#Ari Answers

[shurisneakers]

“i can’t seem to understand you” with bucket bucky - hello i love you!!!

um hello i love you mORE

am i going back to my roots?? yes. i never left. here's an avengers 2012 style fic with my new forced family morons.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: mild thunderbolts spoilers, swearing, breaking and entering, mr avoidant over here

my masterlist over here and my silly little inbox for more requests, should you please

"First he leads us into the ass-kicking of our lives, now he's got us breaking into a random flat," Ava snipes, trailing behind the group. "What's the plan now, Bucky?"

"It is not his fault we got our asses kicked," Yelena squints as she looks up the brick wall.

"I don't need you defending me," he grumbles, jumping to catch hold of the fire escape.

"I'm not defending you," she says. "I'm calling all of us useless."

"We will break into tiny, New York apartment, and recover before we fight again," Alexei says. "Take nap, small lunch, then crush our enemies."

Bucky drags the fire escape ladder down to the ground, before wiping off his hands.

"No lunch," Bucky replies. "We're not staying that long. We just need a place to come up with a plan."

"Oh, we're taking the ladder? I figured you had another U-Haul around here to crash," John looks at the rackety old thing. "Can this thing even hold all of us?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, beginning the ascent. "Climb. Or don't. I don't care."

"Move." Ava shoves past him, following behind Bucky.

They crept up the side of the building, quiet enough for trained fugitives, loud enough to be annoying.

By the time they reached the third floor, Bucky was already prying open a window with enough force to snap the lock.

The window behind them hasn’t even clicked shut when a voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"You've got to be joking," your voice snapped from the doorway, sharp enough to stop all movement.

They all freeze.

You’re standing in the hallway, barefoot, holding a bat high up.

Yelena raises a tentative hand. “Uh-- hello?”

“Don’t.”

She puts her hand back down.

"What the hell Bucky?" you grit. "What the fuck are you doing here? And who are these people?"

"You guys know each other?"

"Hi," Bucky grunts, ignoring Walker and also the redness creeping up his neck. "These are--"

"The Thunderbolts."

"No." He glares. "They're helping me take down Val."

"Val? Congress Val? We're against her now?" you ask exasperatedly. "Last time we talked, you just got elected. Are you still in Congress?"

"You're in Congress?" Ava pipes up. "Didn't you kill JFK?"

"Not the point," Bucky groans.

"And they still elected you?"

"I'm not in Congress anymore."

"Oh goodie. Since when?" you ask.

"This morning." He rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't get time to call."

"Sure. You had time to break into my apartment, though."

"About that--" He glances back at the group who were standing around, clearly enjoying the beat-down he was facing. "We just need a place while we regrouped."

"To be clear, he did not tell us that he knew you. We thought we were going somewhere random," Walker juts in again.

"Oh, he's here too. Hello Craptain America. Which sewer did you crawl out of to be here?"

"I didn't even do anything," he mumbles stepping back.

"You've done enough."

"We'll leave if you just say the word," Bucky cuts in. "Swear. But we just need a few hours, and we'll be out of your life."

You stare at him for a few seconds. "Is someone gonna come break down my door looking for you?"

"No," he says.

“A door would not stop him anyway,” Alexei added, sounding entirely too cheerful. “But we will protect you. Not well. But we will try.”

You glance between all of them for a few seconds.

"Fine," you say at last. "If anyone comes looking for you guys, you're replacing anything they break."

Bucky lets out an exhale, as they all walk past him to sink down into various seats.

You turned without saying anything and walked down the hallway to the bedroom.

A minute passes.

Then footsteps.

He sees you leaning against the dresser, arms folded, phone still in hand.

Bucky stands in the doorway for a second, hesitant.

You look at him. “You gonna say something, or are you just here to breathe loud and feel sorry for yourself?”

He blinks. “Hi?”

“Try again.”

He sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

"No way, really?" you drawl. "But this is everything I've ever dreamed of."

"I don't get it. I can't seem to understand you." You shake your head. "You bring me flowers, disappear for three months, we kiss, you raincheck every dinner I cook for you and now you show up here with four assassins."

"You're mad," he says, observant as ever.

You stare at him. Bucky dutifully matches your gaze, forcing himself not to fidget.

"Bucky, why are you here?" you ask, voice deflated.

"I told you."

"You wanted a place to lay low. Is that all?"

He doesn't say anything. You search his face for anything, any sign.

He shifts on his feet. “I just needed somewhere safe.”

“And I’m what? A checkpoint?”

“No,” he says, too quickly, before adding in something more quieter, “You’re the first place I thought of.”

You sigh, folding your arms. “Are you in or are you out, Barnes?

His mouth is pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his chest.

"Because if you are, and this is how it's going to be, I'm not interested. You're cute. I like you. But this isn't enough for me."

"'M sorry," He looks at you, softer now. "Things haven't been good. Didn't want to get you caught up in it."

"Yet here I am."

"I'm sorry about that too," he adds. "

You look at him for a long moment. At the cut above his brow. The dust on his jacket. The way his hands are clenched..

"You kept the bat." The corner of his lips quirk up into a smile.

“You should be grateful I didn’t swing it.”

“It’s got good balance,” he admitted.

He looks different up close. Same face, same eyes but worn thinner. Like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Maybe weeks.

You sigh. "Should I order pizza?"

"Yes," they all chorus from the living room. It catches you by surprise.

"Stop listening in," he barks.

"The walls are like, paper thin, man," Yelena says. "You should have thought of that before you brought us to your situationship's house."

“What the hell is a situationship?” he muttered, directing it toward you now. “Actually scratch that. I don’t care. Whatever it is, that’s not what we are.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms still folded. “No?”

"But there is a 'we', yes?" Alexei calls.

You look at Bucky. He looks back sheepishly, somewhat even helpless.

"Nope," you reply, moving past him to go to the band of morons out there. "There is no 'we'."

"I mean--" he mumbles.

"Classic lover's quarrel," he hears Alexei continues, like he's explaining this to someone. "Melina and I had them many times."

You roll your eyes. "How long do you have? Pizza's gonna take a while."

“You don’t have to feed us.”

"If you're gonna fight against this guy--"

"Bob," someone calls.

"Bob. If you're going to fight against Bob, you're gonna need more than a granola bar. When’s the last time any of you had a vegetable?"

You're met with a series of shrugs.

"Grown adults," you exhale, shaking your head before walking back into the bedroom to find your phone.

You thumb through the menu.

Something soft brushes against your hand. You swallow the thickness in your throat, refusing to tear your gaze away from the phone.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s almost too soft. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t move.

“I mean it. I’ll make it up to you.”

You glance at him.

"Look, I'm not trying to guilt you into--"

"It's not that. I've been meaning to." He swallows.

"Bucky--"

“I missed you,” he said, not quite looking at you. “I wish I could say I’ll get everything right from now on. I just… I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

You swallow. Slowly.

“And it didn’t feel good. Not talking to you. Everything was happening, and the nightmares were back, and I kept thinking 'I should tell you this.' But then I didn’t. And it got worse.”

“You don’t get to drop that on me if you're gonna fuck off again.”

“I won’t.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then you tilt your head. “You know you owe me, like, three dinners.”

He gives you a small smile. "I'll buy you dinner for the rest of your life."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Congressman."

His eyes drifted toward the bat, still propped against the wall.

“You really were ready to clock me, huh?”

“I was aiming for Walker, but yeah. You were next.”

He smiles, and it's probably the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Are these your friends now?" you ask finally.

"They're not even my co-workers."

"Didn’t think you had co-workers anymore. As of, you know. This morning."

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “new job. No salary. No benefits at all, really.”

"You're gonna buy me dinner like this?"

"I'll figure it out."

You snort despite yourself. “You're gonna get someone killed.”

He shrugs again. “Probably me.”

He reaches out. Just lightly. Two fingers brushing against your pinky where your hand hangs.

Without thinking, he shifts just slightly closer. Not enough to close the space, but... there. He's back up in your space, and he fills it like he never left at all.

“I think about you,” he says, voice quiet like it's the one thing he wants to keep only for you both, "All the time."

"Sap," you say, but it feels airy. "Your 100 year old charm won't work on me. This doesn't fix anything."

"I know."

His fingers twitch like he’s about to pull away.

You catch them before he does.

“You disappear again like that,” you say, “I swing the bat next time.”

He smiles, head tilted. “Sure thing.”

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

[trippinsorrows]

What if one of the kids told Solana to shut up? 🤐

That’d be a death wish cause Roman don’t like to see his wife anything but happy 😃

solana had a bad feeling about it from the get-go.

something she couldn't shake in the weeks leading up to roman leaving. the same way she couldn't shake something being off with her son. something roman noticed too, and it wasn't without effort from both parents to try and talk to him. but, beyond his father's looks, tama also inherited the difficulty roman experienced with opening up sometimes. and just as she did with her husband—still does ocassionally—she gave him space. roman gave him space, solana briefly mentioning to her husband that he should try again when he returned from his latest trip. a trip that included their oldest twins tagging along.

a recent thing over the past year and some change, roman taking turns bringing their older kids with him, providing him the chance to spend one on one time with them. on his last visit to italy, he'd taken tama with him, and they'd had such a nice time. solana almost wishes they'd have said football be damned and allowed him to go again this round, lina and leya catching the next one.

because in the days roman's been absent, solana feels like things have almost gotten worse. tremendously. tama's irritation has spiked, his fuse shorter than she's ever seen in him. he has roman's temper, yes. all of her boys do, but tama has always been the type to only show it when provoked. he only shows just how much he's like his father when he has to. not lately. lately, it feels like her baby boy lives in the valley of volatility.

he's just so angry.

"baby?" her voice is as soft as the two knocks her knuckles rap against his closed door. "can i come in?"

she expects him to say no. maybe even ignore her. that hurts the most. the ignoring part, because that's never been her dynamic with her son. none of her kids.

but, instead, she's met with a short, "yeah."

solana doesn't waste any time, welcoming herself into his space, finding his back toward her. tama's long hair is pulled into a messy bun atop his head, his focus on the tv and controller in hand.

solana sits down on the edge of his messy bed, not bothering to comment on it. she's always expressed her desire for the kids to make up their beds, and he knows this, but alas, she's found that picking her battles with her suddenly tempermental fourteen year-old is the best route.

she smiles at him, glancing at the tv. "what are you playing?"

another short, borderline irritated reply. "call of duty."

solana nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. "of course." she chuckles quietly. "you remember when you tried to teach me how—"

"mom, i'm busy right now, what do you want?"

slap. it feels like a slap in the face. an ironic thing considering some sort of physical impact would be preferred over the coldness and frosty reception from her son. such unfamiliar, hurtful territory. so unlike her son.

"tamasa...." the smile is gone, her voice weighed down with all the concern of a worried mother. "baby, i'm worried about you." he scoffs, ripping his headset off, solana continuing, reaching for his arm. "please talk to me. what's going o—"

"nothing," he cuts her off, still not looking at her. refusing almost. "i already told you that."

she swallows, shaking her head. "and, i don't believe you." because, she doesn't. solana knows her family. knows her kids. knows her son, and this....this isn't her baby boy. "tamasa—"

he suddenly shoots up from his chair, finally looking at her, brown eyes burning with irritation that doesn't make sense. "would you just leave me alone?"

briefly taken back, it doesn't take long for her to stand up, remaining undeterred. "no, i won't, tama. i'm your mother—" he groans, walking away from her to the other side of the room. solana right behind him. "tamasa, i'm talking to you."

"i don't care."

she stops in her tracks, her face dropping. "excuse me?" he continues to ignore her, clearly heading for the door. "don't walk away from me when i'm speaking to you tamasa reigns" she reiterates, voice raised, switching to spanish as she remains close on his heels, despite his continued disrespect. he scoffs, actually scoffs, ripping open the door. "tamasa!"

"i said shut up!"

it all happens so fast, too fast, quicker than what she can compute and truly process. the words, his statement, is one thing. something that would normally garner the bulk of her shock and surprise and many other things, but it's easily outweighed by what accompanies said words.

it's the way he quickly turns around, hands lifted and placed against her, forceful, pushing. it's the way he shoves her down onto the ground, solana stumbling back and on her ass, landing on her palms, her wide eyes never once leaving her son.

her son who just put his hands on her.

her son who just put his hands on her.

her son.

tamasa never takes his eyes off solana either, expression similair to the one she wears, revealing and exposing all of the emotions. shock. surprise. fear. the anger has all but melted away in the face of the unthinkable.

a situation made only worse by the appearance of two other faces in the doorway.

"mom?" koa is the first one to speak, both of her younger sons rushing over to her. "mom, are you okay?" his voice is filled with concern, eyes scanning over her. "what happened?"

kai, however, is two steps ahead. standing in front of his twin and her, he asks his older brother, hand formed into a fist. "did you push her?"

he did. tamasa pushed her. her sweet baby boy who would cry and whine as a baby and toddler whenever she put him down, who's always given her the best, most wholesome hugs, who's always looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky, pushed her.

kai growls, rushing towards tama, pushing him back. "get away from her!"

"no....." solana murmurs, finally breaking her silence, the reality of what's occurred settling in and pushing back an emotion she hasn't felt towards the opposite sex in years. fear. she felt afraid. "d—don't—"

but, it's a sentiment expressed too late, because the last thing she sees is the devastated expression of her oldest son before he turns on his heel and rushes out of the room.

[aritsukemo]

“If you ever need me, call my name. I will be there.”

That was Xiao’s promise. You weren’t the only person he’d offered it to, far from the first or last, but you were the only one who had it whispered against their lips, in between stolen kisses that lingered on your skin long after he’d vanished into the moonlight.

“Always. For whatever reason.”

You hadn’t had much need for it prior, beyond the occasional sticky situation or sudden bout of loneliness, but the reassurance was always there. One word was all it took, and he would be at your side. Always with a spear in his hands, and a serious expression, scanning you up and down to check for injuries. Only when he was satisfied you were in one piece, unharmed, he’d speak.

“What do you need?” He asks, putting down his weapon once he realized there was nothing to vanquish. With his free hand, he grasps your chin, turning your face to the left, then to the right. “You aren’t hurt. There aren’t any demons around, yet you called me anyway. Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You blink, nudging something with your foot. He looks down, frowning at the sight of… a picnic blanket. There were pastries, and fresh fruit, and a box of almond tofu laid out across the ground. When he looks up again, you’re grinning. “I thought you could use a break.”

“A… break?” He says slowly, tasting the words like they were unfamiliar. You roll your eyes, giving his hand a gentle tug and pulling him down to a sitting position.

“Yes, a break. You’ve been working non-stop. This is long overdue.”

Xiao continues to stare at the lavish spread of food, not saying a word. The picnic is carefully arranged, each item selected to match his tastes perfectly. Even the location—a quiet, shady spot underneath the shelter of a tree—was thoughtfully chosen; not too far from Liyue Harbour, but far enough that there was no one around to disturb them. You’d thought through everything, that was obvious enough.

“You…” He swallows, the words caught up in his throat. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, the feeling isn’t unpleasant. “Thank you. Truly.”

You smile at him, offering him the box of tofu. “No problem. Eat up.”

The pair of you eat in silence, interspersed with the occasional observation about the weather, or your day, or what Xiao has been doing during his absence. It’s quiet, it’s mellow; nothing like what he was faced with before you called on him. He spares you the details, keeping it to a simple “I was purging evil, as usual.” He knows to omit the most brutal parts of his life, keeping them held close to his chest, so as to not worry you even more than you do.

“You look tired.” You hum. “Do you want to take a nap?”

Your suggestion is met with protest of course, but he never could resist your whims for long. Somehow, despite his objections, he finds himself with his head laid in your lap anyway, the tree branches above casting shade over his face, and you smiling down at him.

Xiao can’t even bring himself to feel displeased with the situation. Your hands in his hair is heavenly, a soft, comforting feeling that has his eyes sliding shut, and all of the tension in his shoulders melting away. He doesn’t know how you manage it, unravelling him with the slightest touch, but he voices no complaints. Any reservations or doubts are swept away as your nails gently rake across his scalp, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Sleep,” You murmur, kissing his forehead. It’s an odd reversal of your positions; typically, he is the one standing guard as you slumber, but he strangely doesn’t mind as much as he typically would. Perhaps it is because it is you that is caring for him, treating him so tenderly like he’s something worth cherishing. You, who remains the only one he will let see his guard fall completely, the one who has seen his shadows, and his regrets, and loved him through all.

When he wakes, he will return to his role as guardian, but as he sleeps, he is content to have you watching over him.

- 🕸️

OMGOSH I AM SOOOO INCREDIBLY SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REAPOND TO THIS!!! I SWEAR I HAD A GOOD REASON!! 😓

THIS WAS SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO GOOD!! YOUR WRITING STYLE IS AMAZING!!!

I've always adored the fact that Xiao is willing to drop everything if we called his name like that always made me feel so loved 🥹 AND FOR READER TO USE THAT IN ORDER TO GET HIM TO RELAX??? UGH I ADORE IT SM

The domesticity in this drabble is top notch like I love how comfortable they are with each other and just imagining it makes me kick my feet!! 😖

Whomever you are 🕸 anon, you're an amazing writer and I promise to pay you back for this gift 💞 TYSM THIS MADE MY WHOLE MONTH!!

[ari-fire-arts]

Your Vash art brings me much joy :)))))

WAHHH??? THANK YOUUUUUU HAVE SOME EXTRA VASH ART WITH A BONUS TRIMAX VASH AND WOOWOO

[slimepuparibaba]

What do you think about the set-up for Skyhaven? Physically, because I'm having trouble putting it together.

It's a floating island on top of Linkon City. We know this, but how do you get in and off of it?

Everything I've read on the cards talks about trains, but what if there's an emergency? Do they move in their little flying cars? I haven't seen like a highway connecting the two. If it existed, it'd kill the aesthetic and remoteness of Skyhaven, and honestly, I think Linkon is a little behind in terms of technology to allow a jet to just park wherever.

What if Caleb needs to get to MC fast?

The only thing I've got at the moment is him straight up jumping off Skyhaven with his evol. Of course, the overprotective yearning jock would probably do it, but it seems like a reach. There must be a better way.

What do you think? 👀

Wait, this is actually so interesting. Thank you so much for the question, lemme cook for a second--

Okay, so here's my current understanding of Skyhaven as of current:

Skyhaven is a floating island above Linkon. Best way to get there is via skyrail / train. An example of a skytrain exists in the graphic of Lucid Dreams, Caleb's Myth, as that seems to be a skytrain to a Skyhaven Amusement Park. There is also good chance that an airport for Skyhaven also exists if someone doesn't want to take the train, since... you know, Skyhaven in the sky. Doesn't seem like there's any flying cars that exist in the 2048, which is interesting. Haven't heard a lick of a mention of a flying car, and Caleb also drives a lambo that doesn't fly so.

I would imagine if there was an emergency in Skyhaven, the Farspace Fleet has evacuation vehicles. Since they're such a big faction in Skyhaven, they will have the technology to create ships or other kinds of jets, planes, etc that allow for safety evacuation. But from what it sounds, majority of the time, Skyhaven only needs to be under lock down (no one can leave Skyhaven, there may be curfew, etc) and them Fleet will take care of things. Also it is very likely (and by likely I mean pretty obvious) the Fleet has backing from Ever so they will absolutely have the means necessary to take care of emergencies. If anything, the emergencies are likely just orchestrated emergencies. But that's just me--

What IS interesting is that Caleb's "house" isn't actually a house, but said to be more than just a house. Place is a gigantic island that's floating around, it's huge, it's gigantic. Also man has a personal landing dock for his jet. Which is insane by the way.

With this in mind, this is what me and my sister think would happen if there was an emergency Caleb and he had to immediately get to you. We got three possibilities.

Man is actively breaking the fucking sound barrier with his private jet to get to you. He's the Farspace Fleet Captain, he's flying to you almost immediately. While Linkon may be slightly behind in terms of technology, there will probably still be landing pads, ESPECIALLY considering the Farspace Fleet seems to be a pretty influential faction that even the World Evol Government has to abide to, and Wanderers are such a common occurence that I wouldn't put it past them to have multiple landing strips somewhere. He will find somewhere to land, hell he'd land in the fucking forest and bolt to you fast as possible. Doesn't matter. If he has to kill someone to get to you, he will. He's above the law in that moment.

The chance of Caleb being ten steps ahead of you is also very likely. Him being Colonel allows him more chances for him to keep an eye on you, to watch your every move. What's more, he doesn't seem above being extremely over protective of you. Man is very perceptive. He would very likely lock you up before the problem even happens. But assuming that the problem was sudden and not even he could catch wind of it, if anyone gets in his way, he will kill them and rush to your side as fast as possible. When you're hurt, he has extreme tunnel vision.

And now, crack theory territory: Caleb will somehow be able to use the Spatium Core to his advantage. That specific Aether Core is held together via gravitational pull, and can manipulate space freely. The Main Story does show how this Aether Core can come into play, and there is a good chance Caleb will be able to properly figure out how to wield it and manipulate it. The moment MC is in danger in the future, I wouldn't be surprised if we find out a Spatium Core is with him and he starts to use its power.

And I'm just saying, Caleb can do a lot with his Evol. If he's somehow able to manipulate it HIMSELF to teleport to her, I also would not be surprised. Do I know how gravity works? No. But man can make blackholes, stop the rain from moving... damn it all if I can't see it happening where by some miracle happens and he can make fucking PORTALS using gravity and spacetime.

[yupokaysuremhm]

awi ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

awsosn 💥💥💥💥💥💥

[lucien-lachance]

“How long have you known?”

Hi, Nonny, sorry this took longer than I'd hoped! It's tough getting these two to actually talk to each other when one or both of them are upset.

Thank you for prompting me to actually write this idea because it's been floating around in my brain for months :')

You can read on here, or over on AO3

From this prompt list~

@arnaerr @blackmetalsnake @neloths-tea @wingedknightrose @theladygrim @devilbrakers @cheesychickenwings @heavy-metal-dick @fruk-choosing-a-username @nuwanders @justafoxhound @skyrim-forever @friend-of-giants @ray-elgatodormido @firebastardextraordinaire yall might be interested in this

~ ~ ~

“How long have you known?”

Lucien’s voice was distant, a whisper against stiff winds, there and whisked away before it could find purchase in her mind. Tatiana’s gaze fell from Umbra’s empty black wall plaque to her hands. Somehow, they didn’t look right. Her fingers seemed foreign and remote, curled up at her as they were, like claws, tools, weapons, things thrust into her lap by some being or force lording over her like a princess lording over their whipping girl, all callous authority and no care or consideration for her needs and feelings. Even her bonding band, a misplaced thing of silver encrusted with polished onyx.

Seated on the edge of her bed, she clenched them until they ached and trembled. They tingled madly through the sting of her nails biting into her palms. Tears splattered her fists, spotted the soft gray cotton of her nightdress and the coverlet’s embroidered green velvet. Scalding, embarrassing before anyone but her horse or the Sanctuary cats. Before him? Damning.

You are a weapon, she admonished herself, a sob kicking through her chest. You are supposed to be a thing, an unquestioning servant of Sithis and the Night Mother. Not a woman. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be happening…

But by the Night Mother’s own admission in the shrine beneath the manor, it was happening, and She Herself had willed it to be. Listener, Silencer, or common Murderer there wasn’t a godsdamned thing Tatiana could do about it, for she’d sworn her life and soul to the Void. If nothing else, she owed Them for saving Lucien at Applewatch and giving her lenience enough to negotiate the contract on her father’s life. In a bitter, storybook sort of way, she supposed it was fitting. She’d besought and received much from Them. Only a deluded fool would’ve believed They wouldn’t eventually seek something grave in return. Why it had to be this, though?

Maybe because it scares you so much. She chewed her lip until she tasted blood. Ironic, fitting, or something in between, the Night Mother’s newest orders still seemed another betrayal in a book already cramped and scrawled with them. Nocturnal had abandoned her to her relatives’ twisted machinations. Her mother and father, to the depraved wickedness of the prison’s jailer. And now the Night Mother had relegated Her dearest prophet and weapon to…

One of her hands drifted to her churning stomach. Another sob hitched her breath. Again se bit her lip, tasted more blood, but none of it grounded her as it should.

“Tatiana, look at me.”

Lucien’s voice was firm, now, though not unkind. She flinched at his hand finding her shoulder, too heavy, warm, and sudden a weight to be accepted with gentleness or appreciation. But she mustered her fraying tatters of composure and wiped her wrist across her nose, tears and snot dragging away on her lacy sleeve. A pathetic woman she might be now, but at her core, she was a Listener. She’d Purified and then restored a Sanctuary. Seized the skeptical Black Hand in adamantine fingers. She would not fall to pieces over this.

At least not while under Lucien’s scrutiny.

Blinking through lingering tears, she met his gaze. Time and tragedy were kind to no one, least of all him. Though fresh from the baths and wrapped in his robe of scarlet silk, the evening’s melancholy left him drawn and slouched beside her. The lamps’ tinted mage light cast his olive skin in a sickly, sallow glow and glared off the ever-thickening bands of silver at his temples. Threads atop his head had recently begun to gray, too, graceful yet insidious in their advancement. The crows’ feet sketched around his dark eyes had deepened in the seven years they’d been together, and the lines across his brow seemed taut whether he smiled or slept. Did he notice how time and stress had begun etching themselves around her eyes and nose, too? Did he ever wonder about how time would bleed the gold and luster from her long, wavy hair? Forget me, she reproved herself. How could She do this to him? Hasn’t he suffered enough?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “what did you ask me?”

“How long have you known?” Cool, quiet. Implacable. Almost more an accusation than inquiry.

Maybe she could lie. Hide it just long enough to try to negotiate with the Night Mother, to convince Her she’d do anything be free of this new and terrifying burden. Punishment. Whatever it truly was. “Known what?”

His stare flattened as it twitched pointedly to her stomach, where her hand still rested. “You’ve eaten little this last tenday. You’ve scarcely touched me when we turned in, which, you and I both know is quite uncharacteristic of you.”

She heaved a deep sigh. Her modest night dress left her body entirely to the imagination, yet under his stare, she felt as exposed and helpless as a slave scrutinized at black market auctions. Of course he’d suspected and known. Lucien Lachance missed nothing. For once, could he miss something? Could he not back her into a proverbial corner, force her to admit the things that gutted her to so much as think?

“My blood didn’t come this month,” she began softly, attention dropping like a stone to her hands. Though her panicked heart raced like a bolted horse, she couldn’t feel her fingers. “I didn’t think anything of it at first. Those contraceptive draughts are foolproof. Then I got sick. I told myself over and over that I’d wake up each day and feel better. But it didn’t happen. And then I remembered none of that would’ve been possible anyway, since our rings protect against poison and sickness.” As if to mock them, her onyx-crusted band glinted up at her, like a daedra’s fangs shining in candlelit dark. Scoffing, she bitterly shook her head. Why was he rubbing slow, gentle circles across her back? Husband or no, he should’ve shrunk back. “I intended to see a healer, but when I Listened tonight in the shrine, the Night Mother told me I was…” Words failed her, mouth going sour for what seemed the millionth time. Fresh tears blurred her vision, and cresting panic drowned her thoughts.

“With child,” he murmured, hand stilling. Whatever his expression had been when she began, winter had frozen it over when she finished and looked up, his eyes icier than a Blade of Woe left in a blizzard. “Rid yourself of it. Immediately. Listeners cannot be distracted or taken out of commission for something as useless as a child, Tatiana. You are our leader, our prophet, our-,”

“Nails grow back. Fingers learn to compensate for lost digits. But losing a thumb cripples the hand, and the Listener is the Black Hand’s thumb. I know, I know, I know. Don’t preach to the prophet, Lucien. Don’t,” she warned, thunder in her storm-blue eyes.

But if her pique was thunder, Lucien was a mountain of implacable stone beside her on the bed. “Then you know also what must be done. For all our sakes, you cannot keep it. I don’t care that it’s mine. You shouldn’t care that it’s ours. We made a mistake with the draughts somehow. The cabinet’s seals might weakened, or one of the ingredients themselves might not have fully cured. It was an unfortunate mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, and one that can be rectified. Flush it out now while it’s little more than blood and muck. It will be easier on your body, and your mind.”

‘Flush it out now while it’s little more than blood and muck.’ Tatiana shot to her feet, fingers curling into the fabric over her stomach. Protectively. Possessively. The Night Mother’s orders prowled her mind like a panther circling a wounded doe, but it was Lucien’s callousness, his stamping on a wound she’d fiercely hidden, that sparked her wrath. He knew nothing of her miscarriage years ago, nothing of her shock and anguish and self-loathing in losing little more than blood and muck. Neither did he know that the Night Mother had taken their first child in exchange for his life. He knew nothing of the agony of having such an intimate decision ripped from her without her knowledge, let alone consent. Most gutting of all, he knew nothing of the horror and grief that still haunted her over the little girl that had almost been, whose life had been stolen before it had even begun. And her new terror over potentially losing another and angering the Night Mother.

So no, even if this had been a mistake, as he so callously put it, she would not flush it out at his urging. It was her body. Her decision. And she was Listener, not his Silencer. Her word was law when she chose it to be.

Save for them, Benirus Manor was vacant. They could’ve hurled end tables or chairs or her filigreed china across the regal dining hall below. They could’ve screamed their throats raw, and not a single living soul would’ve known. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream at how wrong he was and how insulting his words were and how godsdamned unfair it was to be saddled with such a burden after all the other hardships they’d endured. Yet she hadn’t the heart or strength for anything greater than a venomous whisper. “What you and I want doesn’t fucking matter, Lucien. Don’t you understand? It never did and never will! There wasn’t a godsdamned mistake. She told me that. The Night Mother wants this child for Her own purposes and chose us to bear it. She said we must be humbled.” She jabbed a savage finger to the northeast, where far away in County Cheydinhal, an ancient shrine to Sithis slept deep within the Valus Mountains—the place where they’d pledged themselves to each other in service of the Void and received the Dread Father and Mother’s blessings. The place where they returned to a few times a year to worship their god, revel in the pleasures of flesh and blood, and bask in the intoxicating aura of the Void. The place where, only a few short weeks ago, they’d conceived a child. “Didn’t you think something was different there the last time? That aura in the pool seeming to curl around and through us like never before? She told me we’d grown complacent and forgotten the extent of Their power. So She spoiled our potions like some vengeful god sending locusts to crops. You were fated to raise Ocheeva and Teinaava. And now I’ve been fated to…”

Stomach rolling like a ship in a hurricane, she steadied herself with a hand on one of the carved bedposts. Had she eaten, she knew she’d have fled to the privy again. She sucked in a deep breath. Held it and set her jaw briefly before continuing through her teeth. “I’ve fucked up so much in my life, Lucien. I’ve lost much. Gained much. I have lied. Cheated. Disparaged and antagonized and destroyed lives in nearly every possible way. But when I give my word to my allies, family, or patrons, I keep it. I hate it right now, but I swore my life and soul to Sithis. You did, too. We are bound to Their will in this life and the next. So believe me when I say there is not a thing you could do or say to convince me to flout Her wishes, however sorely I wish there was. She wishes me to do this, and I will. With or without one of Her Speakers at my side. Since you are so intimately involved in the matter, I highly suggest you revise your opinion.”

Stunned to silence, Lucien blinked, her words sinking in like rain on desert clay. Slowly, then all at once and leaving soupy muck behind. For a moment, she swore he’d protest or question her. Perhaps muster the audacity to accuse her of blasphemy by pinning the Night Mother as a scapegoat for their own carelessness. Instead, his shoulders merely sagged, and his mouth twisted like he’d tasted rotten meat. He bowed his head. A penitent awaiting the lashes he knew he deserved. “If She has willed this,” he said, “then I should be ashamed for even suggesting it. I beg Her pardon. And yours.”

Although Tatiana’s faith had deepened over the years, she still struggled to submit to Her will—or that of any authority figure—when it countered her own feelings or logic. Doing so seemed like defeat. Cowardice. She could’ve rebuke him and would’ve been justified in doing so, but the proverbial whips fell from her hands. Why, she couldn’t say, but his swift conviction and resignation sundered the dam in her chest. Sobs shook her shoulders again, then clenched her lungs and throat. She slid down the bedpost and hugged her knees to her chest. Wept openly onto them. The tears burned scalding trails down her cheeks, only to turn jarringly cold as the room’s chill closed in on them. If Lucien thought her weak and pitiful, then fair. She thought herself weak and pathetic and a thousand other things that would’ve devastated any good mother or lover.

Marriage hadn’t softened Lucien. Though fiercely devoted to her, treating her to tenderness, wolfish affections, and macabre romanticism he gifted no one else, the Dark Brotherhood remained his first and deepest devotion, remaining coldly pragmatic in his professional and personal lives; as he passed gracefully into his fifty-first year, he was still as stubborn as an ogre’s corpse on a good day and as venomous and merciless as a pit viper on a bad one. He’d never had patience for emotionality—even hers. Part of her expected him to abandon her to misery as he did when he knew couldn’t offer comfort, or when she, in her own obstinance, refused to see what usually turned out to be wisdom in his blunt counter arguments. He could have and probably should have scolded her for eschewing good sense in favor of petty emotion. Some small, sick part of her wanted him to strike her. Snap her out of the pit into which she’d stumbled.

Rather, he heaved a great sigh, rose from their creaky bed, and eased himself down beside her. Said nothing. Did nothing. Just existed with her in aching, mutual misery. Somehow, that was more comforting than any word, embrace, or kiss could ever dream.  

Before long, the panic wore itself out. Her tears slowed. Her breath stopped shuddering. As her pulse calmed, profound heaviness seeped through her bones and turned her muscles nearly to stone. Feeling bled back into her hands and feet, and each digit seemed to have been overstuffed with coarse wool, so stiff and fuzzy as they were when she moved them. Like a glimmer of dawn through closed lids, she became dimly aware of Lucien’s shoulder against hers, enticingly warm through his robe. But she left her brow against her knees as she hunted her breath. Downstairs, the grandfather clock proclaimed the hour before midnight, its resonant chimes lingering long and low in the manor’s marble and mahogany halls. Finally, head heavy as a house, Tatiana looked up through bleary, puffy eyes. She wiped her snot-slick nose again. Only then did she notice the red crescents she’d carved into her palms as she wept, and the arcs of crimson under her nails. She hadn’t torn at her nails for years. Now, they practically begged to be picked at and ripped and left jagged and unsightly.

“This is more than simply a matter of being chastened or chosen for our Mother’s will,” Lucien said, quietly but without warning. “You’re frightened.”

The truth had cut deeply enough when she acknowledged it in private. But Lucien so effortlessly noting it cut, bruised, and broke everything in her heart.

His voice snatched her back from the abyss, but anger had always been her sharpest, quickest sword and strongest shield, gratitude limping in silent and sorely delayed. “Frightened? I’m fucking terrified, Lucien. My mother nearly died bearing my sister and I. Her sister did die in childbirth. I was too young to remember.” Kneading her thumb into her scarred wrist, she dared look him in the face—still reserved, but shadowed now in sympathy. “I’ve tended wounded animals. Helped in field hospitals during the Crisis. You and I raised the initiates from their teens, but…but Void save me, I don’t know anything about bearing or tending babies. I was made and trained to take life, not give and nurture it.”

He angled a brow. “And I wasn’t?”

“You had Vicente to help you with the twins. The Black Hand ordered it. Everything was neatly arranged.”

“So I did have him, though you are not without aid yourself. The Night Mother will council you as She does in all other matters. Marcano will, too, I expect, and he proved surprisingly capable in assisting with the initiates. You have-,” He bit off that last with a scowl, dashing the suggestion before it found voice. “So long as I draw breath, no child of mine will fall into your father’s care. I trust we are of the same mind in that?”

“Gods, yes. I wouldn’t let him watch the cats. Or my horse.”

“Good.” He paused briefly, throat working as his expression softened again. “Perhaps most importantly of all, you will have me.”

You will have me. Those four simple, seemingly insignificant words bore the weight of all her past loneliness, anguish, and terror, shored up foundations she’d once nearly left to crumbled ruin. How could she be so dismissive and self-pitying? Of course she had him. For better or worse, they were bonded through life and beyond death, and nothing shy of Sithis Himself could sever them. Through scars and spilled blood, they vowed themselves to each other and His service. Whatever storms might shake or splinter their hearts, however they might argue or one day come to loathe each other, they would never deny their Dread Father and Mother Their due at each other’s sides.  

And she’d never been gladder for that. Marcano, despite being spry and astute, was now waist-deep in his seventies. For all she knew, her old fence and adoptive father could find himself palsied or infirm, by the time this child was two. Similar, albeit more complex concerns surrounded her blood-father. Though time, legitimate contrition for his negligence, and his alliance with the Dark Brotherhood had mended her relationship with Cassius, she’d never trust him to tend her child. Not after the coldly conditional upbringing he’d given her. The barest notion of it clenched her guts in frozen fingers. Even if their bond had always been sound, Cassius lived in Chorrol, he now required a cane to walk unassisted, and Tatiana wouldn’t so flagrantly insult Lucien’s wishes. She might be Listener, but this was his child, too. She wouldn’t dream of denying him his say in such matters.

Maybe she wouldn’t need Marcano like she had with the initiates. By the uncharacteristic gentleness with which Lucien folded her hand into his, he’d have supported her whether or not they’d blood-bonded or sworn themselves to the Void. He was hers, and she was his. No child, wanted or unwanted, would change that. A slimy knot bulged up into the pit of her throat.

“I don’t even remember the last time I held an infant,” she admitted in a ragged croak. Discomfiting heat flushed up her neck and ears, born of the fear and speechless humiliation in confronting one’s weaknesses. One’s inadequacies. For all that had been innate in deathcraft, thievery, and manipulation, for all that seemed natural in what some termed the Dibellan Arts or, less kindly, wanton whoring, the clichéd maternal instincts had so far eluded her. “I don’t know how to feed or comfort them or tell when they’re sick, what’s normal or abnormal for them. I don’t know anything. I’m terrified I’ll ruin it like my parents nearly ruined me.” She gulped, the walls of her throat chafing. “If you’re to help me, you’ve quite the rotten job awaiting you.”

She clutched his hand like a lifeline in a hurricane, watching the curtains puddled beneath the shuttered window opposite them; the cascade of silver embroidery and tassels gleamed in the lamplight.

“If you’ve forgotten, I’ve trained many initiates, some of whom, if not for the Tenets, I would have culled for their abject stupidity. I taught Ocheeva and Teinaava everything from table manners and acting, to reading and becoming ghosts in the dark. I taught them and Bellamont to weaponize physiology and kill efficiently regardless of what weapons they did or didn’t have at hand.”

“So you did.” She only looked up at him when his thumb began to roll across the scar slashed down the side of her hand. Over and back, over and back, the scrape of old callous she so dearly loved soothing the last of her woes.

“And it was I who retrained you in body and mind after Umbra was wrested from you. Where before it had simply dragged you from one fight to the next, I taught you to truly understand the martial insights and skills it left behind. Compared to such things, teaching you to tend a child will be an evening stroll.”

“At least one of us feels that way. I feel like I’m about to charge into battle naked, unarmed, and in a field of broken glass.”

He snorted at her theatricality. “When you first sat a saddle, what was beneath it?”

“What?”

“When you learned to ride as a young girl, what did you ride?”

“A pony, what else?”

“So you mean to say it wasn’t a destrier or stallion of seventeen hands?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “No child of five can safely manage a full-sized horse on their own, let alone a stallion.”

“Precisely. It was not simply a matter of your size, but your limited skills and knowledge. Were you tall and strong enough, you still would have much to learn before handling a stallion. Similarly, I gave Ocheeva and Teinaava wooden blades long before they touched live steel. Not because they didn’t beg me otherwise or I doubted their outcomes, but because it is a necessary step in training. No one is born a master swordsman, killer, or artist. To become skilled at something, one must first study and practice it. Plain ignorance is not shameful, but willful ignorance is. There isn’t a drop of the latter in you, and I’ve seen you at your best, worst, and all places in between. You do not know anything of motherhood simply because it didn’t suit you to learn, just as I had known nothing of fatherhood until I needed to learn. We have time. You will be fine.”

“Flatterer,” she muttered.

“Flatterer? I may love games, but I do not disrespect my Family by heaping false praises on them. You know that. If they don’t deserve it, they don’t receive it,” he retorted, then immediately checked his indignance, breathing deep as he rested his head back against the side of the bed. Through their blood-bond, she sensed the tension slackening in his limbs and his heartbeat matched hers, slow and steady, one drumbeat answering another. “We slayed xivilai as we hunted your relatives. You claimed victory in every battle you championed during the Oblivion Crisis and slayed countless beasts, daedra, and men. You effortlessly stole in and out of the Imperial Prison, where the same contract had felled two of our best assassins at the time. If you felt fear on any of those occasions, you did not bow to it. Do not do so now. If the Night Mother possessed so much as an inkling of doubt in your will or ability, She would not have given us—you—this task.”

“She speaks to and acts only through the people who have Her favor,” Tatiana agreed, every word soaked in bile. She chewed the tender patch in her lip. Savored the sting more than the tang of blood. Her stomach squirmed again. Fear had been her bread, butter, and beef during her prison sentence and the Oblivion Crisis. On occasion, it had sickened her. Reduced her to a blubbering mess behind closed doors and tied tent flaps. But she’d had Umbra during those dark, difficult years, along with an insatiable lust for vengeance and a blind obsession with protecting her loved ones. They screamed far louder than fear.

Without them? Vows, duty, her faith in the Night Mother, none of it seemed to cushion the shards of glass jabbing into her feet as she stepped onto this new, bramble-choked path.

But they’d have to be enough, just as they’d had to be enough at Applewatch and when they hunted her traitorous relatives. Lucien was right. Whatever she’d mutter as she retched up another breakfast or endured yet another sleepless night agonizing over fears of childbirth, she’d conquered far, far worse. Lucien, too. The Night Mother wished for them to carry and raise this child in the Family’s traditions. So, that meant they could. They would.

Squeezing his hand, she pressed her knuckles to her lips, leaving a small splotch of blood behind. He kissed her temple in kind. She leaned into his shoulder. Clutched the front of her nightgown again. Closing her burning eyes, she whispered the first stanza of the Black Hand’s vow of servitude: “We’ve served Them.”

“And we shall be ever at Their service,” Lucien answered, soft with weary resignation.

Their words had barely died when the light of the chandelier stuttered. Chill air stirred its crystal pendants and the curtains’ tassels, as sudden in its vanishing as its arrival. Neither Tatiana nor Lucien was surprised or troubled by the cold or the sense of being watched; they didn’t so much as look up as they gathered themselves, seeking in each other’s warmth what quiet comfort they could for their human misgivings and frustrations. Listeners and Speakers, after all, the mortal ears, mouths, and hands of Sithis, were no strangers to His unholy shadows and didn’t dare shy from their blessings or retribution. What use would it have been if they did? They were simply mortals. No one could flout the Void’s wishes or evade its humbling lashes.

The darkness heard all, saw all, was all, and it never forgot its children’s vows.

[geniusbuilttm]

The young baron wonders if you would like to aid the anti-human cause?

How do you respond?

Donnie may not have chosen the best Surp-rise contestants to pitch this plan to...

(Panel 1 correction: to all of humanity, yokais, and mutants alike, not just humanity)

@phoebepheebsphibs @tmntaucompetition

[closedrop]

Puyo pride? Can I see a genderfluid Klug plz?

Of course!!

Here you go, thank you for the request Anon!! Please let me know if you’d like anything changed, or specific sprites!!

[mllersjoel]

could you write a matt murdock x reader one shot where the [reader] is spider-man’s cousin, is a doctor in hell’s kitchen and has a thing going on with daredevil.

Then one night after patrolling Spider-man brings DD to meet his cousin after the two get into a fight with baddie of the day but Spider-man doesn’t know that’s the two know each other and just starts going on and on bout how brilliant his cousin is to DD. After their meeting [Reader] wonders when they should tell the poor teen that they already know each other.

haven't you heard?

Pairing: Matt Murdock x nurse!gn!reader

Wordcount: 748

A/N: such a fun ask!! i love writing these guys :D writing comms are open btw :3

***

“Hey, sweetheart,” Matt says, voice barely above a whisper as he clambers through your window. Your head immediately shoots up from where it’s lying on the couch, an episode of an old sitcom playing forgotten on your TV.

“Matt, hey, are you okay?” You ask, rushing to him. You try to hold him at arm's length, to see his injuries, but instead he pulls you in. He hugs you close to him, cradling your head and holding you tight, breathing in your comfort. You instinctively put your arms around him, laughing lightly as he walks your bodies towards the couch. He uses his leg to make your knees buckle, and you let out a light ‘oof’ as he falls on top of you (gently, always gently).

“What’s up with you?” You laugh, scratching at his scalp at just the right way to make him melt into you. He pushes his mask off, settling into your arms, like an extremely touchy weighted blanket.

“Hard day. Tired,” he mumbles, pushing his face into your neck, his stubble tickling you. 

“Any injuries?” 

“Not that I know of.”

“Matthew.”

He sighs. “A small cut on my abdomen. That’s it.”

You run your hands down his sides, trying to feel for it, when he takes your hands in his and holds them to your chest. He lifts his head, giving you a soft kiss. “Five more minutes,” he whispers, “then you can patch me up.”

You never could say no to him. “Fine. Five more minutes.”

***

Matt’s ribs hurt. His hands hurt. He’s pretty sure even his teeth hurt. He heard Peter (Matt figured out his identity pretty quick, he doesn’t even try to mask his voice) get hit a lot harder than he did, but the kid won’t stop talking. It would be endearing, if he wasn’t annoyed.

“—and when you grabbed his arm? I mean, even I didn’t see that coming, and I can see!”

Matt hums, trying to find a way to leave and go to you. He’s pretty sure he has some bones that need to be set back into place, and sure, he could do it on his own, but he really wants you.

“Oh man, you’re looking rough,” Peter says, stopping mid-ramble to take a good look at him. 

“It’s okay, I know—”

“We should see my cousin!” Peter almost yells, enthusiastic. “They’re amazing. Did you know they’re a med student? Top of their class, about to start their residency. And when they help set my bones it doesn’t hurt as much. I swear, they have magic hands or something, everything heals faster when they help.”

Matt snorts. “I’m sure your healing ability also has something to do with it.”

He hears Peter shrug. “Sure, but they also make me hot cocoa if I’m really injured, which has to help in some capacity, right?”

Matt sighs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Should he just run? Just make a break for it? No, he shouldn’t. Peter might follow him and find you. He wants to have something just for him. So, with a weary smile, he turns his head in Peter’s general direction. “Where’s your cousin located?”

Peter excitedly leads him in a seemingly random direction, and Matt blames his injuries on why it took him so long to realise they were going to your building. What are the chances that Peter’s cousin and his doctor live in the same place?

Then Peter swings to your window.

Wait.

Your window?

He throws it open, calling out your name. Matt scrambles in after him, and sure enough, you’re there.

“Matt?” He hears you say, confusion laced in your voice.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders as he awkwardly gives a half-hearted wave. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Peter asks, head swiveling. “Also, sweetheart?”

You rush over to Matt, leading him to your kitchen island and lightly pushing him to indicate he should sit down. “Long story short, Petey, this is the guy I’m seeing,” you tell him sheepishly. Before you can run off to grab your first aid kit (which is really a mini pharmacy, at this point) Matt grabs your hand and gives you a light kiss.

“Ew, gross,” Peter says, almost absentmindedly, “why didn’t you tell me you were seeing the Daredevil.”

“You never asked,” you chuckle.

Peter sputters. “I didn’t know it was an option!”

As you leave for your kit, Matt smiles at Peter. “I agree, your cousin’s pretty great.”

[shurisneakers]

HIII, HOW ARE YOU

I was thinking if you could write Bucky's version of "Who did this to you" 🥰 Also, I love you writing so much! The way you describe things makes it so easy for me to imagine the scenes

a/n: hello my love! thank you for sending this in, I hope you like it<3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don't need to read anything before this

warnings: blood and hurt, implications of violence and killin klg, hurt comfort, swearing

The longer you spend in this business, the more sleep feels like a favor the universe begrudgingly grants. Rest without nightmares is a luxury, and your salary simply did not budget for it.

So when it’s 3 a.m., and someone slips into your room without a word, you’re already awake before the light in your bathroom flickers on.

You hear the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. His silhouette moves inside, quiet and deliberate.

There’s no urgency to it, no noise loud enough to wake anyone else. He knows better than that. He just doesn’t know better than to pick your bathroom to raid.

Sighing, you push off the bed and head toward the bathroom.

The door creaks when you nudge it open, and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s still bent over the sink, head in your cabinet, his shoulders slumped like he’s half-asleep himself.

“Go to bed,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, not bothering to look at you.

“Sure, right after you get the fuck out of my bathroom," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “You know there’s one in your room, right? Or did you get lost again?”

“Crazy. Here I was, thinking I’d take the scenic route,” he deadpans, pulling out a bottle and squinting at the label. “Must’ve missed my bathroom. Maybe it’s hiding behind a bookshelf or something.”

You roll your eyes and press a hand to his shoulder, shoving him aside as you rifle through the cabinet yourself. “Move. You’re just making a mess.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just leans back against the wall with a sigh, watching as you shove aside bottles and boxes. When you finally find the first-aid kit, you shove past him with more force than necessary.

“Sit down.”

To your surprise, he obeys, perching on the edge of the bathtub. His silence almost irritates you more than his usual backtalk.

You crouch in front of him, ignoring the way his gaze follows your every movement as you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze. You don’t want to look at him yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he looks like hell.

But when you finally glance up, it’s still worse than you expected.

If you hadn’t trained yourself to stay composed in the worst situations, your breath might’ve hitched. His lip is split, an eye swollen shut, cuts scattered across his face, and a dark trail of dried blood streaks from his nose to his jaw. The faintest smudge of crimson still lingers on his temple.

"What?" his voice comes out sharper, like he's testing you to see your reaction.

He sits too stiffly for it to just be his face. There are ribs involved, at the very least.

You don't grace him with a reply.

"I'm fine," he says, as if that’s enough to wave away the mess of him.

“Didn’t ask,” you reply flatly, though your jaw tightens.

“Did someone teach you how to be this kind, or is it a God-given talent?” he mutters dryly.

You don’t respond, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes and crouching in front of him.

“How’d your day go?” he drawls, voice flat but testing.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“God, the hospitality,” he drags, voice dry and cracked. "For a second there, I was worried bleeding out in your bathroom might make you care.”

“So fuckin' dramatic,” you breathe, swiping a wipe across his busted lip with a gentleness you hate admitting to. “You’re not bleeding out. And I don’t care."

The silence stretches as you clean him up. He doesn’t flinch-- not at the antiseptic or the sting of your touch-- but you notice his sharp intake of breath when you press a little harder on his ribs.

“Who did this?” you ask lowly, your tone sharp without meaning to be.

He exhales through his nose, something like a grunt. “Why? You plannin' on punching them for me?”

"If that'll keep you out of my damn bathroom at night."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unyielding, but you refuse to meet it, focusing instead on wiping the blood crusted beneath his nose.

Finally, he mumbles, “Doesn’t matter. Kids are safe."

“Good,” you say, but the word sticks in your throat like glass.

When you glance up, his good eye is already on you, his gaze sharper than it has any right to be. His breathing is steady, heavier than usual but not alarming. Whatever he’s looking for, you don’t know, but it’s enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like he’s trying to convince you.

“Didn’t ask,” you mutter, though your hand slows for a fraction of a second before you move on to the next cut.

His lip quirks at that, the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Noticed."

When you move to dab at the cut above his brow, something in his hair catches your eye. Your fingers brush against it, and you pull the strand closer for inspection

That’s when you notice it.

The small braid in his hair, crooked and messy, like it was done by clumsy hands.

You reach out before you can think better of it, fingers tugging gently at the braid.

"Who did this to you?” you ask again, this time biting back a smile.

“Don’t,” he mutters, ducking his head to pull away, but your hand finds his neck, stilling him. His skin grows warm under your hand.

“One of the kids?” you press, voice softer now.

He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly. “The jet was too dark. They needed a distraction.” He pauses, as though considering how much to share. “Missed that one, I guess.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw as you inspect the braid, lingering a little too long. “Shame. It makes you look less hideous.”

Bucky huffs, more exasperated than offended. “You’re shit out of luck, then. Gotta put up with this mug as it is.”

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his eyes flick to yours. Clearing your throat, you drop your hands and reach for another wipe.

He leans back slightly, his gaze dragging over you. “You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Surprised there’s anyone left to punch.”

“There isn’t,” he replies breezily, though the weight of his words hangs in the air.

“Good, I don't have to waste my time cleaning up after you.” You swipe the antiseptic across his lip, slower this time, and your fingers linger a fraction longer than they should.

You don’t miss the way his gaze drops to your hands as you tear off another wipe, the way his jaw tightens when your fingers brush against his skin again.

“You’re happy you don’t get to punch anyone?” he asks, “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you press the antiseptic down just hard enough to make him wince.

Bucky hisses, but his lips twitch, and you hate how much you want to smile back.

Instead, you pack away the first aid kit and push it into his lap.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, turning away.

“Sure thing,” he says, but when you glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching you like he’s not quite ready to leave.

Like maybe you don’t want him to.

"C'mon," you say quietly. "It's late."

He finally pushes himself off the tub, and drags himself silently to your bed.

[trippinsorrows]

Girl where is part two???????

"is he by you?"

a frantic question from a frantic woman. a woman still living in between the valley of disbelief and concern, a permanent residence for over the past hour and a half. the scene replaying in her head like a form of torture. unthinkable. unimaginable. unbelievable.

dwayne sighs on the other end. "yeah, he's here."

at that, solana's eyes shut, her emotions settling just the slightest. not knowing where her children are has always been one of her greatest fears. among other things. and tonight, that's exactly what happened. tamasa not only left the house, but he left the house without his phone, leaving solana with no way to contact him.

how he managed to leave without security following him, she hasn't a clue, but that's an issue for another day. she has much more important, heavier things to tackle.

"sol, what the hell happened over there?" dwayne's question brings her back to the conversation at hand. "kid has barely said a word and looks like he saw a fucking ghost." for some reason, that makes the weight sitting at the bottom of her stomach sink even deeper. no mother wants to know or see their child upset, and knowing tamasa must be all over the place and her not being there to help him is crushing. "i know roman said the boy's been off lately, but this...."

she closes her eyes. he has no idea.

"we, umm—" she sniffles, wiping at her nose as she paces tamasa's room. "we got into....an argument."

a pause on the other end. "what kind of argument, solana?"

right then and there, she knows, knows that there's no use in lying to him. in trying to downplay what occurred. doesn't stop her from trying though. "it's nothing."

"solana, my nephew is sitting in my guest room just staring at the wall, and you're holding back tears." failing to hold back tears, solana unable to stop them from cascading down her face. "what happened?"

she doesn't want to. doesn't want to tell him. doesn't want to have to deal with any of this, but she also knows that delaying the inevitable has never helped anyone in life. especially her.

"please don't tell roman," she croaks.

"solana, i'm getting conc—"

"he pushed me."

a pause. long. longer. and then—

"what?"

and right away, despite her own mixed bag of emotions regarding what occurred, she slips right back into mama mode. "don't say anything to him. don't even tell him i told you."

"he pushed you?" disbelief forms a marriage with anger that seeps through his tone. "has he lost—"

"something's going on with him. i know it. i just....." she stops herself, blowing out a breath, hand over her chest, regulating her emotions.

"you have to tell rom—"

"i know, i will. i just..." another sniffle. "i had to make sure my baby was okay first." because what happened doesn't change the fact that her children's safety will always come first, hence why she's been on the phone with several family members trying to track down and see where her eldest son is. "and, dwayne, i mean it, don't say anything to him."

another loud sigh. "you know we don't play that shit in this family, solana."

she knows that very well. "and, so does he." even if she, for the life of her, can't understand just what made him do it. "let me....let me talk to roman first."

"you gon call him now?"

i don't want to. "yeah."

and finally, the question she was both waiting and dreading. "you're okay though, right? physically, i mean? he didn't hu—"

"no." there's something about him even asking that that upsets her. her son would never hurt her.

and yet...

"please just keep him there with you. for....for now." because solana still needs to sit down and talk with koa and kai, her younger boys who are somewhere in the house blowing off steam from what occurred.

"i will," he promises. "just let me know when you want me to bring him back home."

"thank you," she murmurs, voice dipping once more from the heaviness of it all. "and, dwayne?"

"yeah?"

a broken gasp. "tell him i love him."

because nothing, nothing at all in the entire universe could ever change that. period.

"i will, sol," he agrees, offering with all the sincerity, "let me know if you need anything."

she nods. "okay." disconnecting the call reminds solana of where she stands, still in her son's room, the tv still on revealing a paused game. the bed still unmade and unkempt, an empty water bottle on the floor beside his desk. she closes her eyes and places her hands over her heart, taking another deep, shaky breath.

that was difficult.

this will be devastating.

solana lifts up the phone, shaking fingers ready to navigate to roman's contact when something catches the corner of her eye. something on tama's dresser, another place and space of unorganized mess.

how she sees it, she hasn't a clue, but she does, and it makes her frown.

solana places her cell phone in her back pocket and walks over to the dresser, reaching for the manilla envelope with a strange bulge. shaped like something familiar. like a bottle.

and, that's exactly what she pulls out. a pill bottle. a large one, too.

but, it's when she pulls out said bottle, reads the label of said bottle that an already dire situation skyrockets from bad to horrific.

tears brew in her eyes, her hand over her mouth. "oh my God...." she can't stop reading it, not the description or the other writing, but the name. something most familiar to her given her profession. something she knows all about through various teachings and experience in her field. but, something she never would have thought to find in her fourteen year-old son's room.

trenbolone.

a name that might mean nothing to some but everything to her, because she recognizes it for what it is.

a anabolic-androgenic steroid

tama is using steroids.

------

ya'll gon have to wait for part 3 until tomorrow or something. it's late, and my head hurts. 😭

[aritsukemo]

when you say that you wish lyney were more of an insane villain sometimes, wdym 🤔

OKAY OKAY OKAY so idk if you are aware but before Fontaine came out, his trial was leaked ( Specifically the comic of that showed him being evil like Furina tried to paint him out to be ). That on top of the marionette Lynette theory made many speculate that Lyney was going to be insane and that Lynette would be dead. ( One theory basically gave a whole backstory to where Lynette died tragically on a Fatui mission when they were younger and Lyney, unable to cope with his sister's death, either 1) took her dead body and made it into a puppet or 2) made a puppet replica of his sister. Either way he'd be controlling her and stuff which would explain her lifeless expression )

While I love that whole theory, I always adore the idea of Father Lyney where he, though doesn't face trauma like Arlecchino does or is necessarily evil, has to follow the Fatui's orders which would make him appear so and us, the Traveler, are basically back to square 2 with him where we felt betrayed and upset at him for being affiliated with such an awful organization.

Like, don't get me wrong, I like our Lyney but I wouldn't have minded it AT ALL if he resembled more of Wanderer and his story where he actually did have an evil phase and, through strife and probably an ass whooping, became a better person. ( Not necessarily good, but a better person.

This is sad as hell, but I also love it when people dive more into Lyney's depression because I feel as though not many talk about it ( which makes sense if you don't read up about it ) Like homeboy literally tried to off himself at some point??? Legit grew so desperate to be put on the same missions as his sister when he was younger that he tried to get a delusion that literally kills your body and can give you a slow, painful death like I find that so insane.

Gosh I love this man. The yearning is getting worse by the day I fear- 😓

[ari-fire-arts]

LivRaz 👀

I LOVE THEM RAHHHH

[slimepuparibaba]

hey I started following you after I saw your Caleb timeline post which thanks a lot!!

Bc you're into figuring out the chronological order, I was wondering if you could help me solve a question I was pondering about. Are the Aerospace Academy and Caleb's college the same thing or are they different things? If so, which came first?

Also let me join you in the frustration at infold not giving us a chronological timeline. I can't with this fr

HELLO HELLO!!! THANK YOU FOR YOUR QUESTION :DDD

so... this has been a dilemma me and a few other ppl got confused about, but FROM WHAT WE CAN TELL.

ACCORDING TO INFOLD.

Aerospace Academy and Skyhaven University might be the same thing. Which is confusing. This is what we're going off of currently solely because of the fact that every time Caleb mentions college, it somehow... means DAA

Stage Observer's Tender Moments summary? Said he was graduating from college. And he also mentioned Skyhaven University in the main Story. So this led to the camp of "oh, they're different things".

But then...

When looking into his About Him, it says it's the Aerospace Academy.

We thought it was a mistranslation and Skyhaven Uni just wasn't mentioned in any other language, but it turns out, it was NOT a mistranslation and Skyhaven Uni is ALSO MENTIONED IN EVERY OTHER LANGUAGE.... WHICH ISNT CONFUNSING AT ALL

So here's the current theory:

Aerospace Academy is a specialized department at Skyhaven University. He takes some years doing Gen-ed stuff, general training, and then Aerospace Academy is specialized, where he properly learns to fly things.

So current evidence suggests that Aerospace Academy = Caleb's College (Skyhaven University)

...INFOLD PLEASE MAKE IT EASIER ON US. PLEASE. PLEASE. CHRONOLOGICAL CARD READING TIMELINE WHEN.

Please.

PLEASE.

P L E A S E--

(anyway hope this helps :DDD)

[yupokaysuremhm]

hello stranger, do you perhaps have a favorite Mike Walters

if cowboy michael has a million fans, i am one of them. if cowboy michael has 5 fans, im among them. if cowboy michael has 1 fan, it is me. if cowboy michael has no fans, i am dead.

COWBOY MICHAEL BLAST please enjoy a collection of images from my woe.begone pinterest board that remind me of cowboy michael