#I don't need another thing to work on but I could write this...

[taegularities]

upcoming… | (m)

Summary: Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No – you want this entire story to die.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: exes to ?, college!au; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: heartache, past breakup, flashbacks, memories, memory erasure (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind vibe), tears, angst angst angstttt, fights but also such tender moments, college sweethearts 🥺, smut (details to be added when the fic drops)… the ending 👁 ➵ est. word count: around 25k ➵ a/n: another angsty taegularities special :D coming next, so stay tuned!! 👁

–

"I do fear… what if one day, it's just me and my thoughts, and you're nowhere to be found?"

Jungkook laughed; not at your worries, but about how improbable the words sounded. It flooded a sense of relief through you when he promised, "To leave… I'd have to un-meet and forget about you entirely, you know?"

Summary: Somewhere out there, a sinister castle roams the hills behind the dense fog. And somewhere hidden inside, there is a man you need to find; to charm; to wreck. Provided… he doesn't destroy you first.

➵ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: howl's moving castle au, fantasy au, s2l / e2l; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: magic and stuff, spy stuff, frenemies?, bickering and initial dislike, fights, sexual tension, based on the movie version of HMC, multiple (2) smut scenes (details to be added but expect… quite smth :p) ➵ est. word count: 20k ➵ a/n: this has been a wip for literal years now, and i think it's time i sent it out into the world :') since i'm rereading the book (but the fic is based on the ghibli movie!), i've been feeling some sort of way, soooo… howl oneshot soon?

–

“Do you feel anything?”

You can't. There is no heartbeat, no steady rhythm, nothing. Yet he breathes, walks, smiles as if he's missing nothing.

You shake your head, and he chuckles, a crooked smirk that confuses you in the best way possible. He loosens his firm grip around your hand, but you still leave your touch right there, rubbing over his chest until he adds,

“A heart's a heavy burden.” The warmth of your fingers sprawls across his torso, his eyes closing. “Especially if you’re me.”

Summary: Jungkook and you try something very, very new.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: fwb/fake dating/established relationship; fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: smut smut smut (everything else is redacted bc that'd just spoil the whole thing ha ha :D) ➵ est. word count: 10-12k ➵ a/n: this is part of my colour me in series – for those who don't know! the series is still paused, but i might continue it sometime this year if things work out. this drabble would come next <3

–

"I've been promising it for so long now," he whispers, fingertips wandering along your bare sides, beneath your crop top. "Haven't I?"

Summary: Jeon Jungkook barges into your unproblematic life unexpectedly. He's supposed to stay for the summer; but it doesn't take long for the bright days to turn grey, stirring, bittersweet; a trigger for bleak memories and a reminder that sometimes, closeness shatters more than it heals.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: s2l, summer/college au, dancer!jk; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: love triangle!!, yearning, thin walls lol, tears, fighting, old memories/childhood stuff, (mention of) drugs, abandonment, camping, multiple smut scenes (details will be added when the fic drops), plot twists, heartbreak, THE ENDING PLS ➵ est. word count: 40k lol; might split it in 2-3 parts if it gets too long ➵ a/n: i am most excited for this oneshot (?), and i have been for so long. it's a scary amount to write and i don't know when it'll be done. if i could, i'd write and post it rn… it's hella intimidating, but i love this story and i'm also hella excited, so… stay tuned and bring tissues <3

–

“Maybe… I don't know,” he pauses, blinking, and then starts anew, “maybe I'm this much with her, so I don't end up knocking at your door.”

A sting of guilt pierces your heart; you ask, “You… you guys hook up all the time. Doesn’t she feel… that way for you?”

“She doesn't.”

“And you? Do you feel anything for her?”

“I don't.” He hesitates again, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, friendship.”

“...Don't end up breaking hearts, Jungkook.”

Summary: In a world fractured by hatred, Yoongi seems your quiet salvation. But when a boy from your past returns, cloaked in secrets and unfinished memories, battle lines blur and you find yourself faced with a choice between the peace you built and the fire you never truly forgot.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader, Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: royal au, s2l, childhood bf2l, love triangle; angst, fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: there's a battle/war thing going on, love triangleeeee of the best sort, tender yoongi and fierce jungkook, some scenes are extremely tense – again in the best way possible, sexual tension, heartbreak, hate, betrayal (and nope, no cheating), multiple sex scenes (with both yoongi and jk (but not with both of them together lol)), falling in love hard, jealousy; the… the ending…… ➵ est. word count: 150-200k (around 10 chapters) ➵ a/n: THIS WILL LITERALLY RUIN US LMAO no seriously, i'm going to pour my everything into this. it's a story with quite some angst and heavy tension that even gave me trouble breathing when i was just outlining it :') yoongi in this is achingly sweet and jk is absolutely delicious. i think it'll be a piece i'm most proud of… and someday, i want to turn it into a novel. i hope you all love this 🤍

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"I am in love with you," Yoongi whispers; your eyes water. "Even if you aren’t only in love with me. I know how this might go. And I am not saying we should make this official because – I am scared you might realise you need him more."

"It’s not about needing anybody…"

"But it’s about who sits in your heart so deeply that it feels like you need him to survive. I don’t know if I am that for you. But you’re that for me."

–

"Why are you still here, Jungkook? Why are you always around me? It’s not me you came back for."

"Sweetheart–"

"Would you have? If not for this?"

"If not for this… I would have come sooner."

Summary: A casual hook up morphs into a fierce fever dream when roommates slash best friends Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook bring heaven and hell to you – all at once, in one single night.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader x Jungkook ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: kind of fwb, threesome, college au; fluff, hella smut ➵ warnings: yoongi and oc are fwb, teasing, flirting, kissing booth stuff, jk wears glasses and has long hair (manbun beloved), sexual tension, mid-sex convos, threesome, smut (e.g., double penetration, degradation, spit stuff, manhandling,.. (will expand on this once the full thing drops), aftercare, valentino yoongi and ck jk!! ➵ est. word count: 12-15k ➵ a/n: back to the ruin you days, i guess. am super excited for this to finally drop. gonna give y'all the best version of it possible, love you <3

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“I’m just saying. Tonight might be a little too much for you with the two of us, you know? I’m not as easy to handle as you think.”

“I don’t think you are,” you confess. “But I don’t want to handle you. I want the opposite.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. A hint of desire, hunger growing in the predator’s big gaze. If he wants to reject you now, you’ll walk away.

But you don’t think he will.

And once more, courageous, you say, “Handle me, Jeon Jungkook.”

full teaser that i once posted!

Summary: You carve your name into Jungkook's mind with constant affection and care, and he keeps hoping that both your hearts beat in unison, synchronised and wild. But in reality, it’s only ever him who falls – you're as still as time... until, you're not.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: singer!jungkook, bf2l but also brother's best friend; angst, fluff, smut; trilogy ➵ warnings: jealousy, another love triangle lmao, namjoon is her brother and his best friend, oc playing wingwoman, confessions, pain, tears, moving away, yearning, idiots to lovers too tbh, smut <3 ➵ est. word count: around 60-70k in total ➵ a/n: this is part of my evermore series which was supposed to have a oneshot/twoshot/trilogy per member with unrelated stories; but since life has gotten so crazy, i might not be able to write all of them. but i still have tae's fic 'cotton candy' written and want to work on timbre; so these will drop at least and i am so thrilled to share them. especially this lil mini series 🤍

–

Jeon Jungkook has been in love with you since the very first time he met you.

At least that's what he'd tell you if you ever asked.

He won’t tell you that whatever respect he housed for you since you were teenagers evolved into something far more advanced along the way.

That it was over time that your friendship started blooming like the tiger lillies he liked so much. You must have been sixteen then.

Now, around eight years have passed, and the thriving musician and your best friend Jeon Jungkook is still in love with you. Boundlessly, irreversibly.

–

a/n: hey hey!! this is a small overview of all the things i shall start preparing very, very soon. i will work on these wips whenever i can, and i am excited about every single one of them. i will ofc also drop longer teasers to each story when we reach that point!

i do also think you guys will love each story! so i can't wait to drop them one by one :') this post is also sort of to motivate and inspire me, so if you want to talk about any of these or hype them up… let's talk :p

–

also, here's the taglist! <3

[yuurivoice]

Man what the fuck do you mean we are getting into another goddamn war in the middle east over nukes our own intelligence can't seem to agree on the existence of? What in the Now That's What I Call 2000's kind of bullshit is this???

There are clear and obvious consequences and concerns here, but something that strikes me is how the timing of this is set to galvanize the angry young men in the States who are poor and unable to find their role in the workforce and will be preyed upon by recruiters to go play soldier when they're better fit to be a goddamn electrician but you don't get a signing bonus for going into a trade like you do when signing up to go get shot at.

They've been fed so much bullshit, and a war will help solidify their half baked beliefs about the world because they'll be looking at it through range finders and scopes.

Muhammad Ali had a particular quote about a certain word no Viet Cong ever called him. That quote made so much goddamn sense to me, I was a kid at the time when I first heard it. But damn. We really are about to send off some kids to war while their kin are liable to get kidnapped by ICE, shit, they'll cook up a "service for citizenship" process and act like it's a fucking gift.

Tired of brown folks getting demonized, displaced, and slaughtered. Tired of watching the ignorant think any of these recent events make them exempt or safe from fascism. Heartbroken to see how cold and hard-hearted the average American can be. It's painful to see propaganda work over time. To see the anti-authoritarian homies from two decades ago succumb to boot licking and cult of personality politics.

Had to come back at 5am to finish writing this because I wrote myself to sleep around midnight trying to make sense of it all. And the thing is, hate doesn't make sense. Somewhere along the way, some insidious thing tipped the scales and people became incurious and fearful instead of inquisitive and hungry to learn.

How are we supposed to win back the minds of people who are so entrenched in their hate that they can cheer for atrocities and injustices? How could any of those who have been wronged set aside their righteous anger and fury long enough to be bothered trying to flip the point of view of someone who could be so cruel? That is too much to ask.

There's no way this is the endgame, right? That humanity becomes so calloused and hateful that we choke ourselves on petty differences and ignorance as our planet dies out while we suffocate in the blaze of it all. Have we failed so often for so long that it'll only be in our last gasps that we realize how foolish we've become?

It feels unhelpful to wonder these things out loud, but on the other hand, maybe it's a comfort for others to see that anyone can be bothered to wonder these things at all at this point.

If we have passed the event horizon and it's just a matter of time, the best we can do is try to support those who need it and love each other. Feed the connections to those who bring you joy and laughter. Embrace loving people, and even if shit gets really, really grim...trust that love endures. It will outlast and overcome hate every time. Even if it's a naive, childish sentiment, that's where I'm putting what little faith I have to spare. When some strange creature seeks to understand what happened to us when we are all long gone, I hope they see that in the ashes they'll find the bones of those who chose to embrace one another as the darkness approached. Let them gaze in wonder at the human capacity to love.

Take care of yourselves. 💖

[sydwritess]

A Girl Named Lucy

Oscar piastri x fem!reader

Summary: Oscar has been trying to go on a date with you for a while now, but you decline again and again. One day, he finally asks why, not knowing the secret you keep behind doors.

Second Person POV

Warning: mentions young pregnancy

You were at the Monaco GP, walking around the paddock with your daughter, Lucy.

You were one of the sports biggest sponsors and promoters, so you went to almost every race you could. Also working a little behind the scenes.

You and Lucy had a quick little break after the race, so you decide to take her to explore the circuit.

"Ok mom look at that!" She says, looking to a drink.

"Babes, you're only 5. You can't have that." You say, slightly laughing.

She was jumping for joy all over the place, her ginger hair bouncing around, her little pink coat that she insisted on wearing, flapping around her waist as she walked.

"Do you have to go to work again?" She asked, her voice small.

"Yeah, I do. But you are going to sit in the garage with Uncle Lewis and spend time with him." You say, crouching down to her level.

"Okay." She sighed out. You smile and grab her hand lightly, taking her through the crowd of people.

Some were taking pictures, some were exploring, some were... everywhere. But it started to get crowded. And you felt that through Lucy's hand.

Squeezing tighter and tighter. You crouch down slightly, picking her up a balancing ber on your hip.

"You okay?" You ask, her head cuddling into your neck.

"I don't like the people." She says.

"I know, I'm sorry baby, but I had no one to watch you today." You tell her, rubbing her back.

You try to walk quicker, squeezing through the crowd, making your way to the Ferrari garage.

"Lewis." You call out, suddenly he comes running out in your direction.

"Hi y/n." He says giving you a hug.

"Hi." You smile, hugging him back.

"Hey lucy." He says, holding up his hand for a high-five, but she ignores it.

"You ready to have a fun day with Uncle Lewis?" You ask. She shakes her head, gripping on to you tighter.

"Baby I have to go. I'll be back soon." You say.

"No, I don't want you to leave." She says.

"I'll be right back, I promise." You say, managing to pry her off and put her back on the ground. She only finds your hand and holds it tight.

"Look, you and Uncle Lewis are going to have such a great time, baby. I promise."

"But I want to stay with you."

"I know." You crouch down. "I know. Tell you what, when we go home tonight, we can do whatever you want." You say.

"Like eat ice cream for dinner?"

"Well, of course! You can do that." You say, putting your hand on her side slightly, hugging her. She hugs back tightly.

She slowly lets go of you, and you stand up.

"Thanks for letting me watch her." Lewis says, taking her hand.

"You know it's no problem." You say, hugging him slightly.

"I promise I'll be back soon." You say, walking out of the garage and down to the McLaren garage.

"Y/n, your late." Zak said, crossing his arms and looking at you.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I got side tracked." You say, sitting in a chair across from him. Lando was by his side. Oscar was next to you.

"Doing what?"

"I just... lost track of time, talking with another team about something." You say.

"Right well, we need to review footage of this race, talk strategies, analyze the performance." He says. All of you nod and get out your laptops, sharing the link that he emailed you.

"You sure you don't want to go out with me?" Oscar whispers to you.

"I'm sure." You giggle.

You all start watching the same video. Zak began the video as you took out a notebook, getting ready to write a lot.

"See, there." Zak says, pausing the video.

"Turn 5, you should have braked there. Any other place you could have gone flying into the wall." Zak said, looking at Lando.

"Yeah, I know." Lando said quietly, crossing his arms.

Zak continued talking about the race, going over each little thing until we were done.

You got up and stood outside of the garage, having a few minutes alone before getting Lucy.

"Hey y/n." A voice said behind you, you look over your shoulder to see Oscar there.

"Hey." You say quietly. There was a moment of silence between you.

"Right, I'm just going to ask you." He says, pausing. "Why don't you want to go out with me? Like are- is it me?" He asks.

"No, no it's not you it's just." You breath out.

"I can't really... go on a date. Just, a lot going on now, I don't really have the time." You say slowly.

"It's okay. I understand that."

"I'd love to go on a date with you, you do see like a really nice guy. I just can't." You say.

"Wait- you don't have a boyfriend or anything right?" He asks.

"No, it's not that just... I don't know, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. Figured I try at least." He joked.

"Ohh momm." A little voice says from afar.

You shut your eyes and shake your head lightly, freezing in the moment.

"There you are!" Lucy says. You turn around to see her run up to you, and Lewis running after her.

"Sorry y/n, she outran me" Lewis said, eventually catching up to us.

"It's okay." You say, crouching down to Lucy.

"Are you okay?" You ask. She nods.

"Uncle Lewis gave me ice cream and he let me pet his dog and he let me watch the cars on the computer!" She says excitedly.

"Well it sounds like you had fun." You say, she nods.

You look up to see Lewis give you 'are you good?' look. You nod and he slowly walks away.

"Can we leave?" She asks, clinging on to you.

"In a minute." You say. You pick her up again, slowly turning to Oscar, who had a surprised look on his face.

"Surprise." You say slowly.

"You have a kid?"

"Teen pregnancy."

"Is her dad still in the picture?"

"No, he left a while ago." You say.

"What her name?" He asks.

"Lucy."

"What a lovely name." He says.

"Lucy, say hi." You say, she shakes her head and cuddles deeper into your neck.

"Okay, sorry." You say.

"It's fine, honestly." He says, smiling. You both go silent again.

"Uhm- how about this, maybe tonight I could... come over and we could hang out, not a date if you don't want it to be." He suggests.

"Sure." You say.

"Perfect. What time?"

"Maybe around 6." You say.

"Alright, I'll see you at six then." He smiles. He walks back into the garage and you walk out of the paddock, through the crowds of people again.

"You ready?" You ask Lucy, who was buckled in her car seat. She nods her head and you start to drive back to your apartment.

"Is that guy coming over today?" Lucy asks quietly.

"Yeah, he's just coming over for a couple of hours." You say.

"Why?"

"Because that's what friends do, they hang out with each other."

"Can I still have ice cream for dinner?" She asks.

"Hm, how much did Uncle Lewis give you earlier?" You ask.

"Just one, with a cone."

"Okay, that's fine." You say, pulling up to the apartment building.

"With sprinkles?"

"Well of course! You can't have ice cream with out sprinkles." You say, getting out and unbuckling her.

We walk up to the building, walking through the lobby and to the elevator. You were on a pretty high floor so it took you a while to get there.

You walk down the hallway and stop at your door, unlocking it and walking inside.

"Why don't you color in the living room, I'll be back." You say, she nods and you walk back to your bedroom, changing into different clothes.

You were doing some chores around the house, cleaning up a bit for when Oscar came over. Lucy was coloring in the living room, and you were making her ice cream.

"Here you go baby." You say, handing her the bowl.

She quickly sets her drawing stuff aside and dig's into her 'dinner.'

You were back in the kitchen, cleaning up when you hear on a knock on the door. You walk over to it, opening it to see Oscar there.

"Hey, come on in." You say. He walks in, standing awkwardly to the side.

You walk into the living room, both sitting down on the couch.

"Hi." Lucy says, looking up at Oscar from the floor.

"Hey Lucy." He says politely.

"Are you in the cars to?" She asks.

"Uh- what?" He says, looking at me.

"Do you race." You elaborate.

"Ah- then yes I am." He says.

"Are you as fast as Uncle Lewis?"

"I like to think so." He said, she quickly went back to coloring and eating her ice cream.

"I had no idea you and Lewis were related." He said, looking over at you.

"We're not... he was there from the beginning. Helped out, always babysat when she needed to be. Things like that." You say, he nods.

"Can you hang this on the fridge?" Lucy asks, holding up a picture in your direction. You nod and look at it.

A picture of her in a Ferrari car, going around a track. You giggle at it, turning it around to show Oscar.

"She's going to be the next gen of F1." He says, smiling.

"You should let me drive your car." Lucy says, turning to Oscar.

"Oh really? Well I'm sure you could. You seem like you know what your doing, yeah?" He asks.

"I do! I watch them go in circles for hours and hours. And someone wins!" She said. She slowly crawled up on the couch, sitting between you and Oscar.

"That's right." He smiles.

"How do you use the bathroom?" She asks him. He laughed slightly.

"We don't, we have to hold it." He said, she gasped.

"How do you eat?"

"We do it before the race."

"How do you drink?"

"We have our bottle, and a tube like thing, and drink it while we drive."

"Do you drive the car fast on the road?" She asks, he looks at you confusingly for an answer.

"Do you drive that car, that fast on the main roads." You say.

"No, I don't. Unfortunately were not aloud to."

"That's mean." She said.

"Very mean." He agreed, smiling at her.

They talked for a while, mostly about racing and work. It had been a couple of hours since he was here.

"Thanks for coming over." You say, the both of you standing at the door.

"I had fun. It was nice to meet her. I do have to say, she loves racing." He says, smiling.

"She's always like that. Honestly I don't know where she get's it from. I think Lewis has been teaching her to much." You giggle.

"Hey, it's never to early to get a jump on things." He says. There was a moment of silence between the two of you.

"So... I met Lucy. Does that mean we can go on a date?" He asks, smirking.

"A date?"

"Yes, A date."

"Your not... nervous?"

"Why would I be?"

"Because I have a whole kid. I mean-"

"And she's lovely. You've raised her right." He said quietly.

"Look, how about this Saturday, at 6. I'll figure out the details. All you have to do is get Uncle Lewis to come babysit." He said.

"Deal." You smile. He pulls you into a hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He says, opening the door.

"See you tomorrow." You smile.

Hey loves! Hope you like this! Comment to be added to the tag list! Requests are open

[snowstormarts]

hi ,,, what if ,,, you wrote ,,, teaching daemon how to kiss first time ,,,, hello ,,,,,, if thats okay ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,;;;,,,,,,,.,,,///,,,

I'm always down to give Daemon some more love but I do have to confess that I struggled a little writing this oneshot here ^^" But I still hope you guys enjoy it, also feel free to send in Ideas & Requests, the ask box is still open :D

This oneshot isn't beta read and was also written in like a a day & a half xD So sorry for any typos or such

"Kissing 101 for Game Bugs turned Human!"

[Daemon x GN!Reader] [Divider Credit]

It wasn't everyday that you got to date a game bug, let alone one that was very attractive and didn't try to infect the other inhabitants or break the game in any serious, unrecoverable manner. He was simply just having some fun, trying to annoy you, scare you even and then one day he just...fell for you. It was a foreign concept, he didn't know he had that code in him to feel real, actual real love and not just another empty line of Code. Quiet frankly he was a little nervous at the beginning, even if it was hard to see with his limited facial expressions.

So then, when the day came where you confessed your feelings for him, he was ecstatic he had assumed it would end in Friendship maybe even Hate. He was sure he didn't do anything that would warrant anyone to look at him with such kind eyes and yet, here you were. Confessing your love to him, making his heart speed up to the point where he thought it was programmed to spring out of his chest and burst into confetti if anyone ever choose to Love him.

After he had calmed himself he confessed without hesitation, asking almost in whisper if he could share a kiss with you. He will never forget the moment where your lips met, it was strange to you that much was clear from your confused yet delighted hums. It truly was the strangest kiss you ever had and probably will have, it wasn't bad, just strange in a nice, special Daemon way and you wouldn't have had it any other way.

You promised him afterwards that he would be the first one to be realized. He didn't even have to wait long since the first thing that happened the next morning was you walking up to him, smiling as you offered him to be realized. It was a quick process, his excitement was clear to see on his now very expression full face he was looking at himself. He was no longer full of glitched textures, he wasn't a bug anymore, he wasn't some broken sprite he was himself, Daemon.

It was sweet watching him, even when he stopped and turned to you with a wide smile you could see his excitement still burning under his skin. You had expected that at this point he would've run over to you, lifting you up and spinning you round and around but he just stood there. Not even a kiss, after a few more awkward minutes of silence he finally asked you something, something that made you realize that being a Game Bug was very, very different from being a fully programmed object.

"Why doesn't my code work? I gave it in right way, Player_Kiss = true...Am I doing something wrong? Do humans have a different code they use?"

Seems like it's your job to teach him how to human, starting with how to kiss you.

⊱ ─────────── {⋅. ☣🪲 .⋅} ─────────── ⊰

The first lesson you taught him was the importance of breathing and taking breaks from kissing, you rather not risk one of you passing out from lack of it. You don't need yet another embarrassing story on your pile of embarrassments that would be used by your anxiety in the middle of the night or Doug.

The second lesson was an unplanned one, you two were enjoying watching a movie on Telly when it showed two of the characters giving each other a forehead kiss. It was a rather sweet moment which only got even cuter when you turned to Daemon who had been nudging your arm, his head was tilted to the side similar to a confused puppy.

"Why are they kissing each others forehead? Did they miss the lips or is this some form of enhanced kissing? But then why didn't I have a code for it...Is it because they had a fight the last time? Do you get banned from kisses when you have a fight?"

"It's another way to kiss someone, forehead kisses can be platonic or romantic. Many parents kiss their kid on the forehead. Sometimes friends will also kiss your forehead or your cheek, in some country's cheek kisses are a way to greet others.

"Are forehead kisses also a form of greeting someone?"

"Well, I guess if you know the person well and they're comfortable with it you could kiss them on the forehead as a greeting. But normally at least from what I know, forehead kisses are reserved to show care and love for someone."

"You humans are truly confusing..."

"Hey! You're human now, don't forget that!"

"Hmm, true..."

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you continued to watch the movie, in the end all was good even if the main character had sacrificed himself to safe his love and his clone. And just as you were about to ask Daemon his opinion on the movie he turned to face you, his hand lifted up your chin as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly.

"I need to gather data about this Forehead and Cheek kissing, would you allow me to practice on you, my love?"

"Of course we can, what would you like to start with? I myself prefer to go with a-" you cut yourself short as you saw your partner lean closer at top speed. "Wait! Daemon, that's too fast!!!"

You both groaned in pain, holding your foreheads as you slowly recovered from the sudden headbutt. The lesson was cut short as you both suffered from a killer headache, at least the next day you explained that he needed to lean in slowly and to aim for the top or middle of the forehead and not between your eyebrows.

A few days later you decided that he was ready for third and last lesson, well it's more like kissing practice but still you count it as a lesson instead of a test or such. You had enough talking about it, kissing needs physical practice anyway and you were the perfect test dummy! Especially since you don't think Amir or Betty would be that happy if Daemon started kissing them out of nowhere...

"This is the last lesson, today you will learn how to properly kiss another person, well more specifically me but you get what I mean!" You waved your hand ignoring his teasing smile as you continued to speak.

"Today there's much more touch needed, you will learn all the different ways how to kiss another. From kissing someones hand to a regular kiss, maybe if everything goes right I will even teach you how to french kiss."

"...I don't want to kiss, Scandalabra."

"No, no that's just what its called it has nothing to do with Scandalabra. I would never let you go through that, trust me your lips are only for me."

"Good, I don't wanna be near him." You nodded in agreement.

"Same here but back to the lesson! First we will do a hand kiss, it can be romantic or to show respect to someone or both. I will demonstrate it and then you do the same with me, got that?"

"Got it." He replied, holding his hands out to you. You gently grabbed one and caressed the back of it before placing a kiss in the middle of it.

"Now it's your turn and remember, be gentle. Theres no need to rush." Holding your hand out you watched him as he grabbed your hand a bit firmer then he usually does. It took a minute or two before he had gathered up the nerves to lean down and place a kiss on each one of your knuckles.

When he looked up at you, eyes meeting one another as he smiled with so much joy that you were sure he could've replaced the sun in this very moment to bring light to even the darkest spots in your home.

"Did I do it right?"

"Yes, you did a great job. I just didn't expect you to go for the knuckles, it was quiet sweet though so no complaints from me." His smile grew wider as he intertwined your hands together.

"Now to a kiss on the cheek, you have to watch to not bump noses besides that don't add too much pressure into the kiss. Our cheeks are quiet soft and squishy but they can still hurt, let me show you." Without hesitation you poked and squished his face all the while he was trying to nip at your fingers in retaliation.

After you had your fun, you followed your own instructions ignoring the way your partner was pouting at you. His cheeks turned rosy from the mix of affection and the cheek squishing from before, which only deepened after you placed a kiss on his cheek and then another and another and another.

You only stopped once he complained about having his turn. One thing you always noticed and loved about him were his hands, they always felt tingly, static-y. It reminded you of those old, heavy TV's that when you touched the screen would having this energy around them. His kisses on the other hand were normal, maybe it lingered a bit longer but you didn't think much about it. But you could swear that sometimes you felt something brush gently against the back of your neck and when you turn around there would be nothing, maybe it was just your hair or some dust floating around?

"Was that good?" He asked again, if he had a tail it would be wagging back and forth wildly as you nodded again. His foot tapped against the ground in anticipation. "Can we kiss now? The regular one, not the other one."

For a second you thought of staying on track but the mix of his excitement and the worry of him trying to speed up the progress and causing another headache fiasco made you rethink it. You were getting a little impatient yourself if you were honest, so why not?

"Fine but only because you're that adorable. Now, listen closely" he leaned closer to you, hands resting on each side of you or well hand though it did feel like the couch had dipped from some unknown weight not even a moment ago.

"We both will have to angle our faces, when you need to breath do so through your nose or break the kiss up ok? No holding your breath until you pass out just because you wanted more, we can always kiss again after we caught our breaths."

"Of course." Without much a due you pulled him closer, letting him fall onto you and cage you between the couch and himself. Pulling his head down by the neck and kissing him like he was going to fade away any second now, he let out a pleasant groan and then you felt it again.

Hands all across your body, on your neck, hips, arms and even your tights and those were soon followed by the feeling of kisses. Your neck was the main target but you could feel it also along your back, hands and even your legs, they left behind the static again which soon turned into a comforting heat.

They only disappeared when you two parted, taking in as much air as possible. Foreheads resting against each other, you with your eyes closed and Daemons white, pupil-less eyes staring right at you with a wide grin.

"Did you like it my love? I can give you more if you want, I need all the practice to perfect my kissing techniques after all~"

You never could deny him, especially now that he had stocked the ember into a burning, hungry flame. So you continued to share kisses and sweet nothings until the sun went down and the moonlight illuminated your body's. What was to come next is only to be known between you, Daemon and the moon.

[orellazalonia]

i love your blog and writing style so much! reading x reader fics is my only type of comfort (besides my cat) so you're making my days better and more bearable i'm really thankful for that! 😭🌷

soo i wanted to ask you to write a fic for me 🥺 i literally have NO ONE like no friends (i have 3 or 2 but not 'friends' friends you know?) and my family is messed up i feel like i have no one in my corner and i would love love love if you write something like reader is lonely and bucky goes in her life and etc etc i would be SO thankful if you choose to write this and if you don't, don't worry you're already making my days better while writing your fics 🤍🩶

Hello, dear! I’m glad you have enjoyed my work and that they’ve been of comfort to you! I appreciate the kind words. It was nice completing your request since I could relate to some of it and always enjoy writing some hurt/comfort. However, I do hope you find some good friends or people you can turn to someday! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Stayed Through it All

Summary: You’d spent most of your life convinced you were too quiet, too much, not enough for anyone to stay. But then Bucky Barnes started showing up in your life slowly and gradually became the first person who made you feel like you didn’t have to be anyone or anything else to be enough.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Main Masterlist

You didn’t mean to let it get this bad.

You didn’t even notice when the loneliness stopped feeling like something temporary and started becoming something permanent.

It was probably after your friend stopped texting back to hang out with their new friend. Maybe it was after your father stopped returning your calls, blaming you for being “too much” when all you’d done was cry quietly on the phone one night. Maybe it was the way your mother’s voice always sharpened when you dared to mention being tired. “You think you have it hard?”

Eventually, you stopped sharing at all. Even in the smallest ways. You nodded along to your coworkers' stories, laughed at the right times, learned to say “I’m good, you?” like a reflex.

But one day turned into a week, then a month of missed calls and unanswered messages. Not that there were many to begin with. Your friends, if you could still call them that, had slowly drifted, slipping into group chats you were no longer in. Family remained… complicated. Cold shoulders wrapped in guilt-trips and sharp words. You’d grown tired of pretending you didn’t notice when they began talking around you instead of to you, or when they only reached out to check boxes you didn’t fit in rather than check on you.

Work had been your only escape, but even that now felt fragile. Hours were cut, supervisors were vague or micro-managing, and you faced an endless stream of people who smiled right through you. It was like being invisible while still somehow feeling too much.

Too sensitive. Too strange. Too needy. You hated how easily you cried these days. How easily you cracked.

It got harder to go home after work with each passing day. The silence in your apartment was different now. It wasn’t peaceful anymore, it reminded you of every thought and thing wrong about yourself. How you must have done something wrong for people to not want you around. How you couldn’t host dinners or parties because there was no one to invite. How even living in this apartment was seen as another disappointment rather than an achievement by your family.

Maybe that’s why you started walking at night, even though you claimed it helped you sleep. Sometimes it did. Sometimes you wandered until your legs ached, until your phone’s battery blinked red. It wasn’t safe, but you didn’t care. You weren’t reckless, you just didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere long enough to be missed.

That night, you weren’t planning to go far. You’d just needed air. You hadn't even bothered with proper shoes, just slipped on your jacket and walked. The streetlamps buzzed overhead as a breeze tugged your hair across your face.

You focused on the ground as you rounded the corner of a quiet street, when you almost ran straight into him.

“Oh–sorry,” You said, stepping back instinctively, your hand pressed to your chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man raised his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. His eyes were sharper than the streetlamp above you, but not unkind. “You okay?”

You blinked. He was wearing a hoodie and gloves, but you’d seen enough photos on newsfeeds and headlines to know exactly who he was. “You’re… Bucky Barnes.”

He looked surprised for a split second, like he hadn’t expected to be recognized. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I am.”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. Not because it was funny, but because your nerves were starting to catch up. “Didn’t expect to bump into an Avenger tonight.”

“Didn’t expect to get bumped into,” He replied, something vaguely teasing in his tone. “But it’s alright.”

There was a pause. You shifted awkwardly, hugging your arms around yourself. “Sorry if I messed up some kind of mission or something.”

His brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Not exactly a mission, just walking the neighborhood. Making sure things are quiet.”

You nodded. “They usually are.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet way that made you feel like he was seeing too much. “You’re out here a lot.”

You hesitated. “That supposed to be a warning?”

His expression softened immediately. “No–no, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… noticed. That’s all.”

You gave a small shrug, trying not to look embarrassed. “It’s quieter out here than it is at home.”

Something in his eyes changed, recognition. “Yeah,” He said quietly. “I get that.”

You looked at him then. His hood couldn’t hold the weight behind his eyes nor could he hide the way exhaustion lived in his posture. You didn’t know all the details, but the world had made sure you knew enough.

“I’m fine,” You added, mostly out of habit.

“Are you?” He asked gently.

You swallowed, glancing away. “I don’t know.”

There was another moment of silence before he took a slow step back, giving you space. “Do you want company? Just to walk. I won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitated. Your gut said no. You didn’t let people in, couldn’t. Not anymore. But your heart, the part that had been bruised and stretched thin and aching for something steady whispered yes.

“…Sure,” You said. “Walking with someone sounds… nice.”

He nodded, falling into step beside you. “And what should I call you?”

You glanced at him and smiled softly, giving him your name. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like someone might care enough to remember it.

You never said it out loud, but you started looking for him.

Not in an obvious way. Not with expectation. But your heart would lift, just a little, whenever you turned the corner and saw him there. Hands in his pockets, hood pulled low, and watching the world like it might turn on him at any second until he saw you. Then he softened.

He never greeted you loudly. Just a simple, “Hey,” or a nod, like you’d both agreed long ago that this was normal.

And somehow, it became exactly that. Normal.

It wasn’t every night of course, but it was often enough that absence felt strange. A small ache in your chest when he wasn’t on the corner. You told yourself it was fine, that he had a life, a job, a past filled with shadows. You weren’t owed anything.

But you missed him anyway.

There were other nights where you spoke in fragments.

“What do you do when you can’t stop thinking?” You’d asked once, voice barely audible.

“Walk,” He’d said. “Or hit things.”

You’d laughed, and he’d smiled, just a little.

Other nights, it was quiet. Just walking. Just being near someone who didn’t expect anything from you. Someone who didn’t need you to perform happiness or push down your grief.

Bucky never asked about your family. He never pried. But you could tell he knew something wasn’t right. He noticed the tension in your shoulders. The way your voice got flat when you mentioned home. The way you avoided talking about weekends or holidays altogether.

But he didn’t force you to explain. He just stayed.

And on one Tuesday night, you realized something.

You’d left work exhausted, your brain buzzing from a manager’s sharp words and the hollow ache of pretending to be okay all day. You weren’t thinking about much when you turned the corner that night and there he was.

Same spot. Same faint, crooked smile when he saw you.

And it hit you: he was waiting.

Not just showing up. Not just passing by. He was waiting for you.

You swallowed thickly, not trusting yourself to say much.

“Hey,” You managed.

“Hey,” He said, falling into step beside you.

Like always. Like routine. Like something steady that just kept growing.

Because the next night, he was there again. This time, with two paper cups.

“Tea,” He said simply, holding one out to you. “Figured I’d guess this time.”

You took it, your hands feeling the warmth from the cup.

“…You always this nice?” You asked softly, only half teasing.

He glanced at you. “No.”

You smiled faintly. “So why with me?”

He looked away, the way he always did when he was thinking too much. “Because you remind me of me,” He said finally. “Back when I thought no one saw me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“…I see you,” You whispered.

He looked at you then, something softening in his expression. “I know.”

And that was the night you stopped pretending it didn’t mean anything. The night you realized you weren’t just walking anymore. You were building something. And Bucky Barnes was becoming part of it.

One afternoon, you didn’t expect to see him in the daytime.

Your connection lived in the quiet hours. After sunset, under flickering streetlamps, where shadows were long and words were soft. That was your world. The only time you felt allowed to exist without needing to explain yourself.

But then came Saturday and there he was.

You spotted him from across the street. His hands in the pockets of his jacket. He looked more like a guy running errands than a former assassin on patrol.

He saw you at the same time, gave a little lift of his chin and crossed the street with purpose. You froze halfway to the bus stop, unsure why your stomach flipped the way it did.

“Hey,” He said, a little breathless, like he’d hurried.

“Hi,” You replied, confused but smiling anyway. “Didn’t think I’d see you in daylight. Thought you were strictly nocturnal.”

Bucky actually chuckled, quiet and rare. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t sure if this would be weird.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was gonna grab lunch. There’s this spot a few blocks away. It’s tiny, but kind of quiet. I figured I’d ask if you wanted to come.”

You blinked. It took you a full second too long to register what he meant.

“Oh,” You said. “Like… lunch. Together?”

“Yeah,” He said, then quickly added, “Just food. I mean, not like–unless you–hell, I’m bad at this.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re fine. I just… didn’t expect that.”

“I figured,” He said, eyes scanning your face. “If you say no, it’s okay. We can just stick with nightly walks.”

That made your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

Because part of you wanted to say no. Not because you didn’t want to go. But because some part of you was convinced you’d ruin it. That he’d realize you weren’t enough.

That someone like him who was kind, observant, and careful, wasn’t meant to stick around people like you. People who carried too much in their chest and didn’t know how to set it down.

But then you looked at him. Bucky Barnes who had every reason to close himself off and still offered you tea when you were shaking, and quiet when you needed space.

And he was asking to spend time with you. Not out of pity. Not out of obligation. Just… asking.

You nodded. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

The place was small and tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, just calm. You sat across from each other at a little table by the window. And for the first time, you talked in full sentences. About music. Food. The ridiculous number of people who apparently still thought Bucky liked plums because of some file Steve mentioned once.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He smiled more than you’d ever seen.

You caught him watching you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe you were there. And every time, your heart did that quiet, painful twist that came with realizing someone actually wanted you around.

You didn’t talk about family. Or trauma. Or loneliness. But you didn’t need to. Not yet.

Because for now, you let yourself sit across from a man who kept showing up. And for once, you didn’t feel like a burden for accepting it.

When it ended, you both had exchanged numbers and you smiled the whole way home. Not a big, giddy grin. Not the kind that buzzed with new love or rose-colored excitement. Just a small, warm curl at the corner of your mouth that wouldn’t go away.

Because the lunch had been… easy. Natural.

You didn’t remember the last time you’d felt like that with someone. Just sitting across from them and not having to work so hard to be interesting, or likable, or fun. You hadn’t needed to fill the silence, because Bucky never made silence feel like failure.

And he’d even paid, grumbled a little about modern pricing, but still held the door open when you walked out.

You should’ve felt safe. Happy. But of course, that voice came back. The one that always did when something good happened.

He was just being polite. He probably felt bad for you. You talked too much. Or not enough. Or said something weird. He’s probably second-guessing it now.

You told yourself to stop, that none of it was true. But you’d lived most of your life watching people lose interest in you like clockwork. So instead of walking with that same lightness you felt at the table, you found yourself shrinking again.

Head down. Hands in your jacket pockets. Smile fading, bit by bit

And to your surprise, texted later that evening.

Just a simple:

Made it home okay?

You stared at it for a full minute.

Then typed:

Yeah, thanks. And… thanks again for lunch. I really appreciated it.

You added a second message, hesitating.

You didn’t have to do all that.

You almost deleted it. But your finger slipped, and it sent.

A minute later, he responded:

Didn’t do it because I had to.

Another pause and he sent another message.

I wanted to.

You stared at those three words for a long time.

The next night, you almost didn’t go on your walk. You weren’t sure if he’d be there. If it would be weird now. If the quiet thing you’d built would somehow be different just because you’d shared a meal like two normal people.

But you went anyway. And when you rounded that corner, heart in your throat, he was there. Same spot. Same faint smile when he saw you.

“You came,” He said.

You swallowed. “So did you.”

“Of course I did.”

And just like that, without needing to explain the ache in your chest or the thoughts still clawing at the back of your mind, he started walking beside you again. As if the doubt within you never stood a chance.

However, good things never last.

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You’d gotten good at holding things in. Good at keeping your voice even, your expression neutral, your heart locked up behind carefully stacked defenses. You knew how to keep walking. How to keep breathing through the ache.

But some days, some days it didn’t matter how strong you tried to be. And that night, everything hurt.

It wasn’t even about something new. Nothing fresh or sharp. It was the old stuff, the words that never really healed. The ones that resurfaced in this mornings phone call with your father, when he’d said it without hesitation. “You’re just too hard to love, you know that?”

It had gutted you then and it still did.

Because even if you didn’t show it, you’d started to believe it.

The way friends drifted away. The way family only called when they needed something or to criticize. The way people got tired of your quiet, your sadness, your needs. Even when you tried to shrink yourself, to not ask for anything… it was never enough.

You were always too much, and somehow not enough all at once.

So when you walked that night, when you saw Bucky waiting in his usual spot, you almost turned back.

But he saw you. And the moment he did, something in his expression shifted.

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked right up to him, stopped short, and stood there with your arms crossed tight over your chest, like if you let them drop, everything would spill out.

Bucky’s voice was soft. “You alright?”

You shook your head once, too quickly as your voice cracked when you whispered, “Why do you keep showing up?”

He blinked. “What?”

You looked at him then, eyes confused. “Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep… being nice to me?”

He took a step closer, cautious. “Because I like being around you.”

“You shouldn’t.” The words burst out before you could stop them. “I’m not…– people don’t stay. They get tired of me. They always do.”

“Who said that to you?” He asked quietly, his voice low, steady.

You laughed bitterly. “Does it matter… Friends. Family. Pretty much everyone I ever let get too close.”

You looked away, blinking hard.

“They all said the same thing… that I’m just too hard to love.”

It was out now. Ugly, raw, and terrifying. You waited for him to flinch. To pull away. To prove them right. But he didn’t.

He stepped closer, slow and sure. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, one hand hovering at your shoulder until you gave the tiniest nod.

Then his palm pressed gently against your arm.

“They were wrong,” He said.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” He said firmly. “Because I know me. And I don’t waste time on people I don’t care about.”

Your throat tightened.

He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t telling you to be positive or that it would pass. He wasn’t saying it didn’t matter.

He was just there. With you.

“You’re not hard to love,” He spoke softer now. “You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how.”

And that broke something loose.

The first tear slid down your cheek. Then another. You tried to speak, to apologize, but your voice disappeared behind a sob that ripped straight out of your chest.

You folded into yourself, ashamed, but Bucky caught you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms. Not tight. Not smothering. Just enough.

Enough to say I’m here. Enough to say You’re not too much for me. Enough to say I’m not going anywhere.

And in his arms, safe for once, you let yourself cry.

Really cry.

For the first time in a long, long time.

When the tears had finally stopped, you felt worn out like a storm fading to drizzle. You’d stood in the dark with Bucky for longer than you realized, his arms wrapped gently around you. He never rushed you. Never asked you to talk more or explain.

And when you finally stepped back, breath unsteady but lighter somehow, he didn’t say a word about the crying. Just looked at you like you were whole.

“…I’m okay now,” You’d whispered, not sure if you believed it yet.

His head tilted slightly. “You want to walk?”

You nodded.

And you walked until you were both sitting on a cracked bench outside a 24-hour café near a closed bookstore. He’d offered to buy you something, no pressure, just a question, and you said yes without thinking.

It felt… nice. Like last time. Letting someone do something for you without guilt clinging to it.

You had a small paper cup between your hands of warm chai, still steaming. He had black coffee, of course. Of course he drank it black.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was gentle. Companionable. Like your sadness didn’t scare him. He wasn’t expecting you to bounce back or smile to make him feel better.

He was just there.

You took a small sip, then glanced over at him. He was watching the empty street like he was half on patrol, half at peace.

“Thanks for the tea,” You murmured.

He looked at you then, eyes soft. “Thanks for trusting me.”

You looked down at your drink. “I didn’t mean to cry like that.”

“I know,” He said. “It’s okay.”

You hesitated, then asked softly, “But why didn’t you walk away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back on the bench, hands wrapped around his cup like it grounded him.

“Because I know what it’s like,” He said finally. “To think you’re too broken or too much. To think you’ve ruined the moment just by being yourself.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the honesty.

He kept his gaze forward. “I’ve been there. I still go there. But… I also know how much it means when someone stays anyway.”

Your heart ached in a different way now. Not from pain. From being understood.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“Anytime.”

You sat in silence again, drinking your tea slowly, letting the warmth from the cup seep into your fingers.

The city was so quiet this late. No shouting. Barely any cars. Just wind and dim streetlights.

Eventually, you looked over and gave him a small smile. “You think next time we could get donuts or something instead?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, his version of a grin. “You saying I’m not a good coffee date?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. “You’re passable.”

He let out a soft huff of amusement. “Alright, donuts next time. But only if they have the jelly-filled ones.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “You got a deal.”

And just like that, something fragile began to stitch itself back together inside you.

It may not have been fixed or finished. But it was held together by his love and care.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[fandomworldofdreams]

The Secret Under the Bed

Summary: Your father got involved deep in the crime world. Owing more than he could keep up with. Soon you and your family are on the run. But debts demand to be paid. (Child!reader)

Warnings: violence, child endangerment, murder, manipulation, trauma

I had a dream, needed to write it. Some odd ass universe where these four fictional characters somehow work together and get along. And of all things, adopt a child. It is more of a fem!reader. So please enjoy this odd twisted found family dynamic!

Your mom always smelled like jasmine and baked goods.

Something about it always made you feel safe, loved.

Flour on her cheeks, always smiling. It meant warmth and comfort.

All of it distracted from the fact you'd moved three states in just the past year, ten towns. Distracted from how much you tried to pretend you didn't hear your parents arguing, things breaking. Your dad's sharp, cutting tone. Your mother's broken pleas. Sometimes your dad wouldn't come home for hours - usually at the crack of dawn, liquor still clinging to his breath.

You were only seven, obsessed with books and building your own fantasy world to escape to whenever the situation called for it. Which was often.

You had no way of knowing that your father had got himself in deep with me the crime world referred to as the four horsemen.

Intelligent, sadistic, cold criminals. Men who by some twisted form of fate had found one another. After unsuccessfully trying to kill each other they decided they found some level of comradery with one another, their shared darkness and vision.

Your father had racked up one too many missed payments to them.

The latest move was to a home in West Virginia, surrounded by woods.

You loved it, plenty of trees to climb and bugs to catalogue. You'd spend hours wandering, waving a stick around like it was a wand.

But your dad looked over his shoulder twice as much, often muttering to himself.

It was a Wednesday night when everything in your life changed. The scent of rain hung in the air, breeze rustling the leaves.

You had a rain coat on. Soaked to the core, your mother had just wiggled it off of you.

You hadn't heard the car pull into the driveway.

You'd only heard the three polite raps that echoed through the house.

Your parents never got company, you furrowed your eyebrows.

You'd only been aware of your mother kneeling before you, tucking your stuffed rabbit under your arm with a gentle smile. She brushed some hair out of your face.

"I need you to do something for me, Y/N. Go into Mommy and Daddy's room and crawl under the bed, okay? Stay hidden. You don't come out no matter what you hear. I mean it. Do you understand?"

You'd felt the fear then, how her voice tried not to shake. She squeezed your arms, glancing at the door like it was a death sentence.

"Do you understand?"

All you could do was nod. She pressed a kiss to your temple and you ran, following orders like you always had.

Under the bed was dark, sounds muffled. But some things were unmistakable.

You clutched your rabbit tight to your chest, cheek pressed against the rug, body curled inward.

The screaming started not long after.

Crashing, loud high pitched noises and begging that was your parents.

You began to shake. Uncontrollably.

In the other room your parents were bound to chairs, four masters of torture doing the unthinkable. The scent of blood filled the air - along with some bodily fluids. They tore through both mind and body with the precision of artists who were all too familiar with their medium.

In the bedroom tears pooled onto the carpet and you covered your mouth with your hand to keep any sounds from escaping.

It lasted two hours.

Your limbs ached from being in one position so long, you were sweating profusely, and trying your best not to hyperventilate. Especially as the screaming grew more ragged, hoarse.

Your mother died first. Crane's toxin had taken root in her psyche, showcasing her fears of a dead daughter she dared not call out the name of in fear of them finding out and an unfaithful husband. her mind far gone before her body gave out. They had burned her skin with a cigar and then a quick slit of the throat. Efficient, she was not the one who wronged them, she was merely collateral, her life and his.

Your father lasted an hour longer. Eyes gauged, ribs split open. He had not been granted any mercy. He had felt every thread of pain. Each individual eye muscle had been severed. His body was surprisingly resilient.

You didn't hear anything anymore.

It was quiet, eerily so. The deafening kind where any small noise sent a jolt of panic through you.

Then footsteps. Slow, evenly paced. The door to the room creaked open.

Your heart jumped out of your chest and you tried your best to hold your breath as shoes came into view.

Expensive shoes. Shiny, not like the sneakers you were used to.

"Crane. Lecter," the man said, flatly. His voice a gravel "Now."

Soon three more pairs of shoes joined. You were frozen in fear.

Then, a face appeared. He'd crouched down and pulled the sheet aside to get a full view of you. His gaze was calculating, eyes sizing you up.

Hannibal Lecter knelt calmly. He didn’t speak right away. He simply looked at you, deliberately shifting his facial expression and eyes. Allowing the moment to stretch on long enough to let you see something gentler in his face, something paternal and concerned. A softness he wore like a mask when needed. It made your brows furrow.

"Are you okay, my dear? You must be so frightened."

Suddenly another face, this man dropped to his stomach, resting his chin on the back of his hands to look at you. He allowed an unnerving smile to grace his face, eyes glued to you like he was observing a play. "Did the monsters come after mummy and daddy?"

You visibly flinched, pressing yourself further back.

“No no no, sweetheart. Not us. We’re not the monsters. We found you. We scared him off, little one. Though he may come back. Who knows, monsters can be ever unpredictable," Jim Moriarty tried to hide the glee in his tone.

"We were camping nearby when we heard the screams. We came running. It seems we were too late though. We were unsure if anyone had survived, luckily you did," Hannibal affirmed.

Moriarty cooed, “Did they tell you to hide, little darling? Did your mummy say to be very, very quiet?”

A nod. Barely. A twitch.

"You did very well," Hannibal said softly.

"Where's my mommy and daddy?" Your voice was hoarse, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

"They are dead." This man had a scarred face, one eye had a black sclera and orange mishaped iris. "We were unable to save them." Silco studied the way your lower lip trembled, the pain in your eyes evident. Too young to be experiencing such pain. "A regrettable truth. However, they did succeed in keeping you safe."

The final man leaned down, staring at you over his glasses. Bright blue eyes met

y/e/c ones. He was calculating your level of fear.

"What's his name?" That made you pause, looking at him confused. He motioned to the rabbit you were clinging to and you swallowed a lump in your throat.

"Jasper," you murmured.

Jonathan Crane shared a glance with the others. They had adapted the lie quickly. "At least you were not alone while the carnage occurred. Perhaps Jasper would be more comfortable out here. You are safe now."

You were too young and terrified to catch the lie.

It was Hannibal who offered a hand out under the bed. "Come, child. We will protect you."

It was a long time before you moved. Slowly placing your small hand in his as he guided you out from under the bed.

"What's your name?" Silco asked.

"Y/N"

"Y/N," Hannibal whispered, testing the name. "I'm Hannibal, this is Jim, Silco, and Jonathan. Jim is going to help you pack a bag. We can't leave you here in case the man who harmed your parents comes back."

Your eyes widened, the words striking fear into you. You clutched at Hannibal's hand like it was a lifeline.

"He might come back?" You whispered.

"It is a possibility," Jonathan said, adjusting his glasses. "Whoever came for your parents was rather depraved. That kind of mind is unpredictable and you are an easy target."

You didn't understand, not fully, but you nodded your head either way.

"Come along, little one. Let's gather what you need," Jim said cheerfully, guiding you to the closet.

Jonathan, Hannibal, and Silco made their way back to the living room, standing over the bodies.

"Since when are we in the business of collecting strays?" Jonathan asked, tone cold.

"Since one has fallen into our hands," Hannibal answered.

Silco lit a cigar, letting the smoke curl to the ceiling. "They had tried to keep the child safe. To protect her from their sins . . . Their mistake. So we allow her to believe the illusion that we are the ones saving her?"

"it's not an illusion," Hannibal said. "We are saving her. She would likely starve here. Or worse, end up in the foster care system."

Footsteps sounded down the hallway. Jim and you making your way. He carried a suitcase of things he'd picked for you.

You turned the corner just as he sang, "I wouldn't do that."

You'd looked, immediately. Your eyes met the bloody and unmoving form of your parents.

Your legs moved fast, racing to what was left of them. Hannibal had been the one to scoop you up. Holding you close as you cried and tried to wiggle free.

Jim was leaning against the frame, hands in pockets. Jonathan was studying your reaction. Silco's eyes softened slightly.

"Mommy told me to hide. I hid, I was good. Mommy! Wake up!" Tears pooled from your eyes, clutching Hannibals coat tightly.

"You were good. Now you will come with us and be a part of a new family. Your parents were unable to foresee their fates," Hannibal said, softly.

"They were weak," Silco said. "We are not."

You sniffled, burying your head in Hannibals chest.

"You won't leave me? Promise?"

"We will not leave you," he affirmed.

That day changed everything. You were about to be raised by four of the most feared men in the country. Their child, their prodigy, theirs. They were all you had left.

You would become a weapon.

All while never knowing they were the ones who had taken your parents from you.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Librarian & The Wolverine ~ The Relapse

THE LIBRARIAN & THE WOLVERINE MASTERLIST

< previous: The Rescue

Word Count: 6,540ish

Summary: You and Logan are finally in a rhythm again when your world is flipped upside down.

Warning(s): insecurities, time jumps, injuries, violence, nightmares, torture, kidnapping, PTSD, dissociation, sex (tread carefully

Notes: I hope you guys are enjoying this! Please share your thoughts with me on it. These two are so great to write for. (Also, clearly I have nothing better to do than just write right now... please don't judge...)

Months had passed and the two of you were doing better. Yes, there were hard moments, but you two were resolved to working through them together.

Logan found you in the library in the afternoon. Your fingers were running against the spines of a stack of new books, absorbing the information in them. There was a light smile on your face, causing Logan’s lips to quirk up. After watching you for a moment, he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You giggled as he began pressing opened-mouth kisses up your neck.

“Logan…” you whined.

“Mmm?” He hummed, still kissing you.

“We’re in the library.”

“Don’t care. Need you.”

You giggled. He turned you in his arms and finally kissed you on the lips. You melted into him, hands sliding up to go around his neck. Logan deepened the kiss as his hands held you tighter. When the two of you finally broke the kiss, you smiled at him.

“How’s your day been?” You asked.

“Better now that I have you,” he answered.

You rolled your eyes. “Have any plans tonight?”

“Nothin’ much, just takin’ you out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, thought we could go into town. Get some dinner. Walk around—“

“Go to the bookshop?”

Logan chuckled. “I was gettin’ there.”

“When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re ready.”

“Let me change and then we can go.”

~~~

You changed into a brand new sweater that you’d been saving for a moment like this. When you stepped out, Logan was leaning against the wall opposite your door. He was wearing a black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms. He had gotten fixed up just for you, and you swore you had never seen him look better. Logan stood up straight, eyes shamelessly taking you in.

“That new?” He questioned, voice rough.

You nodded, biting your lip slightly.

He groaned, reaching out and pulling you closer by your hips. “That sweater’s gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”

The two of you shared a kiss and then you were on your way.

~~~

You practically skipped into the bookshop, dragging Logan along as he chuckled. You ran your fingertips along the spines, whispering facts and stories about the ones you had read and the ones you still longed to. Logan followed closely, watching you more than the shelves because you were his favorite story.

“Logan? Can I get a few books?” You timidly asked, fingers lingering next to one you really wanted to grab.

Logan grabbed the book for you with a smirk. “What other books can I hold for you, baby?”

You quickly pulled him into a kiss. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Logan grabbed every book you so much as glanced at or touched for longer than ten seconds. He ended up walking out of the book store with a large tote full of books in one hand and your hand in another.

~~~

After a lovely dinner at a nearby bistro, you and Logan were walking back to the car. You were leaning into him slightly, growing tired. You glanced up at the stars beginning to show over head and opened your mouth to say something but the only thing that came out was a cry of pain. Something had been shot at you and hit you in the neck. You staggered to the side. Logan turned towards you as black vans slammed into the curb. Dozens of boots hit the pavement. The men were armed and masked and fast, too fast.

“Lo— Logan…” you slurred. 

The sedative had hit your bloodstream hard. You collapsed against Logan. He dropped the books and caught you.

“Don’t you touch her!” He snarled as the soldiers closed in.

But even he couldn’t fight off twelve trained men while you were in his arms without the risk of hurting you. Before he knew it, a chain was wrapped around his neck and a sonic pulse device hit him. Logan dropped to his knees. You were passed out now, but he still leaned over you, trying to shield your body with his own. Adamantium cuffs were placed on his wrists and multiple soldiers pulled him up while others pulled you onto a stretcher. 

“Let go of her!” He continued to fight, but was failing. “Let go of her!”

Then a needle was pushed into his neck and he was shoved into a different van than you.

~~~

You woke first. Your head ached. You were bound with sleek metal cuffs to a metal chair, once again. Across from you was Logan. He was slumped against the wall, drugged but alive. His ankles and hands were chained. You strained against the cuffs.

“Logan,” you called, voice hoarse. “Lo—“

“Good to have you back, little archivist,” a woman’s voice crackled through the intercom. It was the same woman who took you months ago. Logan had failed to kill her because she got away in time. “We thought that isolating you would make it easier to keep you. But that didn’t work. So this time, we will make sure you have the perfect bodyguard.”

“You can’t use him.”

“Oh, we’re not going to use him. Not directly. But if we hurt you— just a little— if we push I’m the right way? we’ll have the most powerful living databank and the most indestructible weapon… all at once.”

Your stomach turned. Across the room, Logan groaned as he began to wake. His head lifted slowly. His eyes latched onto you and how you were bound to the chair. There’s no confusion or grogginess— just sudden, sharp rage. 

“No,” he growled. “No— no, no, no!”

His claws came from his fists as he launched towards you. But the chains held, barely. He snarled like a cornered animal.

“Let her go!” He shouted. “Let her go or I swear—“

“Predictable, Wolverine,” the woman’s voice crackled overhead again. “Almost noodle.”

Then you screamed. An electric shock hit your restraints. You convulsed in the chair, eyes squeezed shut and breath ripped from your lungs.

“STOP!” Logan bellowed.

He thrashed violently, trying to yank free from the chains. But they don’t stop. Not until you slump forward, sobbing, do they cut the current. Logan was shaking. 

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he rasped. 

“I’m… okay…” you barely got out.

“I’m gonna kill them. I’m going to rip them apart.”

“Maybe,” the woman’s voice returned. “But not before we make her what she’s meant to be. And this time, you get to watch.”

Logan snapped the chain that held his right wrist free with a roar. His claws slashed through the air— at the chains, the wall, anything preventing him from getting to you.

“She’s not yours!” He shouted.

The soldiers flooded in. Some with sonic weapons, others in metal-line suits, and one with a pressure device that blasted him back against the wall. Logan took down four before they could fully reach him. And in his mind, he nearly reached you. But a shock collar clamped down around his throat with a hiss and a snap, and before he could rip it off, it pulsed. Electricity flooded through is spine. 

Logan’s claws retracted with a scream of metal and his body seized. He collapsed to his knees, but he still strained and reached for you. The soldiers grabbed him and chained him to the wall with more chains laced with adamantium. A metal harness clamped onto his shoulders and more shocks came to keep him down.

“Leave him alone!” You cried.

“We don’t want him hurt,” one of the men said coldly. “Just held. It’s you we truly need.”

Your chair screeched backwards, dragging across the floor until there’s no chance that Logan could reach you in his condition. Logan fought again— claws unsheathing in spasms as he body bucked against the binding like an animal. But nothing budged.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” He snarled, voice cracked and wrecked.

They ignored him. The woman entered in a lab coat, flanked by more people in lab coats. One of them has a tray of various vials and a large injector. 

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” the woman commented. “Are you ready to begin?”

You know that they are going to do— turn you into a vault. Leave you empty of any real personality. All in front of Logan. “No,” you whispered. “Please don’t—“

“We won’t allow what happened last time to. I have different serums for you. Ones that will truly alter your brain to become what we need.” She lifted the large injector and placed the vials on it.

Across the room, Logan screamed. “Don’t you fucking touch her! I’ll kill you! I will kill you all!”

But he can’t move. He can only helplessly watch as he struggles in the restraints. The injector touched your skin, your body jerked as the fluids rushed into it. Your vision went white. And Logan watched you fall limp in your chair as the light flickered from your eyes. Gone in a way that made something in him die.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” His voice was broken. He strained against the restraints until they begin to cut into his skin. “What did you do to her?!”

But everyone ignored him as the people in lab coats continued to work. They attached cables and wires and tubes to you, everywhere. They rolled in large screens that flickered to life with boxes of data.

Logan could see the twitch in your fingers. The way your lips moved— like you were trying to speak, but the words were caught somewhere deep inside. He knew that you were fighting, but he couldn’t reach you. He tried anyway.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he begged. “C’mon, darlin’, come back. Come back! You’re in there. I know you are.”

Nothing. 

~~~

Jean walked briskly towards Charles’ office, her brow furrowed. Behind her, Ororo and Scott, both concerned too. Charles was already waiting, expecting them.

“They’re still not back,” Jean stated. “They would never just disappear without letting one of us know.”

Charles didn’t respond right away. But his fingers trembled where they rested on the arm of his chair. “I tried to reach her,” he finally said. “Her mind is… present. But closed. Muted… almost like—“

“Before. Do you think someone attacked them?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“I’ll get the jet ready,” Scott said, rushing out.

~~~

Inside your mind, it was too quiet where your consciousness had settled. There were no pages turning, no footsteps, no heartbeat. Just the hollow each of thoughts drifting apart like dust motes in water. You were floating in a space that used to feel like yours— your own library, your mind, your sanctuary. But the shelves were empty now. The books were half-burned, pages were torn and scattered everywhere. You reached for them, only for them to fall apart. And worse— you were forgetting why you ever cared.

Something tugged at your from far away. A voice. Begging, growling, screaming. Doing everything it could to try to give you to come back to it. You turned to turn towards it. But your limbs wouldn’t move.

“You hold on, you hear me? Please, baby.”

Your lips parted to respond, but no sound came out. Your hands trembled, fingers twitching as you tried to pull yourself back— tried to grab the voice, the memory, the man tied to it. Logan. You remembered his voice, the feeling of his weight beside you, his scent. But it was all fading. No matter how hard you tired to reach, your mind kept slipping into the void.

And then a new voice cut through. It was a cold and mechanical version of you.

“Stabilization squeeze engaged.”

No.

“Neural imprinting resuming. Subject memory cohesion now secondary.”

You shook your head.

“Cognitive override in place. Archive protocol online.”

You screamed inside your mind. A full-body, panicked scream. You could feel yourself slipping more.

“Logan,” you barely whispered to yourself. “Please…”

But it was too late. The light began to fade. And your thoughts scattered like paper in the wind.

~~~

It had been hours or minutes or forever. Logan didn’t know anymore. The lights had dimmed to a cold him. Blood has dried where the restraints at cut into his skin. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except you. You hadn’t moved in too long. At first, you twitched. Your eyes flickers slightly. But now you were extremely still. 

Logan could suddenly feel something inside of him. A void. A silence where you used to be— not physically, but in his soul. It was like someone cut the thread that always tied you to him. He lifted his head slowly, his expression turning feral. 

The guards didn’t notice right away. One turned to check a monitor as another laughed under his breath. That was when Logan moved. His claws released and he yanked his arms free with all his might. He ripped the collar off with a roar. He didn’t feel the pain or register the blood. His only focus was getting to you.

Logan was on the guards before they could even draw their weapons, cutting through them easily. The wall shook as he threw one of them across the room. He turned to the last one— one in a lab coat— and grabbed him as he tried to run.

“What did you do to her?!” He yelled.

“Sh-she’s the Archive— she’s not supposed to—“

Logan couldn’t even let him finish, tearing his claws through the guy. And then the door blew open. There was smoke and shouting. Logan spun around, ready to find.

“Logan?!” Ororo shouted, rushing into the room. Jean, Scott, and Hank were on her heals. 

“Where is she?!” Jean was frantic.

Logan pointed to the chair and then collapsed to one knee. “But she’s not—“ he rasped. “She’s not in there anymore.”

The team rushed past him. Jean was already pulling the cables off of you as Ororo called for back up and Scott cleared the guards. Hank checked your vitals, calling out data. Logan slowly crawled to your side. He dropped his bloodied claws and touched your cheek with trembling fingers.

“You held on this long,” he whispered. “You don’t get to quit now. Not on me.” His voice cracked. “Don’t leave me, sweetheart. Not now.”

~~~

The jet barely touched down before the team has you in the infirmary. You body was limp, eyes opened but vacant. You were breathing, but it was all wrong. So wrong. Jean shouted instruction, her voice sharp and cracking. Hank rolled your gurney through the double doors while Ororo updated Charles. Logan didn’t let go of your hand once. Not even when they tried to pull him away.

They quickly got medical monitors attached to you. Charles sat to one side while Jean was on the other. They were trying everything. Your mind used to sing with memory, books, language, and emotion. Now it was just a void. 

Charles brows furrowed. “I don’t see her,” he murmured. “Its… silent.”

Jean pressed forward hard. “She’s not gone. I can still feel something. It’s faint.”

“She’s hiding.”

“Or trapped. Or… or buried too deep.”

“Then go deeper,” Logan snapped. “Both of you. Do something.”

Jean shook her head. “If we force it, we could damage what’s left.”

“She’s not a machine,” Charles said quietly. “She’s still herself. But we may need more than psychic power to bring her back.”

Logan stared at you, hollow and wrecked, as he fell to his knees beside you. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You hear me? You’re not alone. You never were. You come back when you’re ready. I’ll wait.”

~~~

The machines beeped steadily. The room smelt like antiseptic and fading flowers— a vase that Storm had brought in days ago, now drooped at the edges. You haven’t moved. You still breathed on your own. You still looked like you. But your mind was still absent. And Logan hadn’t left your side. Not to sleep or eat. He barely even spoke. He just watched you. One calloused hand always rested over yours.

Ororo entered quietly. “Logan. You need to rest.”

He didn’t bother to look her way. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

She stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been sitting in that chair for six days. She would want you to take care of yourself.”

“She’s want me here.”

“She’s not gone.”

“I know she’s not.”

“Then let us hold vigil while you rest. One hour. Just one, Logan—“

“NO.” He snapped up from his chair. “If she wakes up and I”m not here, she’ll think she’s alone.”

“She won’t—“

“She will. They broke her once. I have to be here to pick up the pieces again.”

Jean appeared in the doorway. “You need sleep, Logan.”

He spun towards her. “Don’t you start.”

“You’re tearing yourself apart.”

“I can’t—“

“You don’t have to want to. You need to.”

“I don’t care! I will not leave her!”

“I’m sorry.” Her hand lifted and Logan’s body locked mid-step, frozen by her powers.

He thrashed and growled. “Jean! Don’t— don’t you dare!”

She stepped forward with watery eyes. “I know. I know. But you can’t help her if you collapse.”

She lowered him gently into the cot nearby that had been brought in for him. Logan gritted his teeth, still fighting her hold.

“You promised,” he said, voice low and broken. “You promised you’d bring her back.”

Jean knelt by the cot. “I will. We all will.”

Then finally, Jean forced him to give into his exhaustion. It’s not an easy rest. He twitched and mumbled your name. And across the room, your hand twitched under the blanket. Jean moved to sit beside you while Ororo stood by.

“I’ll be careful,” she murmured before slipping into your mind.

She gasped when she stepped into the void. Black, cold silence in every direction. There were no shelves or journals or even file cabinets. 

“Hello?” She called.

Not even an echo answered. She walked forward, carefully and slow. She didn’t know how long it was until she noticed a flicker. Just the faintest one, a torn page floating through the black. Jean reached for it. One it was Logan’s name in your handwriting. Jean breathed out, steadying herself.

“You’re still in here,” she whispered.

She let go of the page to see it float into an unseen current. She followed and soon more pages appeared, then a book cover, and a spine.

“Where are you?” She asked, not expecting an answer.

But then, a whisper. So faint it barely existed. “I’m tired.”

Jean froze.

“Everything hurts. I’m so.. tired.”

She spun around, trying to figure out which direction it was coming from. “I hear you. Don’t run. Please.”

“I’m not running… I’m hiding.”

There was another flicker. A faint shape curled into the hollow of nothing. Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your body shivering. Jean moved as quickly as she could without scaring you away. You looked up at her as she knelt down. Your eyes were dull and empty.

“I don’t know how to come back,” you whispered. “They did something… I can’t explain it.”

“I can help you,” Jean replied gently. 

You flinched. “They’ll just use me again.”

“No. They won’t.”

“He’s seen what they do to be. What I became.”

Jean placed a hand on your arm, trying to keep your flickering form with her. “Logan hasn’t left your side in six days. Not once. He loves you. Nothing they turned you into changes that.”

Your lip trembled. “He’s still here?”

She nodded. “He’s right beside you.”

That got you lurching forward with a sob. Jean quickly grabbed you as the whole empty minds cape seemed to shake.

“I’ve got you,” she promised. “Now come home.”

Jean jerked back to reality, breath catching in her throat. She was crying before she realized it. 

Ororo hurried over. “What did you see?”

“She’s in there,” she said. “She’s hiding, but she’s still in there.” She quickly moved to Logan’s side and shook him gently. “Logan. Logan, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, immediately alert. “What?” He was already standing before he was fully awake. “Is she—?”

“She’s there.”

Logan’s heart stopped. “She’s what?”

“She’s still in there. I found her. I spoke to her. She knew me. She cried.”

“She— she cried?”

Jean nodded. “She asked if you were still here.”

Logan rushed to your side and sunk to his knees. He took your hand and pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You come back to me, you hear?”

“She’s trying.”

~~~

The next hours, Logan doesn’t stop talking. It’s not normal to see from Logan, but he can’t stop. Not when you’re trying to return to him. He had to do what he could to pull you back. He talked about his memories— before you and with you. He read to you. He told you how the other team members were doing and the students— how everyone missed you. He talked about books that you recommended to him and he read, some without you knowing.

“I read that book you always told me about,” he whispered. The one with the poet who didn’t talk until the last page. Took me for tries to get through the first chapter. But I got there. You were right. It was worth it.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Everything’s worth it, if it’s you.”

Your fingers twitched and Logan went still. Your eyelids then fluttered.

“Hey.” He leaned closer. “You in there, sweetheart?”

Slowly, your head shifted, just a fraction towards his voice. Your lips part and in a breath, “Logan?”

He exhaled like he had been drowning and just broke the surface. “I’m here.” He took your face in his hands. “I’m right here.”

You blinked slowly. “You… stayed…”

“Of course I did, baby. You can’t get rid of me.”

Your lips quirked up, barely, but it was enough for Logan.

~~~

You started walking again, eating, and talking. Even a little reading. But there was something always hovering just behind your eyes. A distant stillness. Like a shadow waiting for its moment to wrap around your thoughts and pull. It doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes you were in mid-sentence. Sometimes you were reading. Sometimes you were holding Logan’s hand. But, suddenly, you weren’t there anymore. You go quiet and still. Your eyes go wide but unfocused— like a page someone forgot to finish writing. It terrified everyone, but no one more than Logan. 

One afternoon, you were seated at the corner table in the library. A book opened on your lap. Logan was sitting nearby, pretending to skim a history manual. But he was watching you. He was always watching now, just in case. You were in mid-turn of a page when your hand stilled and you froze. Your breath caught, lips parting slightly as your eyes widened. Logan was up in an instant. He knelt beside you, gently cupping your cheek.

“Hey, hey. I got you,” he whispered.

You didn’t blink.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here. It’s just me.”

There was silence for a moment longer then a single, shaky inhale and your gaze returned. Your focus landed on his face and tears immediately pooled in your eyes.

“I didn’t mean too—“ Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to go.”

He pulled you to his chest. “I know… I know…”

~~~

Later that night, you lie in Logan’s bed, curled against him. You couldn’t fall asleep easily anymore. There was now a lingering fear that if you closed your eyes, you might never come back.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” you whispered. “I want to. I just… disappear.”

Logan’s fingers traced slow circles against your back. “You always come back. And until you stop doing that? I’m not going anywhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

His gripped tightened on you. “Then I’ll come in after you.”

~~~

The rain tapped against the windows in Charles’ office. Charles could sense Logan before the knock.

“Come in, Logan.”

The door creaked open. Logan stood in the threshold, soaked from a solo walk through the courtyard, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of too many nights without peace. He shut the door behind him, but didn’t move to sit.

“You’ve seen her,” Logan said after a long pause. “You feel what’s happening to her.”

Charles’ gaze softened. “Yes.”

“She’s slipping further. She’s trying to stay. But whatever they did— whatever’s still inside her— keeps pulling all the damn time.”

Charles nodded.

“I’m asking you to fix it.”

Charles breathed in slowly. “And I’m telling you… we can’t.”

Logan clenched his jaw. “You’re the strongest telepath in the world.”

“And that’s exactly why I know the cost.”

“She’s in pain.”

“She’s alive.”

“That ain’t living! She’s terrified on her own head. Every time she closes her eyes I wonder if she’ll wake up as herself. I sit there holding her hand, hoping she doesn’t vanish while I blink.”

“I know.”

“No,” Logan stepped forward. “You don’t. You weren’t there when she forgot what a window was. You didn’t watch her look at me like she was trying to remember why I mattered. She’s not just some telepathic misfire. She’s not a project. She’s— she’s mine.”

“I’ve gone into her mind gently, as has Jean. And what we founds delicate and fractured. It’s like a library gutted by fire— what’s left is precious, and what’s lost can’t be rebuilt the same way.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged. “So what? We just…wait?”

“We anchor her with love and patience and consistency. With you. That’s what kept her fighting in the first place.”

Logan shook his head with a scoff. “That ain’t enough.”

“It has to be. Because if we every to do more— if we dig too deep, push too hard— we risk losing everything that’s still hers.”

Logan finally sat, slowly, hands curling into fists on his knees. “She deserves better than this.”

“Then do your best to give her that with what she has.”

~~~

You haven’t slipped in a few days. But there’s still an ache inside of you. You’ve seen the way Logan watches you lately. Every time you flinched or hesitated or your eyes glazed for a beat too long. He was aching too. He was trying so hard to hold you together when you feel like you’re falling apart. So you decided to give him something to hold onto. And to give you something to anchor yourself more.

You kissed him first, soft and careful. Then again, deeper and needier. Logan responded like he was afraid to push— like even now, with your body in his hands, you might vanish if he breathed wrong. But you pressed closer, guiding him gently onto the bed. You wanted this. You needed this. The heat, the closeness, the weight of him above you.

“I’m still me,” you whispered.

His hand trembled as it cupped your cheek. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

But you didn’t stop. And slowly, he let go. He kissed you like you’re his entire world. He touched you with reverence and restraint— until you’re both wrapped in sweat and skin and the kind of closeness that feels like it could anchor you.

But then, right in the middle of it, your hands slid from his neck. Your eyes went wide and unfocused. Your body stopped responding.

“Darlin’?” Logan called.

But you were gone.

“Hey, hey. Come back.”

You stared back him, lips parted. Logan stilled inside you like someone caught in a nightmare.

“No— no, no, no, come on, baby, not now.”

He pulled back instantly and gently. He wrapped you in the blanket and cradled your face with shaking hands. You blinked once and then again, confused and scared.

“Did I… what just…” you breathed out.

Logan held you like you were made of porcelain. “You were gone,” he sounded so broken. “In the middle of— you disappeared.”

Your breath shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t.” He kissed your head. “It’s not your fault… it’s not your fault.”

~~~

The classroom was warm and lively. It was his first day back. He refused to teach until it had been a month without you slipping, even then it came with strict promises that you would be watched over every moment. Currently, his class was working on essays about a historical topic of their choice. And, of course, he ended up having to teach a mini English lesson.

“Prepositions ain’t that hard,” he muttered. “They’re just words that tell you where a thing’s at or when it happened.”

A few of the students laughed. He gestured to the sentence he had written on the board.

The claws came from the gloves.

He read the sentence then, “See? Clean. No teeth involved.”

There was more laugher now. A rhythm was returning, shaky but familiar. And behind it all, Logan couldn’t help but think how proud you’d been for him trying. But then the door burst open. A student— wide-eyed and panting— rushed in.

“It happened again!”

Logan froze. “What?”

“In the library. Miss Y/N was helping us. Then she just stopped. We tried, but— Mr. Logan, she’s not moving.”

The board marker dropped from his hand and he was running.

~~~

You were sitting at the large table where students usually worked for group work. Completely gone. Logan crashed through the doors, boots thudding hard enough to shake the shelves. He dropped to his knees.

“Sweetheart,” he called as he cupped your face. “Baby, come back to me.”

Your eyes flickered, faint— barely a tremor.

Jean rushed in. “She’s caught in a loop.”

“What kind of loop?” Logan asked.

“Memory. Something she touched must’ve triggered it.” Jean looked down to see a book open under your hand about government experimentation on mutants. “No.”

Logan looked down. “Shit.” Then he focused back on you. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t let them win.”

You twitched and your breath hitched.

“That’s it,” Jean encouraged. “Keep going.”

Finally, you exhaled. “Logan?”

“I’m here, sweetheart. I got you.”

You burst into tears. “I was doing so good.”

Logan pulled you into his lap. “I know, darlin’, I know.”

Jean herded the students out, casting one long look back before closing the doors.

~~~

You sat on the exam table, swinging your legs slightly, watching Hank type up data on the mentor as he ran another neural scan. You were calmer today. Tired, but lucid. Logan was waiting down the hall— you asked him for ten minutes alone so you wouldn’t feel hovered over. This was your fourth scan this week. You knew the drill. But this time, Hank went still. His fingers stopped moving. His eyes flicked over the reading again, slower and narrowed.

“Strange,” he muttered.

You straightened up. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. He reached over and gently unclipped the monitoring leads from your temples. “That’s all for now. You’re good.”

You furrowed your brow. “Hank—“

“I just want to compare something to last week’s data. You did great.”

You nodded, even though your stomach was in knots. Then you left. The moment the door closed behind you, Hank moved. He brought the scan back up, overlaying it with previous ones. The differences were subtle, but unmistakable. A pattern was forming deep in the neural pathways that wasn’t there before. It was organize, but unnatural. Like something was left behind.

Hank didn’t waste anytime and called Charles, Jean, and Logan into the exam room. Once they were all gathered ten minutes later, Logan spoke up first.

“What is it?” He asked.

Hank exhaled. “There’s a neurological imprint forming. Deep-seating and subtle. It mimics natural pathways at first, but it’s not you. It’s not her.”

Jean leaned in. “Can I see?”

Hank highlights the section on a screen that everyone could see.

“That wasn’t in her brain two weeks ago,” Jean noted instantly.

“It’s a failsafe,” Charles’ voice was quiet.

Logan’s fists clenched. “What kind of failsafe?”

“She was embedded with a psychic trigger at one point during her captivity,” Hank explained. “A command structure. They masked it under trauma respond. But it’s designed to reactivate if certain emotional or environmental factors occur.”

Logan’s eyes went wide. “You’re tellin’ me they could still turn her into something to be controlled?”

Hank hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Jean ran a shaky hand through her hair. “The slipping. We thought was lingering PTSD. And some of it is. But this— this could be why she keeps disappearing.”

“It’s like someone keeps knocking on the back door of her mind,” Charles murmured. “And if they knock the right way…”

“They could take her again,” Hank finished. 

Silence fell.

Then Logan spoke up, low and lethal, “Does she know?”

“No,” Hank answered. “Not yet. I didn’t want to scare her without context. Especially if we don’t know what triggers it.”

“She’s gonna find out. She ain’t stupid.”

“And if she found out too fast?” Jean questioned. “It could activate the failsafe. You know how delicate her mental state it.”

Logan turned and moved for the door. “I’m not lying to her.”

“Logan,” Charles called. Logan paused. “I understand your loyalty. But if you love her— truly— you will give us time. Let us analyze it. Let us figure out how to disarm it without setting it off.”

Logan looked like a man being asked to cut out his own heart. “One day. That’s all I’m givin’ you. One. If anything happens to her because we waited… it’s on you.”

~~~

The mansion was too quiet. Everyone was being kind to you, almost too kind, and suspicious. Jean stopped mid-conversation whenever you entered a room. Hank wouldn’t meet your eyes when you check in for your scan. And Logan had barely touched you since yesterday. 

You asked him, once, in the library, “are you okay?”

He said, “I’m fine.”

But his thumb didn’t brush your hand like it used to. And you felt the lie sit between you like a living thing. You knew you were being projected from something.

Later, you were walking down the hallway. Slowly, weighing everything you’d noticed. As you turned the corner, you heard Jean’s voice through the cracked door of the room ahead.

“We can’t tell her,” she said firmly. “Not yet. We can’t afford to trigger it.”

You froze. It took you a moment to gather yourself and step away, quietly. You headed back to Logan’s room and grabbed the file Logan thought he had so sneakily hidden from you. But you could sense it. It was a file about you since you returned, pages added to it with each scan. You sat on the floor and placed the file in front of you. Slowly, you opened it and placed your hand on the first page.

Your chest tightened and something in your brain clicked. Your body suddenly didn’t feel like it was yours anymore. The room around you felt further away and in the mirror across the room, you couldn’t recognize your own eyes.

“Initiation acknowledged,” the mechanical version of you stated in your mind.

~~~

Jean jolted upright in her chair where she was working with Charles.

“Something’s triggered,” Jean said, already moving. “I don’t know how—“

“Where is she?” Charles asked.

Jean’s mind reached out, but hit a wall of static. “She’s suppressing her own signal. Or something else is. Get Logan. Now.”

~~~

Logan was halfway down the hall before Charles fully reached out to him. His focus on one thing. You. He slammed through his bedroom door to see you staring blankly ahead from where you were sitting on the floor, hand pressed to the file.

“Sweetheart?” He breathed, stepping forward.

You didn’t blink, but your head turned to face him. Your eyes were cold, empty.

Logan crossed the room and tore the file out from under you. “Stop. Look at me.”

“I am the Archive.” Your voice was flat.

Logan cupped your face, whole body shaking. “Baby, listen to me. You are not the Archive. You are Y/N. My Y/N.” 

You didn’t respond.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Then it clicked. You could only answer questions. That it how they programed you.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he continued. “Do you remember who I am?”

“You are James Logan Howlett— Project X. The Wolverine. You were born—“

“Okay, okay. But do you know who I am to you?”

You paused, like a computer processing. “That data is not accessible.”

“Yes, it is. Push harder.”

Jean slid into the room. “Logan—“

“Not now! Sweetheart, I need you to push into that data, okay? Can you do what is needed to access the data?”

The file cabinets in the vault of your mind trembled as one of the cabinets fought to stay closed.

“Remember me. I need you to come back. Come back to me.”

You blinked.

“That’s it. Just a little more.”

Your lips parted and eyes softened. “Logan?”

“There she is.”

You choked on the air as you sobbed. You fell forward into Logan, who wasted no time in pulling you into him.

“You’re here. You’re here.”

“I wanted to know what they did,” you sobbed. “And I walked right into it.”

“You came back. You fought. That’s all that matters.”

~~~

It was late evening by the time you were steady enough to sit on the couch in Charles’ office. Logan hadn’t let go of you once. Jean sat on your other side while Hank stood nearby with his arms crossed tightly.

“We should have told you,” Charles stated.

You nodded slowly. “I triggered it myself.”

“That was our mistake.”

Hank cleared his throat. “They implanted something psychic in nature. It’s subtle and invasive. It didn’t just hijack your mind— it convinced you it had always been there.”

You shivered and Logan’s hand tightened around yours. “How close did I get?”

“Too close,” Charles stated. “Thankfully, Logan found a way to reach you.”

“If he hadn’t?”

“We would’ve tried,” Jean stated. “We would’ve fought. Every second of every day.”

But Charles told you the truth. “You wouldn’t have been there to save anymore.”

“Will I keep slipping?”

“Possibly. The damage is… dep. But we’ll continue to fight it— with you.”

You nodded. 

“There’s one another thing. We believe that books— paper with information on it— can trigger you. I believe you should be careful around things like that.”

“Are you sayin’ she can’t go into the library?” Logan asked. 

“I’m saying that she should be careful about the information she absorbs. Maybe take a break from it.”

“That’s—“

“Logan,” your calm voice cut him off. “It’s okay. I can do something else for a few weeks.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “We watch for slips. If you go a good amount of time without any, we can reintroduce the library to you.”

“But—“ Logan tried to argue again.

“Logan,” you interrupted. “I’ll be fine… you’ll be there to distract me, right?”

He sighed, hating the idea of taking your safe place away from you. “Of course, sweetheart.” He pulled you closer and kissed your head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

next: The New Normal >

[k-s-morgan]

Hey, how’s your vacation going? Are you doing okay? Your last post has me a little worried.

Another ask: I just want you to know, that even from very far away, I love you. Please stay alright 💞

Another ask: Are you okay?? Please let us know

Another ask: I hope you are well. Are you okay?

Another ask: Hi, are you doing ok? I've been really concerned since you haven't updated your blog in a while and you mentioned you were going away to an unsafe place. Please stay safe and keep us updated on your well-being.

Another ask: Another ask: Hello, I hope you have a great time on your vacation. I hope it helps you forget about the whole situation that is happening over there.

Another ask: You really deserve a break, take care of yourself and enjoy. ^^

-----

Hi! Writing from my vacation spot <3 Thank you all so very much for constantly supplying me with this much love and support! It means the world to me!

That last attack was the worst one yet, at least for me and my loved ones. One of the key targets Russia has chosen was located just 1.5 kilometers from my home. It hadn't even worked properly for years, but I doubt these terrorists care about it, they just needed to hit something.

The attack went on from 9 pm to 6 am. 28 people died in my city, the last time I checked. One of the missiles hit the apartment complex; from what I heard, out of everyone living there, only 2 people, 9 cats, and some birds survived - our local heroes managed to dig them out on time.

The most discouraging thing is that we know it's only going to get worse, as Russia keeps amassing drones and missiles for its terrorist attacks, and the countries that could make it pause don't give a damn about it. I think this decision has terrible long-term consequences for other smaller countries, but then the world has never been a nice, fair, or logical place.

From better, more personal news, I'm really enjoying my vacation! Things have been mostly quiet, the nature is beautiful, and I got to sleep for a couple of days straight. Now I'm ready to fully dedicate myself to writing!

Hello from my favorite vacation spot

Will answer some more asks later today. Thanks so much, again, for being here for me!

[ikamigami]

TW for rat experiment nxnxnxnxn

Now I'm 100% sure that Sawyer was the one who not only did experiments on animals with poppy gel but he was successful with it.

First things first. People wrongly assumed (including me at first) that Sawyer didn't write note about rat experiment because the letters were different.

But the thing is this is not how you compare handwriting to determine whether or not it was written by the same person.

Look closely at both texts. They seem at first glance to be too different to be written by the same person, right? But the difference comes from the time both these notes were written.

Rat experiment was written by Sawyer during his time at Young Geniuses Program and he was a teenager at that time. The handwriting actually looks like something that teenager could write. Letters still look like how you learn to write in school.

Note about Yarnaby was written by Sawyer when he was working at Playtime Co and he was adult then. The handwriting changed - letters are written in simpler style probably from years of writing thanks to the profession he chose. Hence why capital letters like "a" or "s" are now written as bigger versions of lowercase letters. Because it's simpler to write them in this way.

We can see that Sawyer found his own style and his handwriting is now more confident and stylized compared to his handwriting from teenage years.

And what's most important when you compare handwriting? You have to find unique qualities of ones handwriting. And we can see that in both notes letters written in one word are connected and letters are leaning in the same direction though it became more apparent in his adult handwriting.

Changing of handwriting over time is completely normal thing. It happens to everyone.

And another thing. You can't say from one letter that thing was written by the same person. I'm talking about how many people (including me at first) believe that rat experiment was written by Elliot solely because the letter "E" is the same. It's not how this works. And I admit that I was wrong when I thought that Elliot wrote that note.

I know that I talked about it already in one of my posts but I wanted to make this clear because it's important that Sawyer was the one who discovered the scientific breakthrough of bringing dead back to life.

Why it's important?

Because I realized that the only thing everyone saw in Sawyer was his intellect and that everyone used him and then betrayed him later (or in Leith's case earlier).

We don't know what exactly happened between Elliot and Harley. But we can conclude this based on hints and more importantly from narrative standpoint.

So what we know for a fact is that Sawyer survived two times solely thanks to his intellect: 1) Leith didn't kill him but turned him into an experiment because he needed Sawyer's knowledge and unique capabilities; 2) the Prototype didn't kill him because he needed Sawyer's knowledge that he lacked - cause it was pointed out rather clearly that the Prototype would need too much time to first learn things that Sawyer already knew before he'll be able to crack the secret on his own and he didn't have that much time; Sawyer on the other hand already had a lot of knowledge on the matter which was what the Prototype needed.

In both these cases Sawyer was used for his intellect and betrayed 1) by Leith when he turned him into an experiment; 2) by the Prototype - he didn't kill him on his own (I think he couldn't) but used the third party (the player) and he was plotting it behind Sawyer's back.

Hints given to us that heavily imply that Elliot used Sawyer for his intellect and later betrayed him:

1) removal letter description - "Monsters We Make..." suggests that Elliot's actions are direct cause of Sawyer's mental breakdown which made him into the person or rather a monster who he is now (he pushed him over the edge - one bad day).

2) Sawyer's voice lines - "It was going to be mine. It was all going to be mine. My discovery. My recognition. I was the one who paved the golden path."

"Has she not strung you along, betrayed you, and told you only what you needed to know to do exactly as she asked?"

"Do you think Poppy cares about you? She'd sacrifice you in an INSTANT if she believed it means getting what she wants."

These clearly imply how Sawyer viewed Elliot's actions towards him (he was projecting on Poppy how he felt about Elliot).

And this together with:

3) Sawyer's memory of rat experiment from Doctor's trailer.

Shows us that Sawyer was experimenting on animals with poppy gel during his time at Young Geniuses Program.

Experiments on animals were pretty common and non-controvercial at the time period Young Geniuses Program was founded - most likely between 60-70s.

And because this Program was founded by Elliot every experiment and discovery belonged to him as it was a property of Playtime Co.

Lines like "My discovery" and "I was the one who paved the golden path" suggests to us that it was Sawyer who discovered the scientific breakthrough. He succeded with bringing dead back to life. But we don't know when it happened and with what subject exactly.

Important thing to note is that Sawyer was young back then and he didn't had the vast knowledge and abilities he gained later. He was using whatever knowledge and abilities he had at that age and he was most likely improvising driven by scientific progress ("progress doesn't care about anyone's feelings") and curiosity.

I believe that Sawyer crossed lines which caused the argument between him and Elliot and resulted in his removal from the Program.

Hence why it wouldn't surprise me if it turned out that Sawyer made the Prototype and not Elliot - and he succeded we can say on accident. Using human for experimentation was definitely a no go even back then. Though we know that at that period of time there were experiments conducted on humans that were unethical.

Also I wouldn't be surprised if Elliot told him about Poppy and his dream to be able to have her back. And it wouldn't surprise me if this could also be a reason to why Sawyer tried so hard because he was doing this for Elliot the only person that gave him positive attention. And this is where Harley's line "I thought you CARED" could come from cause Elliot wanted something similar, no?

Anyway. Hints that Elliot used Sawyer for his intellect.

So Sawyer was working under Elliot and came up with the project with poppy gel that caught Elliot's attention because of his dead daughter - proof: "If I might just be a tad selfish here, he is EXACTLY who I hoped this program would attract."

Elliot took Sawyer's project to bring his daughter back to life. He did it for selfish reasons. He already had that in mind when he saw what Sawyer was working on. And it makes him a hypocrite cause he experimented on his own daughter while he kicked out Harley if not for the same thing (the Prototype) then for something less than that.

"He took EVERYTHING"

"I thought you CARED"

These words written by Sawyer about Elliot have clear implication. Elliot took Sawyer's project by kicking him out of YGP because it belonged to Playtime Co. It's not fair when the one who discovered the scientific breakthrough was Sawyer and also because Elliot did what he kicked out Harley for. Sawyer thought that Elliot cared but sadly Elliot cared about his selfish desire to bring his daughter back to life.

I'm pretty sure that he cared about Sawyer but not more than his selfish desire. He just covered his reasoning for kicking Harley out of YGP in nice words like Sawyer lacking humility or that he should use science for benefit of humanity not only for the sake of progress.

We know these were excuses when Elliot saw Harley's struggles:

"I've tried to ask him questions— get a sense for who he is. And while he doesn't say much, from how he talks about home, I get a sense he doesn't miss it. A mind such as his can be quick to isolate himself from his peers, and if not surrounded by kindness, that mind can twist. The way he spoke almost made me feel sorry for him."

And because Elliot brought his dead daughter back to life.

Elliot had his own vision and selfish desire and he was fixated on it and when Sawyer didn't fit his ideal world ("childish fantasy of a naive, broken man") he ignored his issues and ditched responsibility. Elliot was selfish back then.

Sawyer mental breakdown was understandable. Elliot indeed betrayed him. And this pushed Sawyer over the edge - reference to Joker (one bad day; jester's siluette on torn papers; Doctor wearing jester's hat on official art). He became a monster because of Elliot's actions towards him.

And why I don't think that Elliot made Poppy on his own because he isn't a scientist in that field. Sure he had various innovational ideas and he could make machines and toys or at least their designs. But we don't have any proof of Elliot being knowledgable on subject of biology and such.

Elliot doesn't come off as someone who knows how to do surgery or anything like that.

And I get it that Elliot was grieving but it's not excuse to be a hypocrite and Elliot was an adult so he should know better. He saw that Harley had issues. He saw that something was wrong. But he was selfish. And grieving can't be an excuse to broke the trust of an already broken kid. It's not an excuse to mistreat a child.

This makes me even more feral over them and I need to know in what circumstances Harley killed Elliot jxnxnxnnxnxnxnnxnxnxnx

Anyway. Sawyer being the one who discovered the scientific breakthrough of bringing dead back to life makes sense from both hints in game and ARG etc and narrative standpoint.

Sad thing is that no one saw Sawyer as his own person but rather they saw only his intellect. The only person who could do something and cared about Harley was Elliot but we all know what he chose.

It's not surprising that Sawyer acts so superior cause he learned that all that matters in him is his intellect and nothing else. So he tries to make up for this by acting as he's above everyone else.

And I believe that Sawyer got this mentality from his home. I believe that his parents also focused only on his intellect. That's why he's so detached from his humane aspects because he had nothing outside of his big brain. And it reflects in what happened to him later when he was turned into basically a machine. A brain plugged into a computer. Because only this brain mattered to others.

That's why I don't think that Sawyer would care if the only thing left of him was his intellect in digital version and not even his brain cause he's too used to being valued for his smarts and used and later discarded like a thing or a tool. He was dehumanized, I believe since childhood, to the point he became a machine.

But what's tragic is that he still misses humane aspects of him, he still wished for connection even though he didn't understand that and wasn't even aware of that. But he pushes away every bit of what makes him humane because of his goal - golden path. He's obsessed with this goal even more than he's obsessed with himself I think. Because if he was truly obsessed with himself why would he want to discard and push further and further away anything that could distract him from his goal? He doesn't even allow himself simple pleasures and even if he does something for his own amusement he's still emotionally detached from it. Like we could hear in his QnA. He answers in such way about most trivial things as if he had to find an analitical and logical reason to do and like something. (Come on, Harley! Bsnznznzn QwQ)

I think he became obsessed with golden path since Elliot kicked him out of YGP because it was his breaking point. Golden path was his idea. It was his project. His discovery. But I think that roots of this comes from his home.

This much focus on scientific progress and what it escalated to later doesn't come from nothing.

Like I get it that Sawyer could have an interest in science and all but when it's implied that he had bad childhood and he is compared to rest of experiments via implications by devs then I doubt that his obsessive mindset came from nowhere. (also why the name golden path and why belief in special properties of poppy flowers vzbxbznbxbxbxnx)

His parents were at least neglectful both physically and emotionally and were pressuring and pushing him to focus only on studying and on gaining knowledge and on progress.

And with all of this I just think that the Doctor is better candidate for main antagonist in horror franchise. Cause he's a monster but a tragic monster who projects his trauma on everyone around him. Most of iconic horror characters had tragic backstory and they ended up projecting their hurt onto others.

I'm pretty sure that the Doctor is alive but I hope for it because it makes sense and would be good from narrative standpoint.

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Four (R2) 3 of 3

@paracosmic-sims, @perolesims, @eljeebee, @jonquilyst, @riverofjazzsims, @matchalovertrait

Isabella: I just knew I'd win this time

Quetzalli: Could there have been any other outcome?

Isabella: We're singers. This was basically our challenge to lose

Quetzalli: Now I just have to hope I don't trip up too much

Isabella: Same. It's a bit scary being the first time but we can do it

Quetzalli: Lucky it's sunny today

Quetzalli has chosen the beach for her solo date this round.

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Quetzalli: I would consider myself fortunate

Deanna: What's the luckiest/unluckiest thing that has ever happened to you?

Quetzalli: The luckiest thing that has happened to me is gaining a small following. In the music industry, talent doesn't always guarantee success. For a lot of artists, making it big is based on pure luck.

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Quetzalli: I don't believe in fate or destiny

Deanna: No?

Quetzalli: As a matter of fact, I don't believe we have a purpose in life that has been predetermined. However, to me that idea is incredibly freeing. We choose our own paths. Everyone here can live life how they'd like to.

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Quetzalli: Tartosa forever! I can't imagine living anywhere else... well, maybe Del Sol Valley if it'll help my career. Or San Myshuno? All the lights at night must look stunning.

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family

Quetzalli: I am completely fine with that because I love living in Tartosa. My moms are from Ciudad Enamorada but I’ve lived here my whole life. Ideally, I want to be close to my parents as well

Deanna: I like that. Of course vacations in Del Sol would be great if you need because I can just see Devin and her family when we're there

Isabella decided to pick the beach as her solo date venue.

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Belle: I always just leave things to the Watcher...

Deanna: What's the luckiest/unluckiest thing that has ever happened to you?

Belle: I'm not really sure... what about you?

Deanna: I think getting to do this show is pretty lucky for me

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Belle: I believe in the mercy of the Watcher. 

Deanna: Can I ask what makes you believe that? Family?

Belle: My Nana had me believe that whatever the Watcher writes in your fate, it is what you are destined for

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Belle: I'd love to live in another city...like San Myshuno. I'd love to experience the city life. If it's not for me, well, I could always go back to Del Sol

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family

Belle: The only places I frequent to is Tartosa and Del Sol Valley

Deanna: I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable

Belle: I'm based in Del Sol, so rest assured we could stay there most of the time, theoretically, of course. That also means that we could come back to Tartosa during the holidays

Deanna: That would be nice

With the dates concluded it's skill time back at the villa. The contestants get four hours today to focus on a skill of their choice. Former group mates Hana and Apolline both choose to work on their charisma. Isla's dream is still bothering her but she does her best to focus on rock climbing, while Nyami and Isabella also focus on the same skill in their own rooms. Quetzalli is our first contestant to sharpen her nectar making skill. Little did I know that the skill didn't come with a book so the singer has to get stuck in to practical work.

While Deanna is prepping food for everyone I catch up with her about the dates.

Devin: How did you find the dates today? Two more firsts

Deanna: Honestly? Best of the round so far

Devin: Really?

Deanna: Yes. It was great talking to Quetzalli one on one. Like... a silver level date

Devin: And Isabella?

Deanna: She's so enchanting! Gold level for sure. And I feel like opposites have attracted which I reckon is basically a smitten sentiment

Devin: How did you find it?

Isabella: I mean I'm hot headed and she's cheerful, or maybe it's that I'm ambitious while she's family oriented? But I think the opposites aren't putting us off. Well, it hasn't put me off

Deanna fixed everyone dinner. At this point autonomy is set to full again. Deanna will not start conversations, it's up to contestants. Deanna is locked out of all bedrooms but the rest will have access to beds for sleeping and computer distractions.

Hana: What is... this?

Deanna: It was in the cookbook as "Foraged Feast"

Quetzalli: It tastes pretty good

Apolline: I love the berries

Nyami: I haven't seen mushrooms this big for ages

Isla: You've said you get great food in the jungle though

Isabella: Tartosa gets lots of delicious imports

Isla and Quetzalli deal with the dishes for the night.

Quetzalli: Anyone want to have another go on the karaoke machines

Apolline: Those broken things? I think not

Hana: Relax Line, no one is going to force you to sing again

Deanna: Sorry if you didn't enjoy it, Devin picked the challenge

Isabella: Smart to see how we do in front of an audience

Hana and Apolline head upstairs for some table tennis.

Apolline: Thanks for sticking up for me

Hana: I don't think Quetzalli meant anything bad. She likes singing is all

The pair hug as they become good friends. Downstairs Nyami is having a brief erratic moment...

Isla: Your hair is really nice Deanna

Deanna: Thanks! Wasn't sure about the purple at the start but it's grown on me

It seems the early start is impacting a lot of the group. While Isabella sensibly heads to bed Quetzalli and Apolline find couches to nap on. Hana returns downstairs and joins in talking with Nyami, Isla and Deanna until the day is over.

Beach venue found on the gallery by Chellsdi Villa renovation by @paracosmic-sims

[baldieboi]

That's a good thing, do what you enjoy. I also find myself sucked in with many things work (negative), story brainstorming (positive), occasionally drawing (positive).

I feel like the Primarchs just couldn't imagine having their Mother one day passing and they didn't understand the importance of spending time with her while they have the chance. Unfortunately, this is something many learn too late even in real life.

The Mother's death is exactly what you said. Passed peacefully in death. I didn't want to cause more pain to the Primarchs (I swear it feels so wrong making them sad, no matter they are fictional characters, the feeling remains). And there's something poetic in passing peacefully. They were offered peace by the Mother and in death she had peace as well.

I gotta say, originally I had a... quite different story idea. Mother passing remains the same as it is here but, and here comes the part that's different, it was not the reader passing.

The Emperor chose another to be the Mother/High Consort (for political and symbolic reasons, so he can show himself as more of a humane figure for the masses) and that's who the reader was to be. Here, the reader would have need to ease the Primarchs grief, to earn their trust so they see the reader more than someone who wants to replace their precious mother. The story would have ended up with them accepting the reader and while they never would have seen the reader the same as the first Mother... it would have been still a nice, perhaps angsty-wholesome story. At least according to the original plans.

But... frankly, I can't. I can't find it in myself to write this, not just because of having a job takes away almost all my free time... but simply because I can't.

This version is already sad enough and I am not sure I could manage writing the Primarchs slowly overcoming the grief and accepting the loss.

But who knows? Maybe one day I will reconsider. Or not. Time will tell.

I haven't considered the tagging being possibly interpreted in the wrong way by anyone but actually it makes a lot of sense. Just because I don't think of the wrong thing... who is to say nobody else does? It's pretty common with me. I think of the most normal (perhaps most innocent) things and people are absolutely not. I had some very uncomfortable and sometimes hilarious misunderstandings with it.

Thanks for for bringing this to my attention. I will edit the tags (but from what I have seen people didn't misunderstand, is that a good sign? anyway, I will change the tags)

The warhammer x reader part can remain, right? I will keep it as that in itself shouldn't be under the same problematic possible misinterpretation like the primarch x reader tag.

When I will write and post the next part (I plan to make it have exactly 3 parts, no more, no less) I will post it with this in mind.

Mother

Part 1

You died. To the Primarchs you were like a mother. They came to say their last goodbyes to you. Angst.

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg @w-40-k

Lion El'Jonson

The Lion knelt besides you with perfect knightly grace, his head bowed in respect. His hands, those weapons of war, trembled as he reached out to touch your folded fingers.

"Mother" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I came as soon as I could. I know... I know I'm too late but I had to tell you."

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"I brought you something. A flower from Caliban, from the grove where you said you wanted to walk someday. I know it's just a simple thing but you always said the simplest gifts carried the most love."

He placed the white bloom in your other hand, his fingers lingering on yours.

"I was your knight, Mother. I was supposed to protect you, to come when you called. I was too far away, fighting battles that don't matter now. Forgive me. Please forgive your failed knight."

A single tear fell onto your joined hands.

"I love you, Mother. I should have said it more. I should have said it every day."

Fulgrim

Fulgrim approached with a canvas in his hands, his features streaked with tears he made no attempt to hide.

"I finished it" he said, holding up the painting, your portrait, now complete despite the scar his chisel had left which fell from his hands when he heard the news of your death. "I know it's not perfect but you always said my imperfections made my art more beautiful."

He set the painting where you could see it... if you could still see.

"You were my muse, Mother. Every beautiful thing I ever created was because I was trying to capture even a fraction of the beauty I saw in you. Not just your face, though you were lovely, but your soul. The way you saw wonder in everything."

His voice broke.

"I wanted to paint you forever. I wanted to spend eternity trying to show the galaxy what real beauty looked like. But I can't... I can't paint you anymore. How do I create beauty in a world that doesn't have you in it?"

He touched your cheek with infinite gentleness.

"Thank you for teaching me that love was the greatest art of all. I'll try to remember that even when the world feels ugly without you."

Perturabo

Perturabo stood besides you with his hands full of blueprints, dozens of them, architectural plans that represented years of work.

"I brought you the designs" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of them. The gardens you wanted to see, the palaces I designed with rooms full of light, the cities where children could play safely in the streets."

He spread them out around you, a paper ocean of dreams made manifest.

"You were the only one who understood what I was trying to build. Everyone else saw weapons and fortifications but you... you saw homes. You saw beauty. You saw the future I was trying to create."

His massive hands clenched into fists.

"I wanted to build you a garden, Mother. A place where you could walk among growing things and know that they were protected by walls that would never fall. I wanted to give you peace made manifest in stone and steel."

He knelt besides you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I don't know how to build without you to build for. What's the point of creating something beautiful if the most beautiful thing in the galaxy is gone?"

He pressed his forehead to your hand.

"I love you, Mother. You made me feel like an architect instead of just a destroyer. Thank you for seeing the dreams in my blueprints."

Jaghatai Khan

The Khan came to your side with wind-tousled hair and dust on his boots as if he had ridden hard to reach you.

"I'm sorry I'm late" he said, sinking to one knee beside hs you. "I was riding when the news came and I... I couldn't stop. I rode for three days straight, hoping that if I was fast enough I could somehow outrun this reality."

He took your hand in both of his.

"You understood why I had to ride, didn't you? You never asked me to stay, never tried to cage me like the others did. You knew that the hunt was part of who I was and you loved me anyway."

His voice grew thick with emotion.

"But I should have stayed more often. I should have sat with you in the gardens and let you braid flowers in my hair. I should have told you about the sunsets I saw on distant worlds, should have brought you stories from the wind roads."

He lifted your hand to his cheek.

"You were my anchor, Mother. The fixed point that let me range so far because I always knew I could return. Now I'm lost in a way I've never been before and I don't know how to find my way home."

He took a shuddering breath.

"Ride with me in spirit, Mother. When I race across distant worlds be the wind at my back. That's how I'll carry you with me, in the freedom you gave me to be who I was meant to be."

Leman Russ

Russ approached with something clutched in his massive fist. When he opened it, it revealed a small carved wolf, no bigger than his thumb, crude but heartfelt.

"I made this for you" he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "I know it's not much. I'm not... I'm not good with the gentle things like Fulgrim or Vulkan. But I wanted you to have something."

He placed the tiny wolf in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

"You were the only one who wasn't afraid of me, Mother. When I was young and the wolf was strong, when I could barely control the beast in my blood, you would run your fingers through my hair and tell me stories until I was calm again."

His voice broke.

"You called me your wolf-son and you meant it as a loving thing. Not as something to be ashamed of but as something precious. You made me feel like the wolf and the man could exist together, that I didn't have to choose."

He rested his forehead against the edge of your bier.

"I howled for you, Mother. All the way from Fenris to Terra, I howled. And for the first time in my life the howl felt empty because you weren't there to answer."

His tears fell freely now.

"Pack bonds are forever, Mother. Death doesn't break them. You'll always be part of my pack, the heart of it. I love you. My pack loves you. Forever."

[wxsteriawishes]

about each lads guy's zodiac (sun sign)

rafayel (pisces)

free, detached, curious, homesick, dreamer, extravagant, delusional

♓️ free ♓️ rafayel cannot be chained. he needs to do his own thing. it's one thing to go on a painting spree because of a burst of inspiration. it's an entirely another thing to be bombarded by e-mails, calls, and messages to do the very same thing. thomas can go kiss his ass. he needs to play by his own rules. wake up and fall asleep when he wants to, eat what he chooses to, kiss whomever he pleases. he will not be bullied into attending any event easily. and he doesn't give a damn what anyone says, he will not clean his studio. everything has it's place and it's certainly worked for him thus far, and that was that.

♓️ detached ♓️ yes, he does get annoyed by little things. and there's not often a week where he hasn't complained about something. but on the whole, he doesn't get attached. he is unbothered by the trivial aspects of the world. even if suddenly his paintings wouldn't sell and he ended up homeless, living on the street, you'd find him humming the next day. even when you find yourself upset about things not working, he will let you vent and cry and pout. but his words of advice always ring loud and clear. "there's nothing you can do about it, cutie. don't stress too much, 'kay?" it might not be so comforting, but it's how he goes with the flow. it's how he's always been.

♓️ curious ♓️ he wants to know. yes, he likes obtaining knowledge, but it's more than that. he's fascinated. different cultures inspire him. he learns how to use henna, practices the distinct south asian and african designs. he discovers the flavorful foods of the world. he explores the songs and stories of native voices. his mouth stutters as he clicks and rolls his tongue, feeling out foreign words. he tries to paint the colors he's tasted, the animals he's heard, the souls he's felt. he knows an awful lot too. about the fabrics and embroidery of kimonos and barong tagalogs. the protective hairstyles that so many women use. the shades of one ocean that could never be found anywhere else on the planet. it feeds his heart, fuels his art, and he still wants to know more.

♓️ homesick ♓️ he feels alone, misunderstood, isolated. like he doesn't belong. he's always laughing in public, smiling for the cameras, but he gets so sick of it all sometimes. the posing. "you're my home, cutie." you definitely remind him of it. of lemuria, that is. he has his memories, yes, but you're the last tangible piece. it tore him apart when you didn't remember him. he wishes more than anything to tell you, to remind you, to pull you in his arms, whispering in his native tongue ". . .can i come home?"

♓️ dreamer ♓️ he has high hopes for himself. no one realizes how much he dreams, how far they reach. you notice how frisky he can get sometimes. you wondered why. why he always seemed to be on the move, writing everything that he couldn't fit in his head down, drawing anything he couldn't quite capture with words. and he had no sense of survival. he'd push you down the craziest waterslide he could find at an amusement park, drag you to the most batshit rollercoasters ever. you found yourself zip-lining across a canyon once. you told him he'd die before 30 at this rate. "at least i won't leave this life with any regrets" his words were often philosophical, such as times like these. and his career. oh, he had a dream for his career. he wanted something different for himself. he wants to leave behind a legacy of his own, unable to be compared to other painters, other artists, other creative minds. he wants a life that means something, and he wants a love that's his and his alone.

♓️ extravagant ♓️ ruled by jupiter, pisces is all about luck, growth, and prosperity. this makes sense, as rafayel is such a famous artist, his work so popular and so valuable. pisces is also ruled by neptune. that is to say, dreams, intuition, spirituality. . . the luxury he drapes himself in reflects this. the way he puts his imagination onto the canvas, painting the illusions of the world. he takes advantage of the wealth he has, doing what he wants, whenever he wants, lounging around and going wherever life takes him.

♓️ delusional ♓️ feels necessary to point this out. pisces are known for being delusional, but rafayel is most definitely not. whether it's just how he is or because of yours betrayals cluttering his past, he is cautious. he will never, ever delude himself into seeing the flowers when it's december. he will never lie to himself and think everything will be okay, because he knows it won't. he just trusts that whatever happens in the middle, he'll make it out in the end. he trusts that whatever happens, he'll only come out of it stronger. with or without you, even if it kills him to imagine it. the only time he is delusional is when he convinces himself you don't love him, because you do. he's just terrified of being wrong.

[mymusingss]

What really gets me about Chris and Tom is just how differently things could have been.

McQ was in director jail, couldn't make anything work and was about to give up on Hollywood when he heard someone talk shit about Tom and for some reason his first thought was "no way!". After hearing that, he decided to meet Tom in person going through great lenghts to do so.

This could have easily been the case of McQ hearing that and being like "oh" and moved on with his life.

Tom - who went through directors like no else's business and whose career was at a all time low - talked to him for mere hours and just knew that he'd spend the rest of his life doing movies with him.

Later, McQ would attribute them meeting to sheer coincidence or an accident, and sure him listening to that person talk shit about Tom could have been a coincidence (or not, who knows?), but he chose to go to that meeting because he didn't like to hear someone talk shit about a man he didn't even know yet.

People joke Tom knew instantly while it took McQ a while to figure it out, but I do think that those who think that aren't wrong. I can a see a world where Mr. "Suffers from imposter syndrome" wouldn't go down as quietly as Tom would.

The progression is noticeable.

It is important to note that McQ has stated that his relationship with Tom isn't built on them feeling like they owe each other anything. Everything they've done was because they wanted it to.

McQ coming back after Rogue Nation was because he wanted it to. He chalked it up to Tom being persuasive, but we all know the truth. Tom would understand if McQ wanted to give the script to another director, McQ was the one that chose to stay even when he knew that would mean being stressed out and sleep deprived for years to come.

However, we see McQ going from treating Tom like his own thing and feeling like an outsider, to him saying that they were sort of outsiders in the industry speaks levels to the growing comfort they felt with each other. This is proven by the fact that when Tom and Chris talk, they rarely say "I". Is always "we". "We decided on the ending", "we decided to do this", "we chose this route". Even if is writing, which is Chris' thing, he rarely says "I".

McQ went from having preconceived notions of Tom to working with him like no else's business, to understanding him in a level we have yet to see any other director understand Tom. Case in point, we just had Kosinski implying Tom doesn't know his own limits meanwhile Chris takes every chance he gets to talk about how Tom does this for the audiences.

I will always stand by that their partnership is more than other actors and directors partnerships we have.

It is cute that they call each other creative soulmates, it is cute that Chris can't seem to be able to say no to Tom, it is cute that these two don't need to say anything to each other because they know each other so well they can tell what the other is thinking.

But it is more than that by now. And you can absolutely tell. Chris literally implied he'd rather be in a helicopter with Tom in the event of something going wrong, has literally suggested he'd rather die with him, those are some heavy implications to make from a man with a wife and two daughters, if you ask me.

So yeah, all of this all thanks to that random person that was talking shit about Tom. I wonder if they know they're the reason they met? Honestly, I'm like: "well screw you for saying shit about him but also THANK YOU!"

[milfmorrowind]

WELP I very much did not finish the fic I was writing for TES Gala. I do plan on posting it when it's finished, but in the meantime I can share the thing I did finish: A pattern for a tablet-woven Eye of Nocturnal belt!

I started getting interested in tablet weaving about a year ago after falling down a viking clothing rabbit hole, and this past christmas my very lovely older sibling got me some basic supplies and I've been noodling around with it for a while now! As previously noted, I am a strong believer that the Thieves' Guild symbol used in Skyrim is meant to represent the Eye of Nocturnal. My evidence:

It kinda looks like an eye.

The Skyrim guild has long running ties to Nocturnal.

That's it.

Since the theme of the gala was "Daedra and Divines," I thought I should make use of this compelling evidence (and weaponize my obsession with my guildmaster LDB Mailie) and do... something with that. And therein lies the connection: Tablet weaving is very good at symmetrical geometric designs, and the Guild shadowmark is just that.

(p.s. if you're super confused about wtf I'm talking about, check out Lady Elewys of Finchingefeld for info on tablet weaving. It's overall a pretty inexpensive craft and very fun. TL;DR, it's a form of weft-faced weaving that's been practiced pretty much globally, but is frequently associated strongly with the viking era.)

I decided that when Mailie attended The Gala™️, she would wear a belt woven with the Eye. While she has complicated feelings about her status as a Nightingale, her relationship with Nocturnal is one of mutual respect. Furthermore, the Guild is incredibly important to Mailie, and I think she would relish the opportunity to represent it, even in a rather subtle way.

This has already ended up longer than I intended, so I'm putting the info on the pattern itself under the cut.

The version of the pattern I'm focusing on here is probably not wide enough to make a belt, unless you used very thick thread or were okay with a very thin belt. I wove a couple inches with laceweight cotton crochet thread, and it's about 1.3 cm/0.5 in wide. You could easily add some extra stripes on the outside to make it thicker if desired.

You can find the pattern here on twisted threads, or I've included some images below.

Threading chart

Weaving design

Woven band

(side note: I learned a different notation for threading than what twisted threads uses and that caused some confusion when I went to weave, so be aware of that if you happen to try this out for yourself. this pattern should work if you actually do your set up the way the website tells you to and don't try to wing it like me.)

The end design is not a perfect representation of the shape I'm going for, but I think to get a more elongated design you need to either have a pattern way beyond my ability to design or use 6-holed tablets. Regardless, I'm not doing that. While not perfect, I think this gets the idea across.

If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! I'm going to put up another version of this post on my main which includes the more complex version I made of this design, which I will link here when posted. Enjoy a picture of my attempt at this as your reward for reading my long ass post. Mistakes were made.

[jtl07]

oh gosh wow, this is incredibly generous of you to write all this out!! there are some prompts where things fall into place pretty easily and this was one of them so i'm gonna selfishly take this as an opportunity to both reply to you and to walk through a lil bit of my thought process :D

so the first thing was the prompt itself - i latched on to "alleyway" - prob because it was a very specific image - and since Michael was mentioned, i went with setting things at Bar La Vasseur. which led to the question, how do we get avatrice into the alleyway for spicy times?

[more thoughts under the cut bc this got long lol]

i thought briefly about making the encounter "real" but setting it up would've needed more words than i wanted to use since this is shenanigans. said a different way: i couldn't picture Beatrice making a move while they were in Switzerland, so i instead stuck with canon.

the fascinating thing about Beatrice is that she's such a force of nature. she can achieve pretty much anything when she puts her mind to it. so in this way, her mind is her biggest weapon. but only if her mind "behaves." the beauty of avatrice's time in Switzerland - and the dance of romance scene especially - is the glimpse we have of Beatrice misbehaving. so i wanted to dip further into what might have been going on in her mind at that moment, where her mind is both truth sayer and betrayer.

fun fact 1: the "imagine" motif was happenstance - in my initial notes, i'd written it more as a note to myself ("maybe she imagines it?") and it morphed into Beatrice's inner voice. the "hiss" description was meant to be a reference to the snake in the Garden of Eden - if i were to edit this or make this into a longer piece, i'd up the references to the temptation of Eve and maybe add in some questioning of the definitions of good/evil, ab/normal.

fun fact 2: "Bombastic bluster" was a last minute thing - since my last concussion a couple years ago, i still have a bit of trouble with word recall. i know the shape or rhythm that i want but often can't "see" the right word anymore. i knew i wanted "bluster" but couldn't figure out the preceding word; "bombastic" was the closest i could get (i still don't know what word(s) i wanted there)

It’s almost vulgar, but also telling

yknow i didn't think about it consciously when writing but it really is symbolic especially in the context of it all being within Beatrice's mind - because to Beatrice, there's still shame attached to all of this (hence a "dirty" sort of setting), but there's this conflicting desire to have it out in the open (hence the relative "public" aspect of the alleyway).

another thing i'd change if i was to edit this would be to sharpen the cut to reality. for example, maybe play up Ava being right on the cusp of finishing and Beatrice losing her mind over it - only for her to be sharply reminded that it's all her imagination (perhaps contrast what she had in her mind vs what she has in reality? and of course the irony of Ava being in love with her)

fun fact 3: Ava's "you good?" is meant to be another reference to that good/evil idea but again, it's not woven through this piece that well (at least, as it's currently written).

In the end, Beatrice’s simple nod to Ava’s question? You ate.

yessssss you are awesome for catching that! Beatrice being in this precarious in-between state where she can't exactly say yes but can't lie either - i wanted to go from Beatrice starting in this place of almost "content" denial to ending in this place of messy awareness. i headcanon that Beatrice is/becomes aware of her feelings for Ava while they're in Switzerland, where it's moments like this that she has to confront her growing feelings but has to work that much harder to keep them hidden. the angst! the yearning! (yangst? oh god i'm just gonna be quiet now)

lastly: don't you ever apologize for commenting because your thoughts were such a wonderful gift!! thank you sososo much <3

I love it when you hit my dash. Seriously.

There are moments where I wish I could manifest some type of physical form to the joy your words create so I that I might eat your delicious writing.

I wish I could think of a spicy prompt to beg of you. All that's coming to my mind is Avatrice in alleyway and impatience. Maybe it's brought on by some of Bea's jealousy over a certain blue-eyed blondie. Or maybe Ava is tired of Bea being dense. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But it still stands that I adore your writing. Thank you for blessing us with shenanigans. ❤️

oh wow that's incredible of you to say, i'm at a loss for words this means a ton <3 this one took a slightly angsty turn but hopefully still okay?

Imagine - a familiar voice murmurs from the back of Beatrice's mind as she watches Ava dance and laugh and drink. She'd almost forgotten about this voice, had thought she'd tamed it when she was younger when she'd been sent away to boarding school, thought she'd beaten it when she'd taken her vows; thought she'd won. 

But she should've known that it was just hiding, lying in wait for a moment like this - drunk and compromised - drunk and loving it, the voice teases and Beatrice is too far gone to deny it, too tired to fight it. Not when she doesn't want to, here, where Ava's glowing even in the low light; now, when Ava's throwing back her head in laughter. 

Imagine how that laugh would taste.

Beatrice sucks in a sharp breath at the thought, can't escape the image now that it's been brought to the forefront of her mind. Wonders if the lemon drop shots would taste different from Ava's lips. 

Imagine taking her.

The thing is, she can: pictures it clearly, walking up and taking Ava's hand, leading her off the dance floor without a word. Knows that Ava with all her bombastic bluster would follow willingly; she always does, always becomes pliant under Beatrice's touch. 

Beatrice imagines taking her further - through the backroom, past the storage, into the alley. Imagines backing Ava against the wall until she gasps. How she'd moan while Beatrice confirms the taste of her, how she'd arch into Beatrice's hands, how she'd lick into Beatrice's mouth like a woman parched. 

Beatrice imagines more - lifting up the croptop to expose Ava's breasts, yanking down her bra and replacing the fabric with her mouth. Can almost feel it in her fingers when Ava takes her hand and shoves it into her own pants. It's easy to imagine Ava in her impatience, rocking onto Beatrice's fingers before she even has the chance to get her bearings. 

Imagines groaning into Ava's neck as she takes Beatrice's fingers to the knuckle, grinding frantically against her. Imagines pushing back against her when she strains to keep up with Beatrice's pace, breath stuttering, moans devolving into a litany of Beatrice's name. 

But then the light shifts and Beatrice remembers where she is. Remembers that it's all in her imagination. 

Ava - the real one, more vibrant than Beatrice could ever imagine in her mind - stumbles into her side, giggling. "You good?" she asks, grinning and breathless. 

Breathless from dancing, Beatrice reminds herself, shoving the voice and her imagination away; gives Ava a nod as her answer. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Beatrice hears distant laughter.

[logical-emotion]

i like to think that after npmd , grace started acting just slightly different (aside from. stealing souls yk) like missing church occasionally, lightly swearing, slightly worse grades, etc... some visual changes on art would be cool too like her bow being a little disheveled and her having small eye bags