#;found footage

[beholdenning]

HOLZPÜPPCHEN, DREH DICH.

dancer mastery.

the first time they hear music is stowed away in the bowels of a ship, echoes of festivities reaching them in the hold. the noise is simply noise, at first, mingling with laughs and shouts and off-key singing, with the stamp of boots and the clap of hands. at first, it is simply noise— bright yet droning, hammering and humming.

then they hear it— underlying repetitions, logics that break apart with the crack of a voice or a note off-tone. they had been listening before. they are listening now.

it is fine when they are excluded from the next time, brought above deck, because they are still listening. they can watch as they listen. feet stamp just off-rhythm, running after something mortal limbs cannot capture to perfection, swaying drunkenly and moving raucously, a constant throng of bodies.

the music pauses, but it does not stop. towns, inns, festivals, bards. has started up anew every time, even if from elsewhere, even if in a different form, ever those harmonies in patterns. strings draw them in closest, the raking of a bow across them, setting them aquiver with sound. a cello's tone, a chord plucked, a fold strung along the width of the larynx.

and everywhere they watch, people move to the music, sway to the drum, run after the scales, spin with the beat and arpeggios. not all of these movements are wholly random, though just as curiously devoid of meaning: still, sometimes, it quietly follows. a porcelain step, a hand thrown wide, a puppet wound for glossy choreography.

even in this, the music-box ballerina spins at the winding of a key, the marionette dances at the end of strings, an imitation at greater hands. that key is pushed deep into its spine. at the end of those strings, denning dangles.

denning has always dangled. swaying like willow-branches, swaying to the tick of a master metronome; no step out of beat, no note out of order, ever at the end of greater strings, greater things. it has only never looked like dangling because the puppetmaster always knew where, how, when to direct it.

it is dangling, now, readily apparent, head lolling, arms limp, legs bending oddly as it is dragged along the floor. paint chips and peels against imperfections in the aged marble floors. the marionette suffers for its disuse, misuse, doesn’t it?

the marionette, the puppet, the ventriloquist's plaything. isn’t it?

but they dance. even though they do not understand, even though they do not see the point. even when it lies so wholly outside of function that their paint chips and their limbs wear. they hear the music, they see the movement, they mimic, follow, as always.

it will pause, inevitably. but it will start again.

it must start again.

[wienners]

"dude its not that embarassing to rewatch some creepypasta stuff you liked as a teenager" the character i imprinted on like a baby duck at 16 was a demon from new jersey that acts like the humanization of every offspring song and canonically listens to scissor sisters. His favorite color is purple and his favorite pokemon is gengar. He leaves people notes with emojis on them. He acts like a beetlejuice scare actor at halloween horror nights. His catchphrase is "feeling sassy?" Hes (allegedly) worked with every war criminal throughout history and been every serial killer. even the gay ones. he ate a baby. his animal motif is a rabbit. hes kind of based off donnie darko. he talks to his cats in a baby voice. he wears a white fedora that makes every video he wears it in feel dated by like 7 years. hes 5'3. he hacked a girls tumblr blog. he added a laugh track over a video of him killing people. he named a chainsaw rex. he torments people by playing frank sinatra at them. his name comes from an animal collective song. theres a canon blog entry where he makes the speakers blare rob zombie before he enters a room, then holds a guy at gunpoint to describe what he did to to him while "making sure to leave in all the cool parts". Hes like ten tumblr sexymen traits rolled into one. His actor has gone on record saying heath ledgers joker inspired his acting choices. Sometimes his voice gets distorted and it makes him sound like bill ciphers first year on HRT. Hes basically like my artistic muse. For some fucking reason i associate the song cake by the ocean with him. I unfortunately really need him carnally. I firmly believe that if everymanhybrid didn't require a masters degree in creepypasta autism to comprehend, he would've caused more teenage stabbings than the slenderman incident and more kin war tumblr scenarios than nagito komaeda.

[alana-celeste-luna]

I announce this year's Inktober!

The #Mortober!

Based on analog horror series and ARG's And YOU can do it too!

Mortober will be my first contest! I will evaluate creativity, not your technique Winner gets a full rendered draw of whatever they want Have fun~

[sci-firenegade]

Look at them!

[zurxmxru]

Sometimes a girl needs a little bit of J-pop from a seiyuu she likes to keep her going <33

[queensgarde]

Thinking about it again and I really do wish there had been more tension between Crow and your Guardian after he regains Uldren’s memories. You get that one angry line afterwards (“Now I know the man I was… and you. You…”) but then he’s over it?

I know he takes off to get some space and try to come to terms with everything (as below) but it feels kinda risk-free, I guess, because that’s the last you hear of it. it isn’t really mentioned again.

I don’t know. I just think it would have been nice to have some more tension and build-up before he tells the Guardian that he understands and forgives them.

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part nine)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope, slowest, slow burn I swear, a few swears in this one) Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight.

The click of the lock – unsure how your ears even picked up on it at all with the ghost of the alarm still screeching around your skull – makes your stomach churn as Leon heads out into the garage, off to face the unknown.

What if it’s one of those… those Lickers, stalking around the house, waiting to wrap him up in one those awful tongues, fling his body from side to side?

Fuck, your chest feels impossibly tight, like there isn’t even space in there to take a deep enough breath. You squeeze your eyes shut, sitting upright on the sofa, forcing yourself to count - in, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold out… If those things are out there, you try and placate – your breathing steadier than it was but heart still pounding furiously - Leon can handle it. He’d said so himself that he had a lot of experience so that must count for something, otherwise he'd more cautious and less cocky when he’d strode out the door.

He is coming back – you repeat it in your head like a prayer, maybe if you say it enough times it’ll make it true.

You two had been about to kiss. He needs to come back.

--

Leon heads straight to the trunk of the SUV to rummage through the duffel bag that he’d stored there the previous day. You’d been polite enough not to remark on why it had been accompanying him to the bathroom and out on his perimeter checks, but it could only go on so long without being commented upon. It seemed a good compromise to leave it locked in the trunk, whilst still having enough on his person to get by. He helps himself to a couple more rounds, two flash grenades and two straight up grenades, though he sincerely hopes he won’t be dealing any of those out so close to the house. Attaching everything to his utility belt, he takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. His heartrate is elevated, adrenaline pulsing through his veins from a combination of the alarm, what might be waiting for him behind the garage doors… ..and the fact that he was a millisecond away from kissing you.

Need to address that later.

He won’t have the chance to if he doesn’t get his head on straight, though. He checks his ammo one last time, clicks the safety off and undoes the padlock on the garage door, lifting it up so fast it bounces off its hinges as he tucks himself to the side, preparing for an ambush.

Nothing but a strong gust of wind.

He walks forward, slowly, gun raised, and sidesteps out, keeping his back pressed against the outer wall. It’s a fraction different being in a rural setting, surrounded by fields than it is to be in the depths of an underground facility, not worrying about being so exposed. No-one else here to have his back, so this’ll have to do.

He edges around slowly, trying to keep his ears peeled for any movement above the wind – a heavy footstep, maybe a tile slipping from the roof – but there’s nothing but the rustle of the trees as the wind wooshes through. He keeps his eyes flickering between the horizon, the sky and the ground for any evidence that there was someone or something close enough that would trigger the motion detectors, but nothing is to be found.

Leon circles the perimeter two more times before retreating back into the garage and viewing the footage, trying to pinpoint the exact alarm that was triggered, though it doesn’t seem to be obvious. There’s nothing at all to be seen as he thoroughly watches each of the feeds, checking that there wasn’t some dark flash in the corner of one of something or someone retreating out of shot, but it all comes up blank.

Maybe the alarm was divine intervention, he muses, pulling the garage door back down and securing the padlock. He really shouldn’t be kissing the witness, should he?

His phone rings – Hunnigan. Of course, she’ll be keen for an update.

“Hi. Look, I haven’t forgotten,” he starts, hoping to deflect from a lecture. “Dove’s just got up, so-“

“Great.” Though she doesn’t sound sincere. “Patch me through to your laptop, we can have a video call and I can ask her myself.”

“Oh. Er…” He hesitates, trying to drum up an excuse. “Surely you’ve got a lot of other pressing matters on your plate than this. I’ll ask her now and then I’ll email through the intel, if there’s any.”

“Leon,” her tone is stern, “may I remind you that I’m the handler of this case and it is my right to speak to Dove if I want.” There’s a pause and Leon realizes a moment too late that that was his moment to placate her. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, of course not!” He sighs, frustration creeping into his voice. He knows it’s not professional, that he needs to keep his emotions in check, but it’s all starting to bubble over with the accusation. He can’t just waltz back in the living room, declare the perimeter is clear, shrug off the near-kiss and shove you on a video call with Hunnigan – it’d be emotional whiplash.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not hiding anything from you, you know me better than that. I just… I haven’t had chance to give Dove the last update yet, and I don’t want her to know about the CCTV hack.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think she needs to know.” “You don’t thi…? Agent Kennedy,” he knows he’s in trouble now – he can picture her rubbing her temples as she thinks how to handle this. “You’re aware I was the one who chose you for this assignment, and I can quite easily choose another agent and reassign you if you refuse to co-operate with myself and HQ.” “I am co-operating! And you know what, Hunnigan? You should trust me. I’ve never given you any reason to doubt that.” He huffs back. “I’ve been where Dove is, okay? She’s still shaken up, she’s fragile. I’ll tell her what she absolutely needs to know, but I don’t want to tell her things that will just pointlessly scare her.” “Oh, come on, you don’t want to scare her? You’ve been in that house barely 36 hours together and you sound like an overprotective boyfriend.” “I don’t.” He near enough growls at the accusation.

“You do – you’ve never made me chase you so much to get information from previous witnesses. Why do you care about her so much?”

“No, hold up - those fucks were not witnesses. All they cared about was avoiding Umbrella’s wrath, not wanting to fall victim to the fucking monstrosities they helped create. Dove was just trying to do her job, to try and keep the public safe – like we are – and look where it got her. She’s injured, in pain, locked up in the middle of nowhere, worried about being suspected of being involved, we just had the security alarm go off and-“

“Wait. Alarm?” He’s used to her typing whilst he’s on the phone, but this time it sounds a little more frantic. “What alarm?”

He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine. I’ve just checked. Nothing to suggest anyone or anything’s been close. Must’ve been the wind – pretty gusty here today.”

“No, it’s just…” She trails off and Leon can hear her attack the backspace key. “We have it set so FSOs are alerted when an alarm system at any of the safe houses trigger. When did this happen?”

“About 30, maybe 40 minutes ago?  I’ve done the perimeter four times, it’s clear. I’ll review the footage when I’m back inside.”

The typing ceases. “There’s nothing in any of the logs.”

“That a problem?”

“It’s set up to trigger a notification so we can get in touch with whoever we have out on security detail and check in. I should’ve got something.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as if she could see, “maybe it’s glitched.”

“Maybe…” She trails off, scanning the information on the screen once more. “Okay, fine – a compromise. Go and speak to Dove, quickly tell her what you want to tell her and then video call me on the laptop so I can ask about the servers.”

“And you won’t tell her about the CCTV?”

Hunnigan sighs. “No, I won’t tell her about the CCTV. 10 minutes, understood, Agent Kennedy?”

He takes another deep breath, he’s mad at himself, irritated with the situation and the fact he’s on thin ice after that outburst, that’s for sure.

“Yes, ma’am.”

--

The garage door unlocks and you jump to your feet, bracing yourself. There’s no denying the relief when you see Leon step back in, physically unharmed. You want to run over, to embrace him, but you stay glued to the spot.

“All clear, Dove. False alarm.” He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile but he can’t quite commit, quickly turning to lock the door behind him.

“Really?” You don’t mean to sound quite so skeptical.

“Mm-hm. I think the wind must’ve just hit the sensor a certain way.” He turns back, but doesn’t make to step forward. “Sorry I was gone a while – wanted to be thorough, you know? And then Hunnigan called just as I was going to come back in.”

“Oh, with updates?” You don’t know what you’d like to hear.

“Kinda.” He hesitates for a moment before moving towards the kitchen. “Sit down – I’ll grab some water, okay?”

He clocks the panicked look on your face, even more so than it was when he’d left the room. Good going, Kennedy. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Okay. Sure.” You mumble, sitting back down heavily on the couch and picking a spot on the coffee table to stare at as you hear him busy himself in the kitchen. He appears a few moments later, a glass of water in each hand and his laptop tucked under his arm. He places one glass down carefully in front of you and moves to sit on the other couch.

The distance feels too great for a man you swore was a millisecond away from kissing you not even an hour ago. Are there CCTV cameras in the house? Maybe Hunnigan had seen what was about to happen before the alarm had gone off and Leon’s getting reassigned. If he can’t know your real name, he really shouldn’t be kissing you either, should he?

“So, first of all,” your attention snaps back to agent. He’s opened his laptop up, placed it on the coffee table, and sat right on the very edge of the other sofa that it doesn’t look like it could be comfortable, “the President wanted the surveillance department back up and running as soon as possible. A lot of manpower has been dispersed to assist.”

“That makes sense - national security and that.” You wonder if they’re in the same office, sat in your colleagues’ chairs. Did they just… steam clean the carpets to get out the blood? Rip them out entirely and lay down rugs to cover the concrete floor?

They should burn the whole building down to the ground.

“In a way, but they are still working on tracking down the perpetrators of the attack. It also means that Hunnigan’s not been able to send a team to your place as yet.”

“So, I’m still a potential suspect?”

“Not to me.” He replies, firmly. “But I’m afraid it’s still something that needs done. In the meanwhile, er, she wants to know if you remember anything about the servers, specifically how they operated.”

You shake your head. “Not anything technical.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, just they’re struggling to regain access and, well…” He looks at you, sympathetically.

“I’m the only one left to ask.”

“Mm.” Leon looks down at the laptop then, a few taps and clicks as he seems to set something up. “Hunnigan would like to talk with you – pretty urgently – so I said we’d call after I’ve given you the updates. You ready?”

Leon spins round the laptop before you even had chance to respond, an outward call already ringing, the camera on and showing your rather surprised expression in a box to the right of the screen. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he hung up with Hunnigan – he’d wasted a few precious minutes putting the grenades and ammo back in the duffel bag in the SUV.

“Dove,” Hunnigan’s voice comes through the speakers first before her video appears on the screen. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. Thank you.” You shuffle in your seat as Leon gets up and circles round to the back of the sofa you’re sat on, crouching down to check the angle. “How are you?”

“Good - thank you for asking.” There’s an awkward pause, you can see her purse her lips before she pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose before continuing. “Agent Kennedy, you are not required for this call.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He can’t help himself still, apparently. “I’ll go just shower, then, if I’m not required.”

“Good idea,” Hunnigan bites back. “Go cool off.”

You shift slightly in your seat, not sure how to deal with the tension between the two. What had been said in that call? In the little box to the right hand of the screen, you can see Leon raise a hand, almost as if he was going to reach out to squeeze your shoulder. Instead he drops his hand into a fist, bounces it off the back of the couch twice and strides out of shot towards the bathroom.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Dove - the servers.” Hunnigan’s tone has changed – lighter, now she’s talking to you, and she’s typing along with every word. “What can you tell me about them?”

“Erm… Just everything that I told Leon for his report already, I think. All the active cases are stored on there – it distributes them randomly to operatives every morning via the terminals. I already have some pre-allocated when I log in – it must do them at some point in the night.”

“And the end of the day?”

You shake your head. “Nothing particularly different at the end of the day that we need to do. It saves periodically on the server as you update cases. Nothing’s saved on the terminals themselves – it would be a security risk.”

“And did they ever talk about the security embedded into the server itself?”

You hear the shower switch on from the bathroom, wonder if Leon will be using the same shampoo and conditioner… “Dove?” “Er, no. Not that I can recall being told.”

“I mentioned there was a breach on the database when we first met.”

“Yeah.” You swallow around the lump in your throat, wondering what she’s about to reveal. “Did they extract all the information, then?”

“They got nothing.” She sounds disappointed.  

“But that’s good, isn’t it? It’s a lot of information, personal information too. You wouldn’t want that getting out into the wrong hands.”

“Mm, not entirely. The server wiped itself in result of the attempt.”

That doesn’t sound right. “Wiped itself?”

“Apparently”, she sounds skeptical. “it’s protocol.”

“No. I mean…” You shuffle in your seat, trying to think ahead of each word before you say it. “I honestly don’t know what it was meant to do in that scenario, but it doesn’t seem right that they’d set it up to wipe without any sort of recovery method, or a separate back-up in the event of a hack or a breach.”

“We’re of the same opinion, then.” She nods, a satisfied smile on her lips. “But I’m curious as to why you’re so sure.”

“Because some of the surveillance has been going on for months, occasionally even a year before enough intel is gathered to be escalated.” Sometimes you’d had to scroll through pages and pages of notes to get yourself up to speed before you even started analyzing the most recent intel.

“What do you mean by escalated?”

“Well, the surveillance team doesn’t act on anything – we’re just collating it as evidence for action then to be taken if deemed appropriate.”

“Do you decide that?”

“I don’t have the final say in it, but I write advisories.”

“How so?”

“Erm, like, this one was flagged up erroneously so it should be closed. This one is of interest, but not enough to act on, ongoing surveillance required. And then any more than that, I flag for review for the senior analysts.”

The shower shuts off.

“And they worked in the same building.”

 Worked.

“Yes.” You press past the thought. “I don’t see why they would risk losing everything without some sort of failsafe – it would set the whole operation back to day zero.”

“Indeed, as that’s where we are now. They don’t even know where to start.” Hunnigan sighs and leans forward, rubbing temples with one hand.

“If you’re cleared of suspicion of the attack and breach, how do you feel about leading the division?”

“If?” You can’t help but bristle at that, the fact that she’d put the two things in the one sentence. Were you meant to be flattered at the offer?

“Yes – if.”

“I told you, this isn’t anything to do with me. I… I passed all my security checks at interview, we get vetted monthly without fail! If there had any doubt about my loyalties I would’ve been off the team and in custody immediately.”

“No need to get defensive, Dove. You have to understand where I’m coming from.”

“No, I don’t understand.” Tears burn at your eyes, though you’re determined not to let them fall. “I don’t understand how you think I could possibly have anything to do with what happened, that somehow I acquired those… those Lickers and let them, let them…” Your breath catches in your throat, the memories overwhelming you.

The bathroom door opens, but you don’t turn, eyes fixed on the screen. “Surely you have to agree it’s suspicious that you, out of all of those people, were the only one to survive, and yet with so little injury too.”

“Hunni-“

“I don’t know!” You retort, cutting across Leon’s warning to the agent. “I don’t know why they didn’t kill me. I don’t know why they didn’t bite my head off, rip me apart limb from limb, but… but I wish they had.”

“Dove,” Leon’s voice is soft, now directed towards you rather than the laptop screen, “you don’t mean that.”

“Noted.” Hunnigan’s tone is icy. “Thank you for your time.”

There’s a beep and the call disconnects.

You get to your feet, keep your head down, trying to make a beeline for the bedroom – it’s the only place you can go – but Leon steps in front of you, holding his hands up in front of him, as if he’s afraid to touch you, smelling sweet from the strawberry bodywash.

“Hey, look at me.”

“I’m tired, Leon.” You are, truly – suddenly and inexplicably feeling exhausted. Pathetic.

“Please.”

You look up then, defeated – you’re going to have to look up eventually - but there’s no tears in your eyes. His hair is damp and he’d dressed in a hurry, patches of his white t-shirt going translucent. “What?”

“I know it’s difficult right now – and I’m not just saying that, trust me, I’ve had that feeling when you’re the only one left and you don’t know why – but please don’t say things like that.”

You stare at him, but you don’t know what he wants you to say. “Sorry.”

“No, Dove,” he sounds exasperated, “I don’t me-“

“I really am tired.”

And he believes you. He wants to wrap you in his arms, pull you close to his chest, whisper promises in your ear, press kisses to your crown – anything to bring a spark back into your eyes than the look of defeat.

What had Hunnigan said?

“No, of course. You’re recovering.” He steps aside, leaves a clear path to your bedroom. “Go have a nap or just a rest – whatever you need. I’ll make us lunch when you’re up.”

You nod, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door behind you with a click and near enough collapse into the bed, mindful of your arm, muffling sobs into the pillow.

 --

“Why do you care about her so much?”

The words ring around Leon’s head as he lays on the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling. It’s been over an hour and a half since you retreated into the bedroom, an hour or so since he last heard a muffled sob behind the door. He’d had to stop himself dialing Hunnigan’s number to find out what happened – tensions were too high. Why does he care so much? You’re beautiful, sure – always been a sucker for a pretty girl and that’s got him in trouble in the past – but it’s more than that, far more.

Maybe… maybe he cares so much because he’s never really had the chance to care for someone like this. He’s not had any sort of real relationship since before Raccoon City, one night stands here and there, but nothing of any domestic substance. You’re not entirely reliant on him, but it’s those things you’d do for a partner when they’re having a rough time. He could’ve been obtuse and unhelpful, watched you struggle in a foreign environment, but that’s never been his style – the wide-eyed, rookie cop who just wanted to help was still in there.

But what was he thinking earlier, nearly kissing you? You’re vulnerable, a prisoner almost, under his watch. He shouldn’t be doing that. It’s too much of a pressured environment, emotions and tempers are high – as the blow-out with Hunnigan had made abundantly clear.

He rolls to his side, cursing the world. Why couldn’t he have met you anywhere else?

--

You wake up, disorientated at first as to why it’s so dark. You’d retreated back into bed just before midday, surely Leon would’ve woken you for your medication at least. You sit up, allowing your eyes to adjust before hauling yourself out from under the warm covers and tentatively open the door, unsure of what the hour may be.

The living room is empty, an abandoned pillow and blanket on the sofa – Leon must be out on a perimeter check – but the garage door is ever so slightly ajar.

Leon’s never done that, even when he went out to search for a chair he’d got through the same routine and locked it up tight behind him. Maybe he’s grabbing something from the SUV and with you being in bed hadn’t felt it necessary to follow his usual routine?

“Leon?” You call out, cautiously.

There’s no response.

You walk slowly over to the door, trying to steady the building panic in your stomach, and peek through.

The garage light is on. The SUV is still in place, the garage door shuttered down and Leon is on his side, his back facing towards you, almost in a crescent shape so you can’t see his head, and the garage floor is smeared in blood. His blood.

You retreat like a coward – you should go forward, check for a pulse, see if you can do anything to help, but the panic is overwhelming. You make it only a good four or five steps when there’s that horrible, unhuman sound at the same time as something wet wraps around your ankle and yanks you down hard.

A tongue.

It’s one of those things’ tongues.

You scream, try and grab purchase on the carpet, your nails ripping up fibres but it’s not enough. You kick back wildly with your other leg, all terror and no substance, but the tongue begins to retract, yanking you along with it, the carpet burning against your knees as it drags you back into the garage.

You turn to look over your shoulder, tears burning your eyes, as the monstrosity waits on the hood of the SUV, dragging you to rest besides Leon’s lifeless body.

Lifeless and headless.

You scream.

There’s a bang – not of a gunshot, but of a door hitting the wall - and you’re up right in bed, heart pounding furiously against your ribcage, hard, shallow breaths but there’s no oxygen reaching the bottom of your lungs.

“Dove?”

--

The scream had come from your room and Leon can’t remember getting from the sofa to the door he’d moved that fast, throwing it open with such ferocity that it had banged against the wall, the handle leaving a hole in the plasterboard. He had his gun raised, cursing himself already for leaving you alone, only to find the room empty of intruders and you sat up in the bed, tears streaming down your cheeks, staring blankly into the space and breathing so hard it was as if you’d been sprinting.

He holsters his gun – safety clicked back on – and is by your side, crouched down, hand on your covered legs in moments.

“Dove?” He asks, softly.

You look at him, eyes wide in alarm, panting, before you grab his hand, squeezing his fingers in the hopes of reassurance, not quite believing you’re awake. “You’re… You’re okay.”

“Me?” He raises an eyebrow.

You nod. “You were… They were… I…” You swallow back down a sob.

“Hey, it’s all right. It must’ve been a bad dream.”

“It had got you, you were… You were dead.”

You squeeze his fingers again before letting go, trying to steady your breaths. “It felt so real.”

“I know.” He wasn’t a stranger to having such dreams, despite how many years had gone by. “But it wasn’t. I’m fine, see? Not a scratch or bruise on me.”

You nod again, shakily.

He gets to his feet. “Let me get you some water, hm?”

You wrap your fingers around his wrist then. It’s not a strong grip, he could pull out of it easily, but it’s enough to still him.

“Can you stay?” You’re not looking at him, eyes fixed on a random spot of the duvet.

“I’ll only be gone a moment, just to the kitchen and back.”

Your grip tightens a little around his wrist. “Please.”

“Okay.” How could he ever say no?

You shuffle along in the bed then, making space wordlessly.

“Are you sure?”

There’s only a slight tug on his wrist before he clambers carefully onto the bed – boots and all – lying back against one of the pillows and you shuffle to lean into his side, leaving a little space. He wraps his left arm around you without thought, pulls you in closer so your head is laying on his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He begins to rub his palm on your lower back in soothing circles – mindful not to go higher with the bruising. He can feel the rate at which your heart is pounding.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Can we just…?” You squeeze your eyes closed tight. “Can we just stay like this in silence for a bit? Please.”

“Of course – anything you need.”

You keep your eyes closed, trying to focus on touch to calm your heartbeat - relishing the warmth of his chest on your cheek, his palm on your back and the sound of his steady heartbeat. It doesn’t take long for you to relax again in his embrace, another wave of exhaustion rolling over you from the shock.

“Dove?” He asks gently, cautiously when you’re on the precipice of sleep.

You don’t reply, the effort too great.

“What are we gonna do, huh?” He whispers, giving you a light squeeze.

You feel him press a long kiss to your crown.

--

He’s just extinguished a cigarette, but he already needs another as his associate makes a beeline across the office, a shit-eating grin on his face. Fucker shouldn’t look so happy. He bangs the packet on the table to retrieve another, lighting it and taking a deep drag as a single printed page is laid before him. He looks down – a list of addresses divided into columns that mean absolutely nothing. “What’s this shit?”

“Addresses.” His companion answers, tapping the paper enthusiastically with his every word. “But, more importantly, a list of DSO assets. As you’ll see, there are quite a few of them, all dotted around the States.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, waiting for him to continue. “And I happen to know some of these are designated safe houses - equipped with state-of-the-art alarm and surveillance systems.”

“Right. Do you have a point?”

“Getting there. Alarm systems are all connected to the central hub, so yours truly worked his magic and set all active alarms on the system to trigger at the same time.”

“And why should I care?”

“You should care because only one alarm triggered, suggesting there’s only one in use.” His companion dips his hand in his pocket, pulling out another sheet of paper and a pen. He places it down besides the list of addresses to reveal a grainy CCTV still of a figure and proceeds to pull the cap off the pen off with his teeth, spitting it out on the table and circles an address.

“And that means…?” “That means…” He draws a circle around the grainy image of you laying at the bottom a stairwell, “I know where she is.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[casuallyanidiot]

part 2 of yandere model please 🥺🙏

Tw. For mentions of sex, dubcon, and surveilance

Yandere model, known as Caspian to his fans and most of the modeling world, has been keeping you locked up in his luxury penthouse for god only knows how many days.

It wasn't too bad, in all honesty. Besides the whole being locked up part, you had free reign of his house, and even access to the internet. Though, it was heavily monitored and restricted as you quickly found out after you attempted to log into a social media account to ask for help. Caspian had sent a barrage of messages, the computer crashed, and you weren't allowed to leave your room for two or three days after that.

Something you noticed was the cameras that were set up in every crook and corner that you could possibly think of. You felt a coil of anxiety whenever you caught sight of a blinking light in the corner of your eye. It was even worse when you realized that there were at least five separate little lenses in the bathroom. You shuddered to think of what exactly he used the footage for. He would come to you everyday after work and tell you all about the shows, auditions, and meetings he attended with a small smile.

"I saw you ate that new flavor of yogurt I got you! Good job, honey. It's healthier for you than that old slop you used to have in your fridge," He laughed and stroked your hair as the two of you lounged in bed. "Oh, and I love that pair of panties on you. Can I see them? They looked so cute when I saw them on screen," He chuckled and kissed your cheek, his fingers playing with the loose elastic waistband of your sweatpants.

He was such a creep.

Another thing you came across was the fact that you never realized how much Caspian credited you for his career before this whole ordeal either. He had basically given you a bit of homework to do.

"Every day while I'm out, you need to watch at least three clips of me on the runway," He instructed, much to your confusion. It was just so odd of a request to make to what was essentially a captive. "I'll know if you haven't," He added quickly, an odd, giddy lilt filling his words. It was like he was excited to cause you discomfort, to know that you felt anything for him at all.

You watched him on screen daily. You studied his poses, his gait, and his facial features out of sheer boredom. When he would come home, Caspian would snuggle into your arms and chatter excitedly about the shows and commercials you'd seen.

"What did you think of my poses for the jewelry brand? Hm? You know honey, I was thinking of how you'd look in all those pretty gems. That's how I got so into the role there...Oh! And see how I was strutting in this one? How angry I looked? That's me thinking of how mad I would be if you ever tried to leave me haha! You're my muse (y/n)!"

You tried not to think about it too hard. You tried not to linger on the fact that it was like every move he made was part of some elaborate, hidden worship of your love and relationship that he had conjured up from nearly the moment you met. It was like he couldn't do what he did if he didn't have you.

Maybe the worst part about living with Caspian, if you could even call it that, was that he pretended like this was somehow normal. He bought you a slew of makeup products, all high quality and from luxury brands, and presented a basket of new products to you everyday.

"Here! For you to practice with!" He beamed and pushed another round of expensive goods that you could only dream of touching when you were a newer Makeup artist on the scene. You picked them up gingerly with narrowed eyes as if they would burn you if you held them too long. For Caspian, you doing makeup, either on him or yourself, was like a nostalgic, sweet callback to the first time the two of you met back at a less than respectable fashion show that the two of you had been paid pennies to work at.

At the time, the you were so fresh faced and eager to get any gigs you could. Maybe if you hadn't been so career hungry, you could've maybe questioned why you were being booked to high end events all of a sudden. Maybe you could've stepped back and noticed his hungry eyes on you, or the fact that you never seemed to get any jobs without him. That's why you knew he didn't actually care about your happiness.

If he cared, he wouldn't be chasing your admiration, approval and affection all while gifting you what was essentially a slap in the face.

Your job, your life, your individuality wasn't as important to him as owning you was, and you felt that every time you applied lipstick to his perfectly shaped mouth. He shuddered under your touch, and you always kept your gaze even. To him, everything you had done before he had pinned you down, kissed you, and knocked you out backstage at a show was just him allowing you to play and pretend at being free. At being successful. At ever being without him.

The realest you that you could be, according to Caspian, was in his lap, in his home, lavishing over his face exactly as you had when you first met.

[thedarkmistress16]

Stalker!Yandere!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader- To Steal and Dote On (Internet stalking, Collecting personal information without consent, Using personal information without consent, This billionaire has resources and he's going to use them, Breaking and entering, Theoretical threats of kidnapping and violence, Invading Reader's privacy without consent, Tony has Reader brainrot already)

Chapter 1 |

Chapter 2: Forget You (Not)

——————————————————————————————————

Only, Tony wasn’t able to shake off the thought of you at all. If anything, you took up his primary focus throughout his day.

A part of him did genuinely forget the party last night as he sat in mind-numbing meetings back-to-back, only attending them now due to his irate assistant chewing him out over it. She practically pushed the billionaire out of the kitchen before coffee even greeted his body, yapping his ear off over technicalities and investors he couldn't care less about. Even though Tony was itching to poke at her in this state, to mention his admiration for how her red hair looked like glowing fire spouting from a dragon when she got like this, he got the strong sense that she would quit if he missed another business meeting.

But he was incredibly bored and disinterested, and you kept plaguing his thoughts with more questions that got his brain desperately intrigued. He couldn’t even distract himself with anything else because none of it was as gear-turning as to the mystery of you.

Your confusion, your… disinterest? Never had he encountered someone who wasn’t there for him specifically, or seemed to have no interest in who he was.

And the fact you just… sat there. It was so out of place, like a nagging flaw in a blueprint he couldn't put his finger on.

Why were you there, if you didn’t care about Tony Stark?

Who were you?

That train of thought led to the male instructing his A.I. to scanning your facial profile from the security cameras of his tower right after he was finally free from the drudgery of business— contently settled into his lab with a fresh batch of coffee. Luckily, the feed from last night got a good look at you. It was a better view than the tipsy haze of his memory, he noted. The mostly-clear footage of your face allowed the system to swiftly correlate your likeness to other documented matches— a pool of candidates was completed in the time it took for him to take a long swig that burned his tongue and throat.

What came up was a compiled list of look-alikes that Tony had to manually rifle through in the hopes that one of them would be you and mentally grumbled to himself that you looked like too many people.

Tony grew more irked by the second up until the last result, which was your red carpet picture in front of his building. Tracking the source, he was led to a tabloids website and found that even the photographers had no idea who you were. Your picture was simply sourced as “guests attending a Stark party,” not counting the other woman with you in the image.

He realized that the whole thing was a waste of time. This is why he didn’t do the menial work himself: it was tedious and boring and he had nothing to show for it. Not even a name. You literally didn’t exist on any social media or content platform besides a useless picture just floating there on the internet.

Tony shot up from his chair to pace. He ran his hands through his hair, furiously muttering to himself.

“No social presence? No footprint— no… nothing?”

That’s…really smart, actually.

He hates it. And he hates to admit it, but…

But a small part of him respects you for it, too.

His head whipped back to the monitor glowing before him, patiently idling for a new order. Narrowing his eyes, the man marched back over to the console, furiously typing in a similar command. The process would take longer than he would like, but he was sure he would get his match.

“Who are you, sweetheart?” Tony mused distractedly to the image of your face on one of his monitors, hoping to find a sliver of treasure amidst a sea of coal.

——————————————————————————————————

Entering the lobby of your workplace was as it always is: white tile textured with marbling stains, wood paneling hugging the walls, a white and gray reception desk overlooking the room. Folks came and went from your line of vision, entering and disappearing into elevators and corridors, the leftover sounds of their jabbering following close behind them in the air. Many workers held various brews of caffeine or small breakfast items as they passed by, which had your stomach growling despite already filling it before you left your apartment.

It takes you a more than the typical few minutes to get to your work floor, the elevator being unusually popular for a Monday. You ponder over it to pass the time as you stand there, entertaining the thought of someone important stopping by. When the elevator dings for your stop, you step out and shuffling over to your desk, providing a couple “hellos” and “good mornings” to the associates that greet you along the way. Settling down into your office chair, you boot up your computer as you place and arrange the belongings you fish out from your purse.

You look around the drab space as you wait for the desktop to appear so you can clock in. Your friend and coworker doesn’t seem to be here yet. You contemplate what (Friend Name) got up into last night, if that is her reason for running late. Or rather, who she got with. You laugh to yourself as you drag your mouse over to bring up the company time clock, setting a mental reminder to ask her later when she shows up.

You click open the app used for business emails and you sigh softly at the unreads, sucking in a breath and sitting straighter.

Back to work as usual.

——————————————————————————————————

It was quite some time later before (Friend Name) bounded into the office with a pep in her step. And despite prodding her with your curiosity, she was determined to only reveal anything at lunchtime, which was a couple hours away. She also wanted to discuss it inside the building today instead of the cafe, which caused you to raise a brow. She waved you off and you had shrugged. You tried to focus back on your work, but the suspense of her answer kept eating at you until then, where you realized you didn’t get much done at all.

Now, you were both seated in one corner of the break room, had your meals and drinks pulled out, and were ready to dig in. Your brain, however, couldn’t help but bring up the topic the moment you uncapped your takeaway salad and raised your plastic fork.

“How’d your night go? Did you have fun?” You question good-naturedly before shoveling some greens into your mouth.

“Yeah,” She sighs, unwrapping a granola bar. “But I didn’t stay the night.”

You pause, utensil and speared salad pieces hovering in mid-air, as you turn your head to look at her properly. She munches on the bar of oats sprinkled with fruit and nuts for a moment, catching stray crumbs at the corners of her lips and licking them off before elaborating. “Something came up and he had to take care of it, so we called it a night.” She pauses, looking at her snack thoughtfully and clearly reminiscing. “He was sorry enough to drop me off, though.”

“Oh,” you breathe, resuming the bite of your food and chewing it on one side of your mouth. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, it was.” (Friend Name) trails off, releasing a dejected sigh. “So,” her mood shifts as she throws her hair over her shoulders and leans in toward you with vibrant green eyes sparkling of curiosity. “What did you get up to last night? Meet anyone interesting~?” You nervously smile at the sudden attention and shift in the topic, an awkward blush painting your face. You take a sip of your drink and clear your throat to gather your thoughts.

“No one special,” you shrug casually, collecting more lunch on your fork, “just some guy who was full of himself and calling me sweetheart.” There wasn't much to tell concerning the details, anyway.

Her nose wrinkles in distaste, responding with an “ew, gross.” You heartily laugh at her reaction as she shudders. She was never one for pet names like that— it reminds you of one person she dated, who never called her by her name and insisted on nicknames like that. Her features relax back into an easy smile, turning her attention back eating. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t get your number, then.”

As you look down at your lunch, a soft chuckle escapes you as you shake your head in agreement.

“Yeah, definitely not.”

——————————————————————————————————

Finally— finally— he struck gold.

Documented records of the institutions you attended in your life: really just schools and appointments, but it was something. Your yearbook photos helped, too. Only the newest information mattered, however, so he only took note of your most recent forms of contact to date.

It took a lot of outside the box thinking to get there, but that was what Tony Stark did best. He hopes you'll appreciate all the effort he took to go after you when you find yourself in his presence once more, enjoying his company and what his bed has to offer.

But first things first.

He rings up your number, already mouthing what he will say when he hears your voice. He’s more excited than he should be, but can’t find it in himself to care.

It keeps ringing.

He closes his eyes, imagining your expression when you find out it’s him— your lips curving into a smile as you start to say his name—

He gets the voicemail lady instead.

Confused, he sits there for a moment in silence before he tries again.

He’s greeted with a single ring before the same script plays. Did your phone die? Was it powered off? What was happening?

Furrowing his brows, Tony instructs his A.I. to deliver a message.

He compiles something short and flirty, just aiming to get your attention and to reel you in a bit. He sends it off, and almost immediately, the sophisticated, deadpan male voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him that the message wasn't sent.

Okay.

You either blocked his number or your phone is off. Or it just sucks at texting for some reason.

The male purses his lips in thought. He needs to try a different approach, he supposed.

Going back to square one, Tony finds a piece of information that causes a playful smirk to slowly grow upon his face.

Well, he always did like a challenge.

——————————————————————————————————

“Something special just for you, (Name). —Your knight in rose-gold armor❤️💛”

That’s all the italicized note said.

The fancy slip of cardstock that was attached to the package on the floor wrapped in cellophane.

The gift sitting innocently in front of your apartment door when you arrived home from work.

Inspecting it as you bring it inside, the more confused and skeptical you get.

This…

You flipped the box over multiple times in the vain hope of finding a different answer or something new to go off of. It yielded nothing substantial, other than the fact that this was likely delivered to you from some kind of store that gift-wraps their products. Exactly who ordered this in the first place, however, is something you can’t determine. A sender’s address is nonexistent.

If this really was for you, then…

It was completely wrong.

Whoever sent this to you had no idea who you were because the assortment of chocolates had multiple flavors you didn’t care for, and would render the whole box a waste under your possession. There was only one specialty kind that you were willing to try, and even then it was filled with extra tastes that you didn’t really care for in your sweets.

You squinted at the packaging, trying to file through your memories, but you had never heard of this brand in your life.

Thankfully, the box did contain the reliable milk chocolate flavor, as well as darker coco and lighter milk and sugar versions as standalones. So, you figured, it would be a safe bet to sample that one first to see if their base for chocolate recipes were passable.

You hesitantly brought the confection to your lips and let it hover there, now wondering what kind of razor blades or poisonous concoctions were stuffed into this thing. But if someone wanted you dead, why would they make it this elaborate? Wouldn’t there have been some tell of any tampering before you opened it? Feeling ridiculous over your own thoughts, you bite the bullet. Pinching your eyes shut, you threw the piece of chocolate into your mouth.

You bit down, felt a more gooey substance ooze its way onto your tongue, and widened your eyes when the flavor hit you.

You immediately spat the thing out in the garbage can and raced over to your fridge for a palette cleanser. Snatching the first jug you saw, you drank directly from the container and realized too late that it was an acidic juice you picked out.

It paired worse than wine would, surely.

After most of the vile concoction was washed away from your taste buds, you smacked your lips and tried to process the lingering aftertaste.

Glaring at the offending box of chocolates, you took no time in propelling it towards the same bin where it belonged.

Forget figuring out where that came from.

You wouldn’t even give that to your worst enemy.

——————————————————————————————————

“You’ll thank me for this later, hun.” Tony mused to himself as he balanced the handle of a screwdriver in his mouth, putting the finishing touches on the camera in your studio-sized living room. As much as Tony wanted to cover the whole area of the unit itself, he knew not to overdo any more than he really needed to.

The man had no idea if the luxury chocolates he ordered went over well, and was itching to find out sooner rather than later. The very next day on a sunny mid-afternoon with a toolbox in tow, Tony visited your side of the city in his iron suit. He landed on the roof of your apartment, leaving the armor there as he climbed down the fire escape until he reached your level. He found an almost-closed window and had his A.I. scan for any lifeforms inside before he pushed the creaky wooden frame up and crawled through. And then Tony— after making sure you weren’t in another room and about to catch him— happened to glance down into your kitchen trash can. That hurt his feelings of course, but it fueled him to win your favor just the same. He only needed to get a sense of how you lived and what you liked, so he could woo you better when he revealed himself.

He hoped a woman like you enjoyed a mystery, because his work as Iron Man simply didn’t allow him to date you properly as he would’ve preferred— and he was too interested to simply forget about you. Even if he did manage to talk to you, a public relationship would be a no-go; the paparazzi alone would have you running for the hills. So, if you wouldn’t entertain digital communication with him, then virtually keeping tabs on you as your secret genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero admirer would have to do.

That was all.

Not because you were so elusive that it was driving him up the wall and he needed some reassurance grounding him that— yes, you did exist— and weren’t evading him on purpose or forgot him entirely.

No— he assured himself as he adjusted the device above him, not at all.

Besides, he got into your apartment too easily. The area you lived in was unruly, at best. And you needed protection. You could be snatched up out of thin air with no one the wiser as to your dissappearance. This way, even if he isn’t physically there for you or watching it happen back in his tower, he can at least use the footage from the cameras to gather the clues necessary to track you. Flying in as Iron Man, he’ll make the perpetrator sorry he even existed— break every bone of his that so much as touched you, and be your hero. And your relationship will blossom from there. Tony was doing you both a service by installing his tech in your apartment, if anything.

But what you didn’t know won’t hurt you.

While he was a genius, and was confident that his level of intelligence surpassed yours, he had no clue how perceptive you actually were. Installing too many surveillance cameras in your home would pose a risk to the subtlety of the operation he was trying to maintain, despite his desire to map every corner of your unit. Besides, more evidence of his work meant a higher probability of being discovered. Which meant a bigger chance for the devices to be knocked out of place and exposed to you later down the line. Even accidentally, Tony couldn’t have that.

Wiping his calloused hands on his jeans, the male assessed his additions to your apartment, triple-checking their installations and positioning. After making small adjustments here and there and test driving the feeds with his Stark phone, he was all set.

Tony’s troubleshooting finished with the last camera in your bedroom— and as he looked up, his eyes flitted over towards the ajar door leading out of the area he was standing in. Leaning forward with a squint to his eyes to peek through the crack yielded a wider expanse of the drab and cracked white tile, a mirror protruding from the wall, and various products cluttering the countertop of a sink directly under the hanging glass.

He sucked in a breath before spinning on his heel and marching right the fuck out of your bedroom.

No— he thought to himself. He would not be doing that.

It was one line he refused to cross.

——————————————————————————————————

[beholdenning]

> denning, knight of seiros

[msookyspooky]

i would love to hear your thoughts on mickey alterti as a yandere cause he definitely would be one 🫶

OMFG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE 😩😭😏

♡ Mickey Being Obsessed With You ♡

Yandere Mickey x GN!Reader • Problematic af

- He saw you on campus and flirted with you regularly. You just laughed it off and soon he started mingling within your friend group.

- You didn't think much about it at first...But it was odd that everytime something 'bad' happened; he was there to offer you comfort and support

- When the Ghostface kills happened, he was the first one to tell you everything was okay and he wouldn't let anything happen to you

- When you found a body for the first time, he hugged you close to him and sshhed you that everything would be alright...How weird he didn't seem too distraught over seeing someone mangled...

- Soon people that slighted you were coming up missing and later found dead. Mutilated beyond recognition, actually. You always saw the way Mickey would glare at them. Absolute hatred towards anyone mean or rude to you...You just thought he was a good friend!

- But when your friends came up dead, this time, you started to freak out. Mickey talked to you in private after a good friend was attacked with a superficial wound. He told you, "...Why would the killer not kill them? Just be careful with them, YN."

- The police were suspecting you or someone in your inner circle. Mickey panicked when the police made you a suspect. You thought he was just THAT loyal that he believed you could never be the killer.

- Soon, your friend was found with evidence in their bag that they screamed wasn't there's. They were arrested and all you could do was accept your friend was the killer all along. You were devastated!

- You felt suspicious of Mickey just because his behavior was odd but with your friend being caught red handed; he was just a good guy! A bit cynical, dark humor, overbearing and overprotective but he wasn't a killer.

- Mickey was the only person you had left and he wanted you to have a movie night with him just to make sure you were okay.

- While at his place, he went to get snacks and you saw his camrecorder just sitting there...You smiled to yourself and snuck a peak. Thinking you'd see movie shots or his friends....Your face fell when you saw the footage.

- Every video was you. From far away a long time ago before you even talked to him clear up to present day. It was endless reel of you. You. You....You.

- You snuck out and ran as fast as you could. Terrified.

- You hid, trying to get to the police when a Ghostface appeared. Trying to grab you as you fought back. You fought with everything you had. Then you heard the voice. Confirming who the killer really was.

- "Don't make me hurt you, YN!" He peeled off the mask and looked at you like you were the only person in the world. "We're okay now. Especially with all those annoying people out of the way. Don't you see it!? We can be together now! It's okay...You can be with me now."

- He holds you captive from that point forward. Whispering sweet words to you in a soft voice while he held his knife dangerously close to your throat. He took you back to his place, letting you know that if you told; he'd kill you or someone you care about. Be a shame if you told police and he wasn't caught. What if your entire family or friends off campus came up dead?...He knew where you lived, where they lived, when they were home....He knew everything about you.

- The killings stopped. Your friend was going to trial. Mickey and you were 'dating' now. It was A-Okay and only because you let him love you.

- He constantly recorded you no matter how miserable you looked. Claiming you were his muse with an adoring smile.

- He was extremely loving towards you. So soft, playful, loyal. He was arguably the best boyfriend you had when he was in a good mood.

- However, that dark look would enter his eyes whenever anyone but him held your attention for too long. Especially another guy. His grip on you would get painful, his mood would sour and he'd start making threats again. Swearing that if you left him; people would die. Maybe even you...If he couldn't have you, no one could.

- He'd hunt you down if you tried to leave him. Knife in hand and a feral look in his eyes. "Don't fight me, YN. You know I love you. You know I only want what's best for you...Just accept it!"

- You were his only. You didn't need friends when you had him. As long as you were good; the mask and knife stayed hidden. But if you acted up and someone got killed? That wasn't Mickey's doing, that was yours. If you ran away and he hurt you? That was your fault too. He can't control himself, you know this. Just be so good for him and let him be a good boyfriend.

- Once you accepted it; he was an amazing guy. He did anything for you. Had no eyes for anyone else. Laughed at every joke. Listened intently to what you had to say with a grin on his face. Would hold you close if anyone dared come near you especially in a flirty way. Loved you like you were the only love he ever knew. Desperate for you every time you were together.

- HOWEVER...Friends were only permitted as long as they didn't take time away from him. People joked that you and Mickey were attached at the hip and you forced a smile to play along no matter how much you wanted to tell them. He had to come to every family get together. He would become distraught, close to tears and rage if you just simply wanted time away with a family member or alone time. It took hours of him trying to emotionally manipulate you and you trying to argue it was fine...He usually won.

- You were his. Only his. You just had to accept this was your life now. That your boyfriend was an obsessed serial killer that made you the object of his obsession.

[muninnhuginn]

In Defence of Qiao Ling

I've been musing on several threads relating to Qiao Ling in the last few weeks and have seen a few posts going around that have pushed me to actually try and put all my Qiao Ling thoughts into words and in one place.

Despite the title, I don't fully agree with the show's handling of Qiao Ling, but I do think she has been provided with a clear ongoing arc and so that's what I'm going to be focusing on here.

This got quite long so most of it is under the cut, but shout-out to @lizzieonka and @oceaniche for their previous posts on Qiao Ling, which definitely ended up inspiring some parts of this.

So, let's start with: what do we actually know about Qiao Ling?

Qiao Ling's Background

She's first introduced as the "landlady", for all it quickly becomes apparent that her relationship with Cheng Xiaoshi isn't quite that simple. Her family "took Cheng Xiaoshi in" but there's always been some distance and that's reinforced by the whole "rent" deal. (The fact that Cheng Xiaoshi is still adamant his parents will return likely also factors in to this.) Still, Qiao Ling herself clearly sees Cheng Xiaoshi as her younger brother and is willing to stake her claim on him as family to near-strangers (we've seen it both when she met Lu Guang and Li Tianxi).

Qiao Ling's social life is clearly contrasted with that of Cheng Xiaoshi. Where Cheng Xiaoshi's first "proper" friend was Lu Guang, Qiao Ling has her own circle of friends and is fairly sociable in general (she literally found a client by befriending a stranger when she came to learn martial arts). Xu Shanshan, for instance, is very much Qiao Ling's friend despite hanging out with the collective group at uni. Qiao Ling also spoke of Cheng Xiaoshi's childhood as something that happened to him specifically, implying that she herself was spared the bullying (which makes sense considering the fact that she wasn't the one with missing parents) and so had a more "normal" upbringing. Whether she spoke up back then or stayed quiet isn't fully clarified (not speaking up against adults is one thing but what about classmates?), but Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't seem to hold it against her either way.

Nowadays, Qiao Ling's role in managing the photo shop's side-business has her interacting directly with most clients. She's the most customer-facing of the three, relaying information between clients and shiguang. This is despite her not actually knowing the full details behind shiguang's diving process until season two, which in retrospect makes it more impressive. Qiao Ling taking on the managerial role (and what is also implied to be social media advertising) also has the (unintended?) effect of obscuring shiguang's roles in the business from the public, as it's Qiao Ling who earns the nickname of "witch". It took until Xiao Li saw Cheng Xiaoshi in the CCTV footage during the Doudou case for anyone to see through this.

Key Character Moments

In terms of Qiao Ling's key moments, we have four main ones.

In Doudou arc, Qiao Ling admits she saw Doudou being taken three years ago;

In season two, at the hospital, Qiao Ling asks for some trust and to not be shut out anymore;

Qiao Ling bonding with Li Tianxi and using their shared aspects to bring her out of her shell so she would help the investigation;

The revelation that Qiao Ling did, in fact, receive some form of Lu Guang's memories from Tianxi and her dismissal of their implications.

The main thread behind all of these scenes is that they are about information and what you choose to do with it.

My thoughts are two-fold here. First, how these scenes connect with Qiao Ling's arc specifically, and secondly, how they connect with the broader themes of the series.

Qiao Ling's Arc

Doudou

Let's begin with Doudou arc. In this arc, Qiao Ling reveals that she saw the kidnapping of a child several years ago. She hadn't told anyone about this for three years and likely would have continued to have kept it to herself if not for Doudou's father approaching the photo studio. In this arc, there is the following exchange:

Qiao Ling's main regret is that she didn't do something or say something as she saw Doudou being taken away. That her inaction may have ensured that Doudou's kidnapper was able to get away with him. And she specifically says "I didn't even have the courage to step forward and provide any information." (Tangent: Funnily enough, Lu Guang is the "star of courage" in the Star Warriors later in the episode, not Qiao Ling. Qiao Ling is "star of wisdom" who is meant to "light the way". Still fitting, but in a less straightforward way.)

Now, to me, this is clearly setting up an arc, not resolving one. Qiao Ling wouldn't have offered the information if not for the circumstances. And it tells us that for all Qiao Ling has friends and is sociable, she still holds certain cards close to her chest. She doesn't want to confront the past so instead she will hold her guilt tight and not say a word. Though, as this exchange shows, she does want to have that courage. And I'll get onto this later, but this ties in very clearly with the information she later holds regarding Lu Guang.

Hospital confrontation

Throughout this entire scene, even before it becomes a "confrontation" Qiao Ling is clearly feeling guilty. She runs after Cheng Xiaoshi when he tries to leave to help the police so that she can *do something*, make up for it the best she can. Guilt and avoidance are key traits for her and they both manifest here. They're still holding her back.

And, of course, there's her statement to Cheng Xiaoshi: "You're always trying to protect me. I really appreciate it. But what I need more is your trust." Qiao Ling knows what it's like to be locked out of the loop. She didn't know the specifics of diving for months (possibly years?) and it didn't really seem to bother her (or at least she didn't give the impression it bothered her when "Xu Shanshan" asked her about it). But she has her limits. And being locked out when the situation is actively dangerous? That's clearly past those limits.

Li Tianxi

Grouping together the final two scenes, because the first Li Tianxi scene is more a demonstration of character traits as well as digging in those sibling parallels between LTC-LTX and CXS-QL. Anyway, the first scene adds more evidence to the idea that Qiao Ling is more sociable and a people person. That she could could get Li Tianxi to open up by taking a more understanding approach and showing that she gets it to some extent. She's in the same boat.

Which means when we get to the final scene, this is what ties it all together. Qiao Ling has inherited the memories Li Tianxi saw from Lu Guang. She has seen Cheng Xiaoshi's "death". She has information now. But her first instinct is to dismiss it. To avoid it and refuse to confront it because the implications are too much.

But, see, she's been in this situation before with Doudou. She's had information and done nothing with it and regretted. She wanted to have the courage to do better. This is her goal.

And the implications of these memories? Do they mean Cheng Xiaoshi is in danger? Wasn't danger her red line in the sand? Didn't she tell him that "protecting" people and "trusting" them aren't mutually exclusive?

And finally, Lu Guang isn't Li Tianxi, but isn't the scenario here at least somewhat similar? Isn't Qiao Ling in the same boat as him here, wanting to keep Cheng Xiaoshi safe? Hasn't Qiao Ling shown she can connect with people through their shared experiences?

Qiao Ling isn't a confrontational character. She's avoidant. She will wallow in her guilt and not let on until it gets too much. But she wants to do better and isn't this her chance to do something? Say something? To not just be a passive observer and be left with regrets? I don't think it will be immediate by any means, but I think for her arc to conclude properly, she will have to conclude for herself that she needs to be open with the information she has and share it. If she's pushed into it, then it's just Doudou again. But if she chooses to share the information, then that's the pay-off set up back in season one.

Broader Themes in the Show

Broader themes regarding information and withholding of it. We see time and again in this series, that characters withhold information from others.

Liu Xiao and Lu Guang with Li Tianchen and Cheng Xiaoshi respectively, both holding more information than their "partner". Refusing to share it so that they can control them. Their reasons may differ, but the dynamics mirror each other in that respect. Unhealthy dynamic number one.

Li Tianchen and Li Tianxi, never addressing what Li Tianchen is doing with their powers. It allows Li Tianchen to pretend to himself that he is protecting Li Tianxi and carrying out justice. Li Tianxi is heavily implied in her telling of their backstory to know more than she lets on with regards to Li Tianchen's actions. But the refusal of both siblings to broach the topic eventually leads to Li Tianchen going where Li Tianxi cannot follow in his pursuit of vengeance and puts Li Tianxi in the very danger Li Tianchen wanted to avoid. Unhealthy dynamic number two. (There are more than this but I'm just sticking to these to keep this from getting any longer)

To go back to the hospital confrontation, when Qiao Ling says: "You're always trying to protect me. I really appreciate it. But what I need more is your trust." When she says this? It's a direct hit against the idea that protection should involve keeping people out. And in this case, Cheng Xiaoshi does start to let her in. They do manage to have healthy communication here now that Qiao Ling has been let in on the dives and is allowed to do something to help. She doesn't want to be passive.

She knows what it's like to be locked out, to be "protected" without having her own agency respected. But now, as of end of season two, she's on the other side. She has the information and Cheng Xiaoshi is locked out.

When Qiao Ling was assigned as the "Star of Wisdom, to light the way" in the Doudou arc, that's because it's her role in the show overall. Lu Guang certainly isn't going to push forward with healthy communication; he's too committed to his path for that. Cheng Xiaoshi meanwhile doesn't have the information needed to even start a confrontation. Qiao Ling is the only one in the position to lead the way with her knowledge. To provide the route to healthy communication once more.

She is the catalyst.

[theemporium]

1. “Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?”  with Trevor?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

Trevor Zegras was a man with many skills, as would be expected from a professional athlete.

He was young. He was fast. He had some neat little trick shots up his sleeve. He was one of the rising stars in the league, and living in California for the last few years, he had interacted with his fair share of celebrities and high-profile fans that had watched him play. 

Trevor Zegras was known for his chill personality, for the go-with-the-flow attitude and the bright smile that was always plastered on his face. He was known for the jokes he would crack off the ice, the goading chirps that he would crack on the ice. He was known for so much.

And yet, he was never known to be this starstruck before.

Jamie and countless other teammates had given him so much shit for the little crush he had harboured on you. From the day you joined the team almost a year ago as one of the new social media interns, Trevor had been absolutely smitten and there was no going back on it. 

The suaveness and charm disappeared the second you were within his vicinity, and it felt like every thought in his head just disappeared. It had taken three months alone for him to stop acting like a gaping fish in front of you and actually start a conversation. But even now, he still gets into a funny little daze whenever he knows you are nearby, much to the amusement of everyone else.

“Hey, Zegras, isn't that your little girlfriend over there?”

The scene that followed almost felt like a skit out of a comedy show. The second girlfriend was mentioned, his head was snapping up like a lost puppy as he glanced around to find you. However, too lost in his search for you, he lost focus of the drill they were currently partaking in and found himself skating straight into the glass instead.

“Please tell me she didn’t see it,” Trevor murmured as he laid on the ice, hoping that a hole would open underneath him and suck him in.

“Everyone saw it,” Jamie snorted. “You need the medic?”

“For my dignity? Yeah,” he grumbled before he slowly pulled himself up, trying to shake it off and pretend like his cheeks weren’t burning in embarrassment. 

The rest of practice had been—thankfully—uneventful and ran smoothly before the boys started stepping off the ice, heading towards the locker rooms to shower and change out of their gear. You had been at the tunnel entrance, filming the boys stepping off for footage only to straighten up when you saw Trevor step off. 

“Hey,” you smiled, though it seemed a bit painful. “How are you feeling after your…” 

Trevor’s cheeks burned. “Oh, I….uh, yeah, no, yeah.”

Your brows furrowed together as you let out a confused laugh. “Yeah, no, yeah?”

His grin was bashful. “Sorry, I got nervous.”

“I make you nervous, Zegras?” You mused in a teasing voice, though your smile seemed genuine. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you have a crush on me.”

“Pfft, what?” Trevor laughed, the noise sudden and loud and catching you by surprise. “Me? No! I…I don’t even have crushes! I have actually never had a crush on anyone ever!” 

You blinked.

“Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?” He blurted out, his cheeks now a bright pink and his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Anyways, I have to—”

“Friday.”

Trevor paused, staring at you like a confused puppy. “Huh?”

“I’m free this Friday for our date,” you said casually as you tried to bite back your grin.

“Our date?” He paused for a moment before it clicked, and it was endearing watching his face light up. “Yeah! Our date! I’ll pick you up!”

“Good,” you grinned back at the boy. “Try not to skate into any more walls before then, yeah? I like my dates in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

remember what you're staring at is me

jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 8 - found footage | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 2.9k

summary: A videotape is left on your porch one morning, and it changes everything about your budding relationship with Joel Miller.

warnings: Jackson!Joel, some dark!Joel, some soft!Joel, we love a man who contains multitudes, ambiguous ending, I wish I had made this a much longer one shot but oh well, references to The Hospital Incident, oral (f & m receiving), implicit p in v

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You find it on your porch one morning in an old paper bag. Someone’s written right onto the brown wrapping with black crayon—”you need to know the truth.” It seems rather dramatic once you peel back the paper to find a videotape. 

It's not high quality—the footage is fuzzy and crudely edited together. But there’s just no mistaking the man on the screen. 

Joel and Ellie came into your life when they arrived for the second time in Jackson. You had heard the gossip the first time, but never met the pair. 

You met him fairly quickly when he swung by with a torn jacket, gruff and blunt but polite. Steady. “They, uh, said to ask you about some mending?” 

“Sure thing,” you say easily, smiling at the very handsome stranger. “Let me take a look.”

It was a casual thing, the sewing, and you liked it that way. You didn’t make anything, didn’t haul things to the market. You spun the wool for those who did craft things, and then you kept to your little projects at night.

The push and pull of the needle was the meditation you needed to keep going every day, even now, even safe here in this bubble. Something productive, something to keep your trembling hands busy and your mind blank. 

And in return, you got company and conversation. Most folks knew your services could be bought with a warm drink or baked good, a promise of a favor you’d never call for.

“How long?” he asks, voice flat and serious, but it didn’t prick at you, didn’t land as rough as it set out. 

“Not long,” you muse, looking over the tear—a knife gash of some sort, and the thin lining that peeked out. “Ten minutes if you just want it sewn up, or if you give me a day, I can get it properly stuffed.”

“Sewn, please.” 

Please. You like that. Manners at the end of the world. 

“You sure? Be a lot warmer if I fill it out.” 

“I don’t—” he scowls at the ground. “I barely have anythin’ to offer ya for the mending.”

You want to tell him it’s on the house, call it a welcome basket, but he’s holding out what he does have to offer and your jaw drops just a little, lips parting to make way for a soft, pleased “oh” that has him straightening up. 

“I can find somethin’ else,” he says.

“Oh, no. That’s… amazing,” you say, taking the jar into your hands and popping the lid. They certainly aren’t potent, not like you remember, but oh, you could die from just the faint smell of the cinnamon sticks. “This is… more than enough. I’ll owe you, I reckon.”

“I dunno about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Seriously,” you say, eyes wide. You set the jar on the counter. “For that, I’ll get the whole thing done tonight.” After all, the delay had only been so you could go to bed. 

“Y’ain’t got to do that, I don’t mean to be a bother.”

You brush him off and start gathering your supplies. If you steep the thread in tea for a bit, you think, you might be able to get close to the color of the fabric.

He turns down a cup when you offer but does take a seat at the table. He’s as stiff as your late husband’s favorite bourbon, but the blunt edges grow a little duller when you don’t try to keep up small talk.

The bright overhead light casts him in shadow, deepening the circles under his eyes and drooping his wrinkles in inky black. But his eyes are bright and curious as he watches you start to add unspun wool from your stockpile into the jacket, trying to shape and layer it evenly through the inside. You have to make a couple incisions but keep them tight to the hemlines and existing stitching.

The thread dries quickly with the hearth raging and he speaks for the first time as you weave it through the needle’s eye.

“What’s that?” 

“It’s a threader,” you say, offering it to him to see after you’ve pulled it loose. “I, um. I’m not as dexterous as I used to be and I can’t say my sight’s as keen, either. Makes it easier to use these damn tiny needles. Luckily, it wasn’t a very in-demand item when people were raiding shops.” 

“Huh,” is all he says, sliding it back across the table to you. 

The stitching is quick and rote. You’re used to people pouring out their life stories and desires and drama when they sit at your table or on your sofa, feet kicked up on your coffee table while you sew. 

But this silence with Joel is warm, too. You’re almost regretful the job didn’t take longer.

You stand up and he follows, pushing his chair neatly back into its place. He takes the coat and runs a gentle finger across the original wound.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. 

You give him a wan smile, never having found those words to settle right in your skin. “Nice meeting you, Joel,” you say instead. “You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and lets himself out. 

You lock the door behind him and wonder why you feel so energized. That tea was decaf, after all. And a little fuzzy, if you were totally honest, but you weren’t going to dump it down the drain just over a few fibers. 

One day when he comes, it’s with a bundle of thick socks and another, smaller jacket. Not a difficult job, but the gift he brings to trade knocks you off kilter so hard that you have to sit down.

“Not sure if it’ll be any use to you, but figured you’d know someone who can use it if you don’t,” he says, looking at the floor.

You’ve gotten to know him a little better, though his visits are few and far between. But he’s gotten more comfortable around town, more interested in following that wild daughter of his than hiding away. 

Sometimes, he’ll even sit at your table in the mess. You’d even go as far to say that the two of you were friends.

So you can tell what he’s trying so hard not to project. He’s nervous.

It looks almost like a desk lamp with its sturdy base and bent wooden arm, but in place of a shade and bulb is a hoop. You recognize it immediately and your stomach swoops. It’s an embroidery stand and you might faint just from that, just from having a steady way to hold the fabric tight as you sew. 

But that isn’t all. He shows you how to turn the peg that loosens the grip of the handle on the side, a raw hewn thing that doesn’t match the worn stain of the stand. You’re burning, head spinning, and the fuzzy darkness at the edges of the world stop you from focusing on the gift. 

The carved handle, he says, with hands curling around either side of you, has been partially hollowed to accommodate the end of the magnifying glass. You can raise and lower it with the peg and rotate the handle to use the other side of the glass.

“Joel,” you say uncertainly. He doesn’t really seem like he’ll want the attention drawn to it, but you have to know. “Did you make that?”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Just added the glass is all.”

“Just added the glass,” you echo in a whisper. But you know he doesn’t mean he only attached it. He made the entire attachment and fit it onto the stand. 

His ears are red and he won’t look at you. 

You set a cautious hand on his arm where it reaches across your shoulder, still resting on the table. He’s caging you in from where he leaned over to demonstrate. “Joel, this is incredible. This is… this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Ain’t a big deal,” he mumbles but he doesn’t shake off your hand. “Just saw it and thought it might be useful.”

You feel emboldened by his kindness, so you curl your hand around his bicep. “Can I thank you?”

He looks down at you now, seeking something that he must find, confirmation in your blown out pupils and parted lips, and nods. 

He doesn’t break away as you slip from the chair to sink onto your knees or when your fingers loop around his belt to pry it open. 

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” you say, voice tight. 

He shakes his head. “You’re not.” His voice is the rumble of thunder breaking a tense summer night. 

You don’t bother removing his belt, simply knocking it open to reach for his zipper. 

You’re about to tug his pants down when the door opens. 

“Hey sugar,” Tommy drawls, “all my fuckin boxers have holes. Can you help a guy out? Promise they’re cle—“

His loud mouth gave just enough warning for Joel to pull his shirt down over his belt and for you to fumble at rolling the cuff of one pant leg up just so, reaching for a pin. 

“Oh hey, Joel!” Tommy says happily. “Finally fixin’ those ratty old things?” 

It’s a fucking miracle that he’s in these jeans, his favorites. Actually, it’s not, he wears them all the time, and they’re just a little too long so the bottoms are torn up. 

“Guess so,” Joel scowls. He’ll have to finally let you hem them now. 

“Just leave ‘em on the table, Tommy,” you say around the needle between your teeth. “And tell Maria to stop bein’ so rough with them.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “She can’t help it, sugar. I’m irresistible, see?” He claps his brother on the back and takes his leave. 

You slump a little, sighing as you set the needle on the table before moving to resume your activity. 

But Joel steps back. “I should get goin’,” he says. The line between his brow is cavernous and his lips are tugged down at the corners. 

“Oh. Okay,” you say, and pull yourself up with a hand clutching the table. 

“So. Thanks again,” he says. And then he’s gone. 

You let yourself drop dramatically into a chair, groan growing as it turns physical when your tailbone hits the seat wrong. 

You’re rubbing your forehead and thinking about going to bed to give yourself a pity orgasm when the door opens. He’s quiet and cautious, but he pushes the door shut behind him and locks it. 

“M’sorry,” he says. “I…”

“It’s okay,” you say with a tired smile. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, offering you a hand. 

You take it and let him pull you to standing. 

His other hand finds your waist. “I was bein’ a coward.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Darlin’, you couldn’t,” he says. His arm slides further around, pulling you to him in a gentle embrace. He looks down at you through heavy lids, watching the way your lips part just a little. “You still want this?”

You bring a hand up to cup at the hair that curls down the nape of his neck. “Please,” you whisper. 

He matches your motion, cradling your head in his palm as he dips his head to kiss you. He wastes no time, licking into your welcoming mouth, seeking out the earthiness of the tea still lingering on your tongue and the sweet shiver of goosebumps prickling across his skin as you wind your fingers into his hair.

“Shit,” he mumbles when you break away for air. “What do you want, baby? What can I have? You gotta tell me now, before I can’t think straight.”

“You can have whatever you want, Joel,” you say, hot breath brushing his swollen lips before he presses them to you again with a growl.

It’s a much quicker kiss, and he breaks away to drop to his knees and push your skirt up to your hips. You have to lean back with both hands clenching the edge of the table not to fall over in shock.

He nuzzles against the soft cotton of your panties and groans at the smell of your wet cunt. He mouths at it gently over the fabric before hooking his finger around the gusset and pulling it aside to part your lips with his tongue. 

“Not fair,” you gasp as he feasts. “I was supposed to—supposed to do that for you.”

“You said whatever I want, darlin’,” he says against your pussy, chasing the taste of you. 

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck.” 

“Gimmie one and I’ll let you suck my cock if ya want it so bad,” he says, plunging two thick fingers in and basking in the way you squeal and squirm. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, pistoning in and out like he’s trying to win a race. 

It works, with his tongue on your clit and his fingers against that soft, secret part of you that no one has touched before, you gush around where he spreads you. “That’s it,” he croons, “good girl. Good fuckin’ girl, give me another.”

“You said—”

He cuts you off by sucking on your clit and your hips rock, wobbling the table as he takes another from you anyway. 

“Couch or bed?” he says, tugging your panties down your legs now that he’s sated the immediate urge. 

“Don’t care,” you say.

“Alright, bed,” he says. “Wanna do this right.” 

“Don’t think you could do it wrong,” you say, a lazy, sated smile on your face and a lightness to your eyes that he thinks he could get addicted to. 

He does let you suck his cock, and thinks maybe he could die happy from the warm, wet of your mouth and the way you look up at him like he’s the only thing in the world. 

At that moment, he is. You had resigned yourself to keeping your little crush a secret until it faded, too fond of him to risk it, but here? Now? Now that you’ve had him, you don’t think you can ever go back. 

He’s gentle in a way you can’t quite name. It’s not that he’s soft with you, but just aware. Like he knows where you’re capable of meeting him and settles there. He makes room for himself in you like you’d done for his coat, opening you up and stuffing you until you’re warm and full and renewed. 

He doesn’t leave you to stitch yourself up, either. He buries his face in your tits and holds you tight after, cleans the both of you up with a warm towel, and kisses you before he leaves.

Neither of you want him to go, but he’s got Ellie at home and won’t—can’t—worry her by not coming home. Not without warning. Next time, he whispers, and it carries a question and a promise. 

There is a next time. And another. And another. You think you might be in trouble. You do far less mending jobs once your evenings are taken over by Joel. You still take them, darning socks on the soft with your feet in his lap, or basking in the way he looks proud and satisfied when you use the stand to fix up bigger projects. Some of your favorite nights are when he sits and strums his guitar while you sew, just two people finding peace by creating it themselves. Together. 

So when eight months later, that tape finds its way into the VCR you’ve only used twice, you’re more than familiar with the bulking shape of him. The way his hair sticks up when he runs worried hands through it. The grip of those hands, sure and steady.

He finds you there on your third viewing. You didn’t even hear him come up the porch, didn’t realize the sun was starting to crest over the mountains, that he’d be coming by with breakfast just like he promised.

The little Joel on screen is working his way to the operating room. You’ve stopped flinching at each crack of the gun or collapsing body. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” 

You do startle when he speaks, unaware that he’d been watching you watch the tape for a minute. His voice is low and slow, something lurking beneath the baritone that trips an alarm. 

This isn’t your Joel. This is that one, the one from the TV. 

He moves like a jaguar, slinking and graceful. “Where,” he snarls, breath curling off your clammy skin, “did you get this?” His hand curls around your shoulder at the base of your neck. 

“It was on my porch,” you whisper. 

His fingers dig in a little where he holds you in place. “Try again.”

“It’s the truth, I swear. I didn’t know what it was.” 

“How much did you watch?”

“All of it,” you whisper, though it feels like the click of a lock.

“Goddamnit, baby. Why’d you have to do that?” 

There’s an actual click, the unmistakable flick of a release. 

“Joel, please,” you say, voice breaking. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“I can’t take that chance,” he says. 

He still hasn’t brought the knife close to you, though, so you hazard a glance over your shoulder. You wish you hadn’t. He’s gone, his sweet eyes dead to the world, no whisper of his gentleness to be found. 

“I swear, please. You can trust me.” 

“Can’t trust anyone in this world, darlin’. You shoulda realized that by now.”

*title from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour

[riddles-n-games]

Exposed

Pairing: N/A Summary: Grayson gets to enjoy a late start for once with his best girl, Tiramisu. Unfortunately, someone decides to spoil that dreamless sleep and expose his closely guarded secret. Puppy cuddles are therapeutic for the soul. Sue him. Length: Moderate Story Type: One Shot

A/N: Hey guys, sorry this is a bit late but this is my dedication to Grayson's birthday appreciation. Originally this was supposed to be a bonus fic after I released my second horse fic but as you can see that hasn't happened so I thought why not just get it done for his bday? (Ok, I know it's past his birthday but ignore that.)

    Disaster struck, tragedy ensued. He was discovered, his secret exposed. The world would know his wrath but world domination would have to wait a bit because at the moment, there was still a snuggly bundle curled up next to him asleep in his arms. He smiled down at her. 

    Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne. The Hawthorne puppy was not so small anymore as she was five months old now but she was just as wriggly, happy, and fluffier than ever. And also a backstabber by choosing him as her favorite Hawthorne which must have been the reason for the flash breakin that woke him. He heard sniggering and hushed voices down the hall which meant two suspects; Xander and Jameson. On an infamous night when a certain incident occurred perhaps involving the tightest pair of leather pants in existence, videos and photos were taken and posted that unfortunately went viral.

    While he managed to deep clean the Internet in only the way Grayson Hawthorne could, the original menac-posters still had the content saved to their devices, several of them. He feared how much new blackmail material they got away with this time. He would scour every corner, surface and dark web, deep cleaning the Internet of all footage just like the first time. He’d get his revenge, he just had to bide his time.     

Grayson would not be dubbed Mr. Cuddles and yes, he would decline the puppy interview to keep his sanity, no matter how many hearts were broken or the adorableness of the pups. He would not yield. This was a call to war; a total and absolute declaration. In such a case, Hawthornes loved getting down in the dirt and Grayson didn’t mind getting his hands dirty to get things squared. Playing dirty meant gloves off; that was the Hawthorne way. So maybe his homicidal mother was right about something after all.

    But till then he’d relax in his bed and enjoy a late morning for once, though the photographer in him was now itching for a photo. The rays of sunlight coming in through the blinds, the way it lit up the carpet and the left side of his bed, the adorable puppy snoozing happily under his comforter- Ah yes, her. She would be his subject but he was too comfortable to get up and he didn’t want to disturb her. Besides, growing puppies still need plenty of sleep.  “Just don’t grow up too quickly,” he whispered. The photoshoot could happen later.

    Suddenly, Tiramisu shifted in his arms and started pawing at his chest, whimpering as the swiping got faster. Nightmare?  Note to self, look into dog dreaming. “Shh, girl. You’re alright.”

   Grayson moved away to avoid getting scratched and quickly turned her over so that her legs were away from him, hugging her tight and readjusting the blanket over them. When he got resettled, he brought a hand to her ear and rubbed gentle circles into the fur with his thumb. He loved her ears; they were super soft, curly, fluffy, and floppy. Oh how time went by; it was funny, he mused, how attached to the puppy he became after a few short months. Who knew that all it took was a puppy to single-handedly turn Grayson Hawthorne into a pile of mush? 

    Yes, so he was wrapped around her cute little paw. He’d hurt anyone who dared make a move. But it’d taken being at his lowest to get where he was now. 

    After Atonement Night, he often found her wandering his wing or lying down at the foot of his door, waiting to be let in. Her tail would instantly start wagging when he approached and those forlorn puppy eyes would stare deep into his soul, so hopeful that he’d let her in and how could he say no to that face? 

     He’d sigh a little dramatically and just before he unlocked the door, she’d get up, waiting expectantly as he scanned the hall for uninvited visitors and extra cameras. When he opened the door, he would pause so she could go in first and prance right past him, heading for his closet. It confused him as to what the pup found so interesting there as he would set down his stuff on and around the desk before heading for the ensuite. Most times he’d leave her be as there were spare clothes in the bathroom but one time he forgot so when he entered the closet, he found her wrapped in old shirts and socks with one of his slippers in her possession. He wasn’t sure what to make of it but she looked too cute and innocent with those big eyes that he just had to take a picture. 

    Some weeks passed and the pattern continued; every time he checked on her, she had his slipper and rested on a particular shirt that he discovered was from his HCD days. She also started staying late into the night in his room, sleeping at the foot of his bed right next to his slippers; another photo op. Eventually that too changed as when he woke early to swim, a chocolate brown lump would greet him at the edge of his bed which often got him smiling to himself. He would do his best to slip out of bed without disturbing her and before he left, scratched behind her ears and placed a fluffy blanket on top of her. 

    It didn’t take long for him to jump the gun and when he finally caught her sneaking onto the bed one night, he called to her and patted the spot next to him. Tiramisu had all too eagerly bounded toward him, all happy tail wags and pants before she laid her head on his side and settled down. 

    When she fell asleep, Grayson stayed awake, stroking her fur and staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. For the first time he’d realized that something about him was changing; he’d been careless. No, not in a bad way but he hadn’t been paying much attention to his actions for once, at least, in regards to the puppy. Though he remained his usual controlled self wherever he was in the House and in his wing with Tiramisu in tow, he hadn’t bothered acting removed or unaffected by her happy presence. He could just be. Sure, he wasn’t around her much those first few weeks but he hadn’t been cold or distanced when they were alone. It was just that the little happy accidents had finally gotten the ball rolling and pushed them together to start bonding properly. He never relaxed that quickly around anybody so it was a shock to him how quickly he adapted to being laid back and receptive to her in his privacy, his safe space. She made him happier, more smiley (that was still something he didn’t want to easily admit); that was when he knew Xander had been right. No wall was too high or too strong for her to knock down with just a blink of her big eyes. But Xan would never get to know that unless he ran out of secrets to share during Chutes and Ladders which he doubted would ever happen. But most important of all, she made him feel carefree. 

    For so long, he had to keep his guard up and be perfect; that was his curse as heir apparent. Former heir apparent. Eve and Emily, they’d been awful lapses in judgment but dwelling on the past did nothing to wash away the sins. And he’d been learning to let that go, slowly. Spending time with the puppy in his room helped that progress and relieved the ache of responsibility off his shoulders. With Tiramisu, he finally felt that long needed peace and it was nice that she had no expectations of that sort. All she needed was food, water, sleep, and play while all she wanted was a bit of attention, snuggles, walks, and love. Grayson knew he could give that much because what was a dog’s duty as man’s best friend in comparison? 

    They were expected to be loyal, trusting, fearless, protective, playful, and loving. They had to give all of themselves to their purpose and one could beat them, hurt them, scare them into submission, break them completely and a dog would still give and give and give in hopes that they would be enough for their owner’s expectations. That they would be worthy of just a bit of affection that their owner could spare no matter what they went through because it was in their nature. And hadn’t that been him his entire life thus far?

    He’d given and given more every time as he bent over backwards trying to please his grandfather and the world as the heir, as the second eldest, as the one with the brightest future of all his brothers. He dedicated himself wholly; heart, body, mind, and soul to perfecting each talent, every skill, every part of his being to be the perfect well-oiled machine of control. And it was all for naught. But that hadn’t been Avery’s fault. It was just that begged the question, What now? What to do with his life after all he’d been promised and told to do so he could become the rightful successor worthy of his grandfather’s place was ripped right from under him? He didn’t know. The foundation wasn’t going to need him forever and he dropped Harvard so what next? 

    The chocolate Labradoodle obscured that and he’d been immensely thankful for it. She reminded him that there was a time and a place and maybe where he needed to be was just in the right now. He could do that and he would have her to keep that new motto going. Having a new pet in Hawthorne House in general had been good; it gave him and his brothers a change of pace. He looked into the science of pet therapy and the specifics of having a dog as said therapeutic animal. It had to be done from a secret laptop to ensure Xan wouldn’t snoop; he already had too many hacked gadgets, even an old camera! At first, it had been mild interest but the more papers he read and explanations from credited sources, he became more and more invested. It was very a Hawthorne thing for him to do. But in the end, it did serve a purpose as he shifted from needing everything to be perfect.

    When he went home after working into the night at the office and he was too tired to properly function, he gladly scooped up the puppy and leaned his head against her neck as he fell asleep. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t need a cuddle buddy. He started keeping a bag of her favorite treats in a desk drawer and got a dog bed complete with a little pillow and the old swim athletics shirt. Grayson had realized his scent was still on the shirt since he hadn’t washed that one in a long time and she liked his smell so he let her have it. There was also a little basket with some toys wrapped in an old pillowcase but her favorite thing was still his slipper which he amended by getting a new pair so the other single slipper would be hers as well if she wanted. He even came up with a special secret nickname for her that he’d use when no one was around and used it indulgently; Misu. Funny enough, he found out that it was also a real thing, a Korean beverage made of grain powder.

    On sleepless nights, he would start telling her about his day which eventually led to him admitting his fears out loud and whispering his worst secrets in the dark. At first, he tried to refrain but when he forced him to say it, he felt better. It didn’t have to be this way anymore. He could have something better, something he wanted. And anyways, it wasn’t like Tiramisu was going to say anything but knowing that he could confess without fear of judgment or anyone knowing yet before he was ready to share, he felt relief. So much so that sometimes he could feel the sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but he’d swiped them away before they could become fully formed. He wasn’t there yet in his emotional acceptance. Long story short, since then, she’d become his closest confidante and as of the moment, favorite family member. 

    At some point in his mindless reminiscing, somebody had woken up. Grayson had been stroking her fur, letting his hand glide through the curls and when he once again reached the top of her head, he felt eyes on him. He turned his head and saw Tiramisu looking at him in that innocent way that dogs did when they were expecting something. He smiled. “Hi girl, did you sleep well?” 

    She butted her head against his palm gently as he stroked the side of her snout. Then, she got up and shook herself off before stepping over him and sniffed curiously at his neck and shoulders. He scratched her neck in response. 

    “We had some very rude intruders this morning, Misu. Wanna help me get back at them? You distract and I will set up cameras.”

    She licked his nose. He chuckled.

    “I’ll take that as a yes.”

A/N: Well, hope you enjoyed that. See you in the next one. But before I forget, I'm thinking of starting a tag list. Let me know if you want to be put on it for my next fic. Bye!

Bonus:

These were some earlier tries (don't even ask about the dozens of awful attempts which will stay there to purposefully haunt me) that were among my faves. Unfortunately, different AI generators either couldn't get Grayson to look like a young man WITHOUT a beard (they insisted that be a feature almost every time) or they messed up the chocolate brown of Tiramisu. Not to mention the extra limbs, eugh.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Phantom

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Nothing that's not Canon. But just in case, mentions of torture

Author’s Note: Its a day early but I dont care. A little bit more of torture. But I keep writing and adding more. 😅 I promise action and more next chapter. Characters might be a little out of character (Tony mostly) because I was having issues writing. My muse has been a fickle bitch lately. As a reminder, please be sure to follow @xxwritemeastoryxxlibrary and turn on notifications so you never miss a fic!

I do not and will not ever give permission for my fics to be copied and posted on other sites. Don’t do it. Don’t be that person that ruins it for me and everyone else.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

Phantom Masterlist || MCU Masterlist || Taglist

Every detail about her time as Phantom was sitting in his hand. Her trigger words, the torment and conditioning she had been subjected to, along with notes from her handlers about her missions would be within the pages of the journal. The one thing that kept her from ever falling into the wrong hands without a fight and he now had it. 

She trusted him with the very detailed past she tried so hard to keep hidden from him. Trusted him with the very thing that could be used against her time and time again if allowed. He had it in his hand and he wanted nothing more than to watch it burn. 

"FRIDAY, pull up any footage that may have caught a glimpse of Y/N." 

Tony’s voice had caused Bucky to put everything back into its place before almost slamming the top back onto the box earning looks from the others. He simply shrugged his shoulders before bringing the box to his side. The vibranium keeping the box in a tight hold. 

Unfortunately the only footage found was time stamped two days before her capture. A projected video came up from Tony’s watch. A tourist couple had been recording the vendors area. 

Bucky had moved closer to look at the video footage as it began to play. They could hear the loud environment as the video began to pan over the vendors. People were chatting away and you could hear some laughter in the background. 

Different vendors panned within seconds before a particular stand came into view. While the person behind the camera had been focused only on the goods each vendor had, they had unknowingly caught Y/N on camera. 

Bucky watched as she spoke with a vendor. Watched as she would occasionally take in her surroundings, keeping watch of what could be lurking. A moment later the vendor pointed to something up and off screen. Y/N nodded her head a moment later before handing over cash. It wasn't long after that the person filming had moved past that particular stand and filmed the next vendor. 

"This is how they found her. " Natasha noted. 

"Why didn't we get notified about this clip?" Bucky asked. 

With the recent missions, the data changed the sequence of importance in regards to Y/N.  FRIDAY began. It earned a glare from Bucky. The more the team has cleaned up Hydra, the less information there is on her. Facial recognition scans have not been successful until now. 

"Why don't we take this back to the quinjet?" Natasha offered. She could see the look of frustration and anger growing on Bucky. Her head nodded towards the shop owner who was leaning on the countertop listening with curiosity. 

Bucky shook his head slightly before he turned and walked out of the shop. The sound of the door swinging open and slamming shut had caused the bells to rattle loudly causing the shop owner to flinch as it did.  

"You know how this argument is going to happen, right?" Natasha asked as she watched Bucky through the window. 

A long sigh came from Tony. "Yeah. If she was anyone else, she shouldn't have dropped lower on the priority list. I dropped the ball."

Bucky’s pace back to the quinjet had been quick. Each step he had taken seemed to cause the people around him to open a path for him to pass. He was sure that his stance was probably intimidating but at the moment he was trying to calm the internal storm that was brewing. And endless cycle of questions playing through his head. 

How could she drop on the priority list? 

How could FRIDAY not alert there was a video of her? 

Would she be in Hydra’s hold now if I had known sooner? 

Would I have made it in time to prevent it? 

He didn't even notice the others coming towards him after looking through the apartments. He hadn't heard when Steve yelled out his name to get his attention several times.  Nor did he notice the medium size box that Wanda held in her arms. 

_____

The lies have finally caught up to me. I thought I burned and buried it deep enough. The hurt on Bucky’s face was proof that it hadn't been deep enough. I deserved every reaction he gave tonight before giving me the slightest moment of having a real birthday. I didn't deserve his kindness. If I'm being honest I should be locked away in a cell somewhere. Not currently sitting under an overpass for the night. 

I can't stop seeing the look on his face and it kills me. I hurt him and I betrayed him in a way that there's no going back from. 

Bucky knew he needed a moment to cool off. That up until recently everyone believed that Y/N was keeping to herself and doing a damn good job of it. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to argue with Stark about it all.  But in reality, the blame game wouldn't do any of them any good. 

Once he was on the quinjet alone, he found himself pulling out her journal and flipping through the pages. Part of him yelled that he shouldn't go through it. But the other part had wanted to believe there was something in there she'd leave for him to find. 

His attention caught her birthday entry. As much as he tried to forget how things happened that night, they've haunted him since. Reading that entry however, hadn't brought him any kind of comfort. 

I hope that one day he can forgive me. But I know there's a chance he never will. Life sure does have a way of coming back around and biting you in the ass. I should have done things differently. I should have… It's pointless to think about all the things I could have done. I've made my bed. The least I can do is lie uncomfortably in it. 

"Bucky?" Wanda's voice was soft, pulling his attention from the journal. When Bucky looked up, he found Wanda standing there with a box in her arms. She had a small sympathetic smile on her face. "We found the apartment she used." 

Quickly closing the journal, he set it on top of the box beside him before standing. "Anything?" 

"Nothing that would help us to figure out where they might have gone." She said with a slight tilt of her head. "But I've found things she left behind. I thought you would want to go through them instead of leaving them there." 

As she held the box out, Bucky gently took it from her. "Thank you for grabbing it." He turned and placed the box next to the other. 

Wanda watched as he had done so. "Can I tell you something?" She asked a moment later. 

Bucky’s eyebrow raised slightly as he turned to face her, but he nodded. "Sure." 

"It isn't my intention to make you feel guilt or fear in any way with what I'm about to say." She watched as Bucky almost steeled himself for the inevitable. "While I have never attempted to see into your mind for respect for your privacy, there was a time I saw into hers for a moment. She did not fear many things. Not with the history she had. But she feared for you." She watched as Bucky’s face fell. "I did not understand why until recently." She paused for a moment as she heard the others begin to board the quinjet. "Her greatest fear was losing you by her own doing. I do not know if that fear was centered around what has already happened or if it was rooted deeper than keeping her past from you." 

Bucky could only nod his head as he tried to process the information she had given him. He could now understand why that had been her fear. He understood the possibility of what she could possibly do in the process. Not only to him, but to others and the emotional torment that came with it. 

"Did you know?" He asked curiously. If Wanda had seen into her mind, she must have seen something that gave Y/N away. 

"Not until her party." Wanda responded. "Probably after you had learned the truth. Her mind had been completely open after you returned to the party." She sighed softly. "She was saying goodbye while we sang to her." 

Flashes of memories played through his mind at her words. The fake smile that was plastered on his face as anger and betrayal laid just beneath it. The way Y/N had a smile on her face as their friends had begun to sing to her. 

But he had missed the shift in her eyes that had been clear to Wanda. He had missed the moment Y/N had said her goodbyes through facial expressions. He had been too busy being angry with her. 

Tony cleared his throat getting their attention. The others had been standing off not too far. When Bucky looked towards him, Tony had been rubbing the back of his neck. 

"I adjusted protocols with FRIDAY. Y/N has been prioritized as unchanging number one." He began. "I've also adjusted it so that any and all new information comes directly to you to ensure nothing is missed. If I had known she had fallen on the priority list, I would have fixed it immediately. We all want her back and she would have been back sooner if-” 

Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes. High priority for the team. 

Tony shook his head and mumbled about interrupting him before instructing the AI to put him on speaker. “For someone who was such in rush to leave us earlier, this call sounds like you miss us.” He shrugged slightly. “Or checking in like some overprotective parent.” 

"Ha ha, very funny. If I hadn't left, we'd all be in the dark about this. I have some information that might be of interest for that trip you're on." His voice came over the speaker. 

"Spill." Tony said as he looked over at the others. 

"A convoy with heavy duty machinery was ambushed leaving Germany early this morning." 

"That doesn't sound like anything of use." Natasha noted. 

"It was an inside job." That caused Bucky’s eyebrow to raise as he listened to the call. "It was decided less than 12 hours ago to move the convoy. No one could plan this elaborate of an ambush given that time frame. The information they had, they knew more than they should have." 

"Anything on the team?" Steve asked. 

"That's the thing that's got a lot of people scratching their heads on all fronts." The group looked at each other as if hearing those words had sparked something within them. "Ten soldiers were assigned. When the files were pulled for investigation only nine were found. Both physical and digital copies disappeared. When asked about the tenth soldier, they could only say that she was hand selected for her skills. Any piece of footage they have has been scrubbed without so much as a glimpse of her. Whoever she is, she's pretty damn good at being invisible." 

"Any survivors?" Tony asked. 

"Two fatalities. The others are going to make it out alive. The other mystery is why those two and not the others." 

Bucky’s heart dropped as he processed the information. Three weeks had been too long for her. In that time they had manipulated her mind into being the asset she once was and tossed her back into the fire. 

"They saw her face." He said a moment later. It caused all eyes to turn towards him. He sighed as he looked back at them. "No loose ends. Everything else can't prove she was there. You leave someone alive that knows who you are and the game is over." 

"That makes sense." Natasha said with a shrug. "Can't describe someone you didn't see."

"If it was anyone else who said it, I'd be worried." Rhodes responded. "Now I hate to ask, but how sure are we that this wasn't done willingly?" 

"She fought her way out before being captured." Bucky added. "None of this was willing. Everything she's left for us shows she wouldn't go down without a fight."

“Did she happen to leave any idea where they'd be heading next?" Rhodes asked. 

"I doubt it." Bucky said with a sigh. "I haven't had a chance to go digging through what she left behind." 

"That's if she even had a chance to leave anything behind." Sam noted. "By the looks of things she barely had enough time to leave what she did." 

"If she did leave any indication, Hydra found it while searching her apartment." Steve added. It caused Bucky’s eyes to shoot over to Steve. "With the way the place was ransacked, they might have found what they were looking for. " 

Keep it safe. Keep it hidden.

Bucky had almost mentioned they hadn't found what they were looking for. He had the very thing they were wanting and they couldn't find it. He should have mentioned it. He should have told them about the journal, but he couldn't bring himself to. 

He trusted the people currently standing in the room with him and would gladly watch their backs at any given time. He would put his life on the line for a majority of them without a second thought. But the fear of having that journal fall into the wrong hands stopped him from saying anything about it. 

"Just means we're gonna have to do a wide search while digging deep." He said instead. "We know they're out there and they're using her. With the proper channels, we should be able to find something to get a lead before she's used for anything more drastic." 

"You mean more than killing people?" Rhodes' voice filled the air. 

"Given how Hydra used her in the past," Natasha began before Bucky could. "A few deaths are better than her being used to bring down governments in Hydra’s favor. So yeah, let's get her back before we find ourselves either preventing or fighting a war we couldn't prevent.” 

____ 

Six Months Later

The main conference room walls had been covered in papers taped to the walls. Each paper corresponds to a recent event that involved Hydra in some way. Each grouping of papers laid out the details of another ambush at Hydra’s hands. Each one taking either a piece of equipment or technology. 

Even with all the information displayed on the walls, the Avengers had no idea what Hydra was attempting to assemble. FRIDAY couldn't pinpoint any variations of possible weapons. Nor could the AI predict where they could possibly hit next. 

However, over the last several months they had been able to uncover several new hideaways that Hydra had been using. Each of them had helped to supply information towards the grand scheme of things. But with each thorough sweep, there were never any signs of Y/N. 

With every Hydra captive they interrogated, none of them had physically laid eyes on Phantom. They all gave the same answer in different words but none of them could give locations. Phantom was only accessible through her handler. 

Her handler that they all refused to give up any details about. The captives either went silent and refused to say anything else, or they purposely gave false information to throw off the Avengers. And when they came up empty handed from those false leads, it was Bucky that paid them a visit. 

Bucky practically moved into the conference room. A pillow and blankets found a new home on the couch by the back wall. Only leaving when the missions deemed it necessary. 

As he stood by the conference table going over the new files from their recent raid, Bucky’s mind occasionally went back to Y/N's journal. He had read it cover to cover several times and the small passages that surprisingly made him smile had played on a loop when he felt he needed it. 

This is a little slice of heaven. I found myself actually enjoying a beach day. Last week, I walked past an antique shop that had a globe sitting in view of the window. I couldn't resist and I found myself spinning it. I was reminded how much we talked about doing something like picking a place on a spinning globe and just going there. It's how I ended up in Italy. It's peace. A calm that I haven't felt in months.

He could easily picture her sitting with her toes in the sand as she watched the waves. How he wished he would have been able to see her that day. But then there were entries that stuck in his mind for other reasons.

Out of all the things I've seen and believed in, you'd think I wouldn't be skeptical about psychics. But here I am sitting in the corner booth of a sketchy bar and this woman said she needed to speak with me. That the thoughts troubling me wouldn't last forever. And then she asked for his name. A name that I haven't physically spoken in over a year. Before I could even muster up a fake name to give her, she knew his name. Knew without me even saying anything. She told me he'd come around. That one day he was going to find me and save me from the internal torment that I'm facing. For a brief moment there was hope that sparked within me that maybe one day it would happen. Maybe one day Bucky will let me apologize a million times over. I hope that he can forgive me. But the reality is, after almost a year later, I don't think he will. 

With each entry he read Bucky wondered what would have happened if he hadn't waited so long to go looking for her. Would they be put on a mission together like they used to by now? Or would they be on that vacation he talked about taking with her at one point. 

Each page of her writing gave him a reason to kick himself in the ass for waiting so long. But in truth, he hadn't been ready to forgive her. The day he realized how much he missed her, she hadn't been to a safe house for six months. The day he forgave her was the day he started looking in vacant apartments when they completed missions. 

And now as he stared at the papers in front of him, he knew that no matter how many what if situations he played in his mind, they wouldn't fix anything. The what ifs weren't going to get her back from Hydra. They weren't going to free her from the hold the black journal held over her. 

At first Bucky kept the journal hidden. He didn't dare to open it and read any of the contents the pages held. He hadn't even thought about it until one night his nightmare got the best of him. One where Y/N couldn't be stopped from almost killing her friends. 

Bucky searched through the pages for one command and one command only. While he hoped it would never come down to it, he felt a little better knowing he could stop her from doing something she’d never recover from. 

A sigh passed his lips at the same time Steve walked into the room. 

“That bad?” Steve asked with a chuckle. 

Bucky shook his head. “No. I just…” He stopped for a moment as he looked at the file before him. “I thought by now we would have found her.” 

“We're not going to stop until we do.” Steve noted as he looked at the current spread of papers on the table. “Anything from Mexico?” 

A recent mission to a Hydra base just north of Mexico City provided them with more information than they had gotten in months. Bucky was attempting to sift through it all to see if anything could point them in the next direction. 

“Same as the others so far.” Bucky shook his head. “Intel for everything else but for her.” 

“The guys below haven't given up her handler either.” Steve added. More captives from the base, none of which wanted to speak about the handler. "Nat is giving it a go."

“Whoever it is, they're staying in the dark. They know the blind spots and use it to their advantage.” It was frustrating to Bucky. Frustrating to the team that a good lead would leave them empty handed.

Bucky picked up a CCTV still from the file he had been going through. The stills were deemed priority by FRIDAY for one reason or another. And as Bucky scanned the image attempting to find the reason, his eye caught the top corner of it. 

“What is it?” Steve asked as he caught the way Bucky’s brows began to furrow as he looked at the image. 

“FRIDAY?” Bucky called out to the AI. “Do we have the full clip from camera 5 that was flagged?” A moment later a projected image appeared from the middle of the table. 

Playing now. 

Both Bucky and Steve watched the clip. The camera angle had captured a side room and a hallway. A hallway that Bucky had recognized as he walked through it during the mission. The room in view was empty when he walked into it. 

But as the camera panned the area, equipment could be seen in the room. The sight of it caused his heart to pick up in pace as flashes of memories played in front of him. His fist clenched around the photo in his hand as he tried to push the memories away. He shook his head slightly as he watched soldiers begin making their way down the hallway. 

Several of them were struggling as they walked. Some were knocked down before quickly getting back up. A moment later, Y/N came into view, attempting to fight her way out of their hold. In view of the camera they watched as she threw punches and kicks. At one point she got a few of them off of her before a soldier came and tased her, sending her to the ground. 

Steve's eyes shot to Bucky. He knew what was about to happen given what he was watching. Bucky’s eyes had been fixed on the projection. Steve could see the anger growing within his body language as well as tears well up in his eyes. 

“FRIDAY turn-” 

“No.” Bucky said never taking his eyes off the video. 

It made Steve glad there was no audio attached to this clip. That there was no way for Bucky to hear the torment he was watching on the screen. He wouldn't be able to hear the way she started screaming the moment she was strapped in. 

“Buck,” Steve said the moment he watched a tear fall on Bucky’s cheek. He tried to get his attention away from the screen. 

“If her handler is in this video, I have to-” 

“FRIDAY, run facial recognition through the whole clip and shut this off.” It was Tony's voice that filled the air. Bucky turned towards him the moment FRIDAY shut off the video, shaking his head and ready to protest. “Natasha can be quite persuasive in her interrogations." He walked further into the room. "We were able to piece together what they're trying to make. And in the process, we learned what two things they'll be going for next and where they'll more than likely be hit.” 

“Where?” Bucky asked. The anger he felt didn't evaporate entirely. If anything it was fueling the need to get things rolling. He knew she was going to be the main player and that was his chance to get her back. 

Tony sighed as he looked over at Steve for a moment before looking back at Bucky. “That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Y/N won't be at either of them.” 

“Why wouldn't she be?” Bucky asked with a raised brow. 

“Unless this is another false lead, which doesn't seem likely, given how Natasha obtained the information, but "Phantom" has a new mission she's been tasked with.” When Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, Tony continued. “It's us.” 

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