seen on the show. As far as fanfiction goes, that puts yours on a pedestal imo.

You considered doing something with Dean and Yellowstone for the Jacklesverse Bingo. (insert gif of me hysterically crying and hyperventilating) I've only just started watching Yellowstone this year and I am obsessed. I think you would have fried all my synapses if you had gone down that road, in the best way possible 😁

Hearing you talk about your friends on Tumblr and knowing you've included me in that group felt so so special! I'm so proud to be able to call you my friend on here. 🥹🫶🏼

But now! On to the actual topic of the episode :)

First of all, I found it very interesting that despite your own heritage, you grew up with a white reader in mind. Just goes to show how predominantly a white person is and has been the main character in so much of media that that's what your brain defaulted to.

I also thought your discussion about what makes an OC an OC and where a reader insert stops being a reader insert suuuper interesting. Because that's a genuine question! Where does a blank slate stop being a blank slate, and how much character do you have to give to the reader role in a reader insert fic for the story still to work, right? I loved to hear your take on it, especially where you said that writing reader inserts is basically like writing OCs without giving them a name. - I had never thought about it that way!

But of course, you're right. Because a reader that is an active participant in a story can't be a completely blank slate. They have to be assigned certain traits, not necessarily body-wise but character wise - if you're doing more than a drabble, imo. For there to be dialogue and a story that feels full, that feels alive, the reader has to have some sort of character to be a character.

Which brings me to my next point: projectability is always a thing of perspective and the ability to put yourself into someone's shoes. As far as fanfiction goes, the reader insert genre tries to make that as easy as possible by offering a mostly blank slate (that is very often white-coded, unfortunately, but that's not the point I'm trying to make in this paragraph). I have seen people complain more than once about the character!reader being unrelatable because of certain character traits and/or backstories that were assigned to them, and I wonder: people, where has your media literacy gone? Do they not teach to adapt to a person's perspective via literature in schools anymore? Must all media cater exactly to your every taste, down to each very nuance?

And I write all of this distinctively separating characteristic traits from body traits. I am not at all talking about the lack of ethnic representation within the x reader genre.

I love how you give personality to your reader characters, Alex. Especially when it comes to your own representation. You said in the podcast that you were worried about how the traits you assigned to your reader in the Midnight Espresso-verse would be received by your audience and that you received great feedback. I want to reiterate that by saying how despite myself not having the same background as you, I could absolutely relate to the plus-size aspect of the reader, as well as her love for cooking. You said it so beautifully in the podcast, that this version of the reader is one that came from the intent of Dean having a (Latino) girlfriend that nurtured him in the same way he nurtures the people around him, and I fully 100% could relate to that as well :)

Which might be my very complicated and long way of saying: Please do not worry about how much the reader can adapt to the traits you're giving to the character!reader. If most character!readers have been predominantly white for the longest time and so so many people that where not white made it work, then so can we white folks when we are given a reader that does not fit all of "our" typical criteria.

It made me very happy to hear that you're seeing more and more diversity within the SPN fandom these days. I've spent most of my time in the PPCU fandom this past year and all across it, but specifically in the Joel Miller fandom, there have been too many racist instances. It's great to hear that it's going better in other fandoms!

Which brings me to my next point - the anon request you got that led you to writing Unravel Me 👀 Wow. I haven't read it yet. It was on my TBR list anyway, but hearing you talk about how it came to be and how much thought you put into it (understandably so) it's now an absolute must-read for me. (Sort of unrelated but still related: I've seen your playlist covers for the story, and - wow??? A masterpiece??? Visually, I mean?! The EFFORT. I'll be speaking about this in a second, but I needed to mention it now in case I forget! Gorgeous!)

Another point that had me thinking a lot was the question about how much of an immigrant's identity should be kept and how much should be adapted to the country they've moved to also captivated me. I know US politics in regards to immigrants are ""problematic"" atm to say the least, and it's been a widely discussed topic over here in Germany for years now as well, especially with the heavy influx of immigrants over the past years. I can't imagine how complicated it must be, figuring out a sense of self that both fits to where you live and still keeps the core parts of who you are and were before coming to said country.

I want to wrap this up by saying how incredibly impressed I am every single time I hear/read about how you prep for your stories. I think you are by far the most in-depth fanfiction writer that I know. You put so much research into it, and not just for The Honorable Choice, but everything you put out. I'm struggling to find the correct words to properly express how admiring I find it, especially for a story like The Honorable Choice where you take on the perspective of someone of a different ethnic background than you.

You are an inspiration, Alex. Truly.

Thank you for welcoming me into the writing space when I came back. Thank you for answering every question I had, and thank you for the work you put into all of your stories.

To you, to your talent, your inspiration and work ethic, and to many more stories to come! 🩵

Racial & Ethnic Representation in Fanfiction

[🎙️ Podcast Interview]

Hey, friends! Sandra and Kasey, the lovely hosts of @idlingintheimpalapodcast — the podcast for all things SPN and fanfiction — invited me back on the pod for an interview on a topic that's very close to my heart…

With @rubyvhs, we talked about the fun moments and challenges about reading and writing fanfiction that represents specific racial and ethnic cultures, being bicultural/multicultural, the immigrant experience, and much more.

I offered my own experience as a Latina POC writing in the fandom space, specifically Supernatural and The Boys (and adjacent Jackles fandoms).

Check it out here: ⤵️

Interview Timestamps –

(Plus fic recs, SPN writer/reader shoutouts, and more! Links to all the fics we mentioned are at each time stamp.)

2:54 – When did you start writing fanfiction, and when did you join SPN fandom?

⟡ You can check out my first author interview with Sandra and Kasey over here. We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more. For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

6:18 – What is your ethnic, racial, and cultural background? (And how me and Sandra bond over “food and family” ties between Hispanics/Latinos and Italians.)

13:05 – The immigrant experience in America, what you take with you from the “Motherland,” the struggles of bicultural identity, my personal experience being a second-generation child of an immigrant family, and Sandra’s experience as a first-generation child of Italian immigrants.

16:58 – What do you look for when you’re reading fanfiction? (Canon-compliant, AU, romance, etc.) Does the length of a story matter?

19:52 – Bonus: The merits of drabble writing vs. long-fic writing.

25:54 – Have you ever actively searched for fanfiction that represented your ethnicity? (Whenever I do, it’s like finding gold.) Plus, the challenge of writing reader characters, the “gray area” of writing reader characters like OCs.

32:38 – The inherent “bias” of reading and writing reader characters as White. The concept of diversity being “cool” in popular media, TV shows, and movies is still pretty new.

36:36 – Why I started writing reader characters that might have a specific body type, race, and/or ethnicity.

Examples:

⟡ Midnight Espresso – Dean Winchester x Plus-size Latina!Reader

⟡ If I Stay – Dean Winchester x Plus-size!Reader

⟡ 10 ‘Til Midnight – Professor!Dean Winchester x Plus-size Grad Student!Reader

⟡ Unravel Me – Soldier Boy x Afro-Latina!Reader

⟡ The Honorable Choice & Outlander – Cowboy!Dean Winchester x OFC

40:14 – The fun challenges: like giving Dean a partner who takes care of him as much as he takes care of others in Midnight Espresso.

45:28 – The BIG challenges: like writing Soldier Boy being himself with a “person of color” (POC) in this new series, Unravel Me. What even is a POC? Where do you start with Soldier Boy, the Sandra-proclaimed “bowl of fishhooks?"

51:38 – Is there ever an element of fear when you publicly post a story that represents your culture, which is something very personal to you? What happens when you get haters in the comments?

1:05:33 – When and how did you begin to break out of the “ingrained biases” in your writing? (AKA: Always assuming my own characters are White.)

1:08:04 – When did you decide to explore writing plus-size!readers?

1:13:20 – What has your experience been in writing a race/culture outside of your personal experience? The Honorable Choice and Outlander, a western AU where Dean Winchester falls in love with a Native American Lakota Indian. (Shoutout to @jacklesversebingo!)

Plus, the ethical responsibility to “do no harm” when you represent different cultures, and answering question of not only can I write this, but should I write this?

1:32:42 – What advice would you give a writer interested in writing about a culture outside of their own that they don’t have first-hand knowledge of? How can a writer avoid cultural appropriation if their goal is cultural appreciation? How important is a sensitivity reader/beta reader for this effort?

1:40:35 – Final thoughts on diversity and representation of culture in fanfiction, whether it’s your own or someone else’s:

“Write what you know. Write what you can research. Write what you’re interested in. Remember that words have power, so be careful how you use them.”

1:45:30 – Sandra and Kasey’s outro: The importance of representation and diversity in fandom.

I hope you enjoy the ride!~ 💜

💗💗💗 Shoutouts to some of my beautiful friends and lovely readers who've supported my attempts to explore ethnic and cultural diversity in my writing:

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @rizlowwritessortof @roseblue373

@tofics @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @deansbbyx @waywardlatina

@supernotnatural2005 @wayward-dreamer @spnwoman @waywardxwords @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean (shoutout to your 500 follower fic challenge at around 19:52 😘) @siampie @bettystonewell @wvffles

@iprobablyshipit91 @my-stories-vault @littlesoulshine @thatonewriter15 @jessjad

@deans-spinster-witch @winchestergirl2 @kazsrm67 @chernayawidow @jackles010378

@jollyhunter @leigh70 @foxyjwls007 @beakaleak32 @alwaystiredandconfused