#Linear Bushes

[fawniswriting]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, as well as a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): 1940s!Bucky. 1940s!reader. winter-soldier!Bucky. TFATWS!Bucky. non-linear timeline (time-jumps). childhood friends to lovers. kissing. profanities. canon typical violence. bucky in the electric chair. brief mention of suicidal thoughts. fluff. kinda cheesy if you squint. mild angst. implied death (?). platonic sambucky. bittersweet ending I guess?? (you'll see what I mean)

Author's Note: okayyy so this didn't quite turn out the way I thought it would, but I loveeedd the concept as soon as I got it in my head and still wanted to share this story with you guys 🥺 idk why I seem to struggle translating my ideas properly lately 🫠 anywho, this is officially the shortest piece I've ever written, and I'm actually kind of challenging myself to start writing shorter pieces because I always end up blabbering non-stop in my fics (a side effect to being a yapper, I guess 😭). but despite all, I hope you'll still like this one and find it enjoyable! ❤️ and if you do, please don't forget: like, comment, and reblog 💞

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“This is for you.”

Twelve-year-old Bucky Barnes looked up from the wriggling worm on the ground and squinted his eyes against the blinding sun. The sky of Brooklyn was the color of his eyes today, bright and vast as if someone had splashed a painter's brush across the horizon. Under the stretch of blue, his gaze landed on you—the new girl at school, the one his classmates had been whispering about since Mr. Morris decided to take everyone out to the park for today's PE lesson. 

Johnny Hurst told Bucky that you were the prettiest dame he had ever seen.

And boy, if the punk weren't telling the truth.

Bucky's eyes flitted over you from head to toe—taking in the slight tilt of your head, the subtle curve of your lips, and the worn blouse that clung to you at least half a size too big—before they finally landed on the hand outstretched towards him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's a flower.”

“I can see that.”

Abandoning the worm, Bucky rose to his feet and brushed the dust off his slacks. You observed his movements with fervor, your hand still curling around the yellow daffodil as if its petals held the cosmic tethers that kept the entire universe from falling apart.

You extended your palm further, positioning the flower directly under his nose until he could smell the fragrance caressing his cheeks.

“It's for you,” you repeated.

Bucky's eyes flicked twice between your face and the daffodil. “Is this a trick?”

“No.”

“Someone put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Where'd you get the flower?”

“From there.”

Bucky's eyes followed the direction of your finger, spotting the daffodil bushes located just a few paces ahead. Not in full bloom yet, but nearly. A golden oasis in the midst of a playground of gray and trampled grass.

You turned towards him again, your expression remaining unchanged as you told him, “I picked it up from the ground.”

Bucky stared at the daffodil in silence. ��You're giving me a wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

There was a shadow appearing in the center of your forehead. Your fingertips twitched where they hovered attentively around the yellow petals, as though the accusation had offended you, as though Bucky had spoken blasphemy against the flower by calling it wilted.

“It's been on the ground,” Bucky pointed out.

“So? It simply fell off. Doesn't mean it's wilted.”

“Ain't that the same thing?”

“No.” You pouted, your forehead creasing deeper as your hand cradled the daffodil closer to your chest. “A wilted flower is dead. It doesn't have any love remaining inside it. This flower is not like that.”

And then, like some kind of switch had been flipped, you angled your head towards him—entwining his eyes with your steadfast gaze, rendering his legs motionless with the sight of a brilliant grin stretching across your beautiful face.

“This flower still has a lot of love to give to the world,” you proclaimed.

Bucky's heart stuttered.

It must have been a premonition from the heavens when Bucky's arm began lifting of its own accord, receiving the daffodil from your hand and relishing in the elated hum that the gesture elicited. The petals were delicate against the skin of his palm, and Bucky suddenly feared the possibility of crushing them due to his overt carelessness.

“She's yours now.” You beamed, swaying slightly on your feet as your hands clapped in infectious joy. “She'll give you all of her love if you promise to take care of her.”

His lips quirked. “It's a she?”

“Of course,” you replied, the sun glinting radiantly in your pupils. “All the beautiful things in life are a she.”

Bucky couldn't find it in himself to argue.

He watched you leave with heart on his sleeve, bewitched by the ribbon of your laughter dancing in the wind. His fingers curled protectively around the yellow daffodil, his heart singing in tandem with the rhythm of your skipping feet echoing through the earth.

“Hey!” Bucky called out. You stopped halfway in your tracks, smiling at him from the distance like his wildest daydreams made into flesh. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why'd you decide to give the flower to me?”

The grin on your face widened, and Bucky—bless his heart—thought for a moment that his entire limbs might collapse.

A breeze rustled the surrounding trees, cavorting around until it floated across your cheeks. You stumbled back a step upon its intrusion, your eyes peering shyly under the harsh judgment of the sun. And yet, your smile prevailed—still soft as a wisp, still managing to make Bucky's chest alight with something more precarious than a raging flame.

“Cause you're handsome,” you answered at last, the sound of your giggles resonating throughout the air and straight into Bucky's soul. “Take good care of her, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Blue eyes trailed along as you disappeared around the hedge, remnants of your melodic voice still dithering in the sky, a gentle lull against the wild thumping of his heart. As the world settled into its insipid normal, Bucky Barnes knew that there were two things of which he was absolutely certain.

One: the flower in his hand had now become the most prized possession in his otherwise monotone life.

And two: he had actually never told you his name.

Somehow, Bucky found that he didn't quite mind both.

“Say, handsome. Any chance you could tell a girl where to find a good time around here?”

Bucky hadn't even turned when the smile broke across his lips. 

His soul meandered towards your voice, his heart leaping out of its cage as he took in your entire figure for the first time that night—flowy dress and red lipstick, platform heels and a pair of lips that looked like they held whispers of a secret he would spend a lifetime trying to unravel. Your own smile blinded him as you approached closer, the cadence of your steps a harmonious symmetry with the surrounding ruckus of the carnival. 

“I'd show you a good time, doll.” He smirked once you stood in front of him, your chin tilting up in a way that made Bucky want to drop to his knees and worship the ground you had walked on. “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Really? Just ask?” You hummed, fluttering your lashes and sending a whole swing band loose in Bucky’s gut. “Shame. Here I thought I'd bargain a smooch for your company. Guess I'll just have to give it to someone else, then.”

You didn't have a chance to turn before Bucky yanked you back towards him, firm fingers curling around your wrist like a ship finally mooring to land. He swallowed your surprised yelp with a kiss, devouring your gasps as if the two of you weren't standing under caramel-slicked air and a parade of balloons and shrieks.

“Quit jokin’ about kissing someone else, sweetheart,” he rasped against your lips, fingers resolute where they squeezed around your hip. “Lest you're lookin’ to see me die of a heart attack.”

Your smile bloomed. “Then why don't you kiss me some more, Buck?”

He was more than happy to oblige.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, savoring every second as if he were living on borrowed time. The world around you faded away into an abstract background, centering you in the moment, where everything you yearned and cared for was the hint of sugar you could taste on your boyfriend's lips.

When the two of you parted for the second time, Bucky studied your face as though memorizing a miracle right before his very eyes. It made something stir in the depth of your chest.

“Got you something,” Bucky admitted, excitement and joy spilling out of his skin.

You waited patiently as he reached into his pocket, pulling out an eyeglass case that made your eyebrows pinch in wonder—since when did he wear glasses? But before you could ask, Bucky was already opening the lid, and the view of its content managed to coax a gasp of awe from somewhere within your ribs.

“Bucky, this is amazing.”

You picked up the tiny arrangement between your pointer and middle fingers, admiring the way the flowers were bound together into a miniscule bouquet. They were tethered to one another by a string of stem and twine, a thread of nature and mankind, existing side by side in an eternal waltz that fate had bestowed upon them.

Your chest tapered, bringing the tiny bouquet closer to your heart as you captured the giddy blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You made this yourself?”

“I did.” Bucky nodded, his chest inflating in a pale delight. “Well, Becca helped. Who could've guessed that tying a yarn around flower stems required nimble fingers, huh?”

You laughed along, concealing the way your insides were melting into a puddle as if this weren't the nicest gesture anyone had ever done for you.

“Ma gave me an earful when she saw me in the garden, dirt on my hands and knees, lookin’ for fallen blossoms. Said I'd better get some proper flowers for my girl if I didn't want her runnin’ off with another fella.” Bucky chuckled. “But I told her this was more special. After all, these buds ain't wilted yet, which means—”

“They still got love to give,” you whispered, void of air and yet brimming with boisterous affection. You kissed his chin and rewarded him a grin. “You know who else got love to give, Buck?” 

Bucky laughed, that rare, beautiful sound that always seemed too big for the world to hold. He cupped your cheek like he was holding a precious porcelain, leaning closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He breathed, nudging his nose to yours. "I sure as hell do.”

“Mission report,” a voice commanded.

In the center of the room, the Soldat sat on a throne made of metal and terror. A cushion designed not for rest, but for bearing witness to the drips of blood pooling beneath restraint-bound limbs. Other soldiers stood all around the room, their cowardice louder than their breathing, their backs refusing to peel from the walls as if it could absolve them of their complicity.

The quiet stretched.

Out of the shadows, the tall, fiendish man emerged, carrying the kind of cruelty that even hell would cower from. He examined the Soldat and raised his eyebrows, noting down the asset's lack of response—an observation for later, an error to repair as if the Soldat had been a mere machine instead of a living soul.

The man stepped closer, repeating himself with a bellowing voice that would beckon the dead from their graves, “Mission report, Soldat.”

Still no answer.

The tension sweltered.

“What's wrong with him?” another man chimed in.

The first one shook his head, his mind already gearing, going through the motions on how he could pick apart and assemble the Soldat into something new, something better. But before he could jot down the evil plan on his notepad, his gaze slid downward, spotting the defensive curl of the Soldat's flesh fist hidden partly by his right thigh.

“There is something in his hand.”

The second man sprung into action, approaching the chair and demanding the frozen man on it to unclench his fingers, now. But the Soldat didn't move, not even a single indication to acknowledge the receival of the command. Even when the smack thundered across his cheek, the Soldat continued to stand his ground, a show of defiance through the very last thing he could still afford.

“Soldat.” The first man attempted again, a cold edge coursing through his words. “Give us what's in your hand before we put you back in the cryo.”

The Soldat didn't say anything, but his fingers flexed—just a tiny bit—though it was enough to help the second man pry the mysterious object out of the Soldat's hand.

“What is it?” the first man asked, a hint of impatience leaking through his practiced image.

“It's, uh… It's…” the second man stammered. 

He turned his palm around, confusion palpable in his eyes as he showed his colleague the mysterious object that the Soldat had guarded with more ferocity than any weapon they’d ever placed in his hands.

A slightly crumpled yellow daffodil.

“It's a flower?” the first man nearly roared. “It was just a fucking wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

The room fell into an instantaneous hush. Every pair of eyes inside ambled towards the center of the room, towards the assassin who had just decided to break his silence over the trivial matter of flowers.

The first man turned towards the Soldat with a menacing stare, his eyes a pair of blades as he stepped closer towards the seat of torture, studying the Soldat who was still sitting stiffly as if awaiting the next round of nightmares. But beneath the blue eyes, usually steely and cold, something else had clawed its way through—something fiery and reckless, something akin to humanity.

The first man sneered, turning to the entire room to bark his orders, “Wipe him. And put him in the ice until further notice.”

People moved in a flurry of limbs as soon as the instruction had settled. Amidst the havoc, everybody failed to notice the silent tick of the Soldat's jaw, the scintillating shift of his pupils as unsolicited hands forced him back against the chair, strapping his entire body with restraints that felt more like burning coals against an expanse of skin.

The Soldat kept his eyes trained on the drab surface of the ceiling, bracing himself for the pain to come, for the same searing agony that had muddled his brain far too many times to count. He wouldn't remember much afterwards—wouldn't remember how desperately he kept wishing for death in those horrifying moments—but he would certainly remember the fear. Thrumming under his skin like lightning against a drowning man's ribs.

At the first descent of the machine upon each side of his head, the Soldat suddenly heard it—the voice. 

The one who wasn't his own but sounded like a missing piece of his soul.

The one who always appeared in times when he needed an anchor and something to hold.

The one who had told him to pick up the daffodil while he was on the field.

“Take it,” the voice had adjured. “Take the flower. It's not wilted yet, it has simply just fallen.”

So he did.

And right now, the voice was returning once more, only this time, it didn't come alone.

It came with flashes—images.

An image of laughter and smiles, of promises and dreams. An image of two bodies tangled beneath the sheets, spent breaths and a humming pleasure rushing through bloodstreams.

It came with an image of you.

“It's gonna be alright,” you told him, so gentle and kind that he almost believed it. “Everything's gonna be alright, honey. I'm right here with you.”

The machine awakened with an ominous snarl, triggering a low whine inside his skull, rising gradually until it split the edges of his mind apart. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing left inside him except for scraps of bones and a heart mangled beyond any devastation the world could ever imagine.

He was no one. 

No name. No face. No soul. 

Just a body, wired and broken, as mechanical as the chair he sat upon.

As good as wilted.

“You're not wilted.”

The Soldat blinked.

“You've merely fallen, honey,” you assured, smiling so sweetly he could almost taste it on his tongue. “Fallen things aren't wilted. And fallen things—oh, sweetheart—they still have so much more love to give.”

“You dropped one, Sarah.”

Bucky bent down to pick up the flower on the floor, the one that had fatedly fallen from the bouquet of fragrance and colors that Sam's sister was currently moving to a clear vase. The petals fluttered like silk on the skin of Bucky's palm, and his knees nearly gave out from underneath him when he finally took a proper look at the blossom in his grasp.

A yellow daffodil.

“Just throw it away, Buck,” Sarah said from her place in the kitchen. She crumpled the parchment wrapper of the bouquet before throwing it into the bin, the arrangement of flowers now sitting proudly on the kitchen counter. “It's been on the ground, anyway.”

“Just ‘cause it's fallen, doesn't mean it's wilted yet.” Bucky sauntered towards the kitchen, stopping to position the bud amidst the array of petals and stems. “They still got a whole lot of love left to give, you know?”

Sarah's eyebrows rose.

Before she could comment on Bucky's surprising sentiment, Sam came striding into the house, his dark eyes immediately zeroing on the two people standing by the kitchen counter.

“What's this?” Sam asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. “Yo, man, I told you to stop flirting with my sis.”

“Nobody's flirting, Sam. We were just talking,” Bucky clarified. Then, just to ruffle Sam’s feathers, the super soldier flicked his gaze towards Sarah, tilting his lips in the way he used to do when he wanted to coax something out of you. “Right, Sarah?”

The woman giggled, and Bucky could almost beam in satisfaction at the imaginary smoke coming out of Sam's ears.

“He was just helping me, Sam,” Sarah told him. “One of the flowers fell, so he returned it to me.”

“Nuh uh. I don't believe that's all there is. That must be him tryna make a move. That was you making a move, isn't it?” Sam demanded, his gaze jerking aggressively between his sister and a smug Bucky. “What'd he tell you? Whatever it was, don't listen to it. Don't believe him. It's just a bunch of bullshit.”

“God, Sam, he didn't say anything.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “He just told me something about flowers. About how they aren't wilted if they fell, and… what was it again, Buck?”

The man tensed.

Bucky regained his composure in the blink of an eye, keeping the other two oblivious to the surge of turmoil that the simple question had sent. Keeping them in the dark about the way Bucky's heart had stumbled at the mere memory of your smile flaring across his mind and straight into his soul.

“It was nothing,” Bucky said. “Just a silly saying.”

“Oh, right!” Sarah snapped her fingers. “Fallen flowers still have lots of love to give.” She smiled proudly, eyes flickering towards Bucky with conspicuous excitement. “Was I right?”

Bucky's jaw clenched.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned, his forehead knitting, vexation melting into incredulity. “That your game, Buck? Sounds lousy as hell.”

Bucky sighed. “Sam…”

“Did that kinda thing really work in the forties? ‘Cause damn, I could've been a real ladies man back then. Would've been so easy if all it took was one lame shit about flowers, and—hey, where you goin’?”

“Getting the hell away from you!”

Bucky heard Sam's laughter echoing from behind him, mocking and unaware of the wound in the former's chest that was beginning to crack and bleed all over the floor. The sound of your voice lingered in Bucky's mind, a ghost only he could hear, a cursed rapture that broke him apart at the seams before stitching him together all at once.

Before Bucky could exit the house, Sam's voice erupted again, “Hey! At least tell us how you got the idea for such a cheesy saying!”

“I didn't.” Bucky's grip contracted around the front door's handle, a shaky smile stretching his lips before he caught Sam's gaze from the distance. “Someone taught it to me. A long time ago.”

[nwfairy]

“That Boy is a Monster,”

Can I scream louder about the commission that I’ve been sitting on from @scurvyboy ? Seriously this makes me giggle and kick my feet.

It’s 1992; Nirvana owns the airways. The Cold War is declared over. There are riots in LA. It’s the last year of the Bush Presidency. Cursed with a dark hunger, Fiddleford McGucket returns to Gravity Falls for the first time in almost a decade. He has changed, the home of his friend has definitely changed. The hum of what lies beneath has not. The night is dark and full of terrors, but Stanley Pines does best when Luna hides her face. It has been a decade since he took his brother’s place. That decade living in Gravity Falls has taught him a thing or two about patience and routine. The howling of the blood calls to them both— the portal thrums in their bones calling to fix their mistakes— and—

Chapter 2 (well it’s the fourth chapter but the story does some weird non-linear shit so it’s the second chapter) just dropped!

[hexwhore]

OMGG YASS maybe #13 w Vik and Reader finally taking it to 3rd after dating for a while and at first they’re kinda beating around the bush and then they both get super needy and desperate??

Hey bad news. I kinda forgot what 3rd base equated to until, uhh, right now. After I wrote this whole thing. Oops. 🫠 Ya get 1.2k of a home run instead.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Viktor x GN Reader (any anatomy), sloppy undergrad makeout, penetrative sex, first time (together or in general, you decide!), he fucks but the rizz is still in development.

In the quiet dark, warm and unravelled, Viktor remembers the window. First, that he left it unlatched, then that he has nothing worth stealing. He would—a tidy set of thermodynamic calculations, due next week—if not for two sharp taps on the dirty glass windowpane that made him put down his pen oversoon. 

He remembers it clearly, how he reached over and tucked aside the curtain. A face staring back out of the dark should’ve startled him, but it was only yours: impatient and beseeching in a sliver of yellow light. He stared at you like a figment of his calculus addled mind for a beat too long, until your anxious gestures that spelled hurry the hell up spurred him from his desk. He flipped the latch and eased it open so that, well past midnight, you came scrabbling in through his dormitory window and kissed him breathless where he stood. 

In hindsight, he was lucky that you did. Would he have licked into your mouth with as much fervor had your roles been reversed? Had you laughed into that kiss and called him ridiculous, brimming with affection though it was? 

“All the doors were locked,” you said in your defense, and he merely devoured it. Let you weave your fingers through his short, neat hair and pull him impossibly close to sway in your arms, in the current of your affections, until his lungs ached for a full breath.  

He broke to nose against your cheek and murmured, “As it’s late, yes.” 

As if the spell had been broken, you eased away further. The hands that clutched and cradled his face slipped down to cup his elbows instead, supplementing his balance more gently than any cane. “Too late?” you asked, and he could hear which answer you wanted. 

Viktor wanted the same. 

And then when he got it, when you kicked off your shoes and crawled into his bed, he simply wanted. 

But tucked together on his narrow, academy-standard mattress, the natural progression of lips and teeth and tongue ran up against a familiar limit. You’d let him spill down your knuckles. Watched him fuck his own fist. You’ve knelt with his cock in your mouth, and had his fingers in the hot clutch of your body. He’d helped you rut against the hard seam of his pants until you shuddered apart into the crook of his neck, embarrassed, and then helped you do it as many more times as it took for you to never feel that way again. And while he understood that intimacy didn’t always follow a linear progression—that it didn’t have a fixed mouths to hands to holes trajectory—the base, human urge to shove his cock between your legs bled into his thoughts. Constantly. 

Painfully hard, it twitched as if rubbed against the cloying warmth of that long held fantasy. No doubt you felt its insistence against your leg, draped across his lap, as you punctuated each throb with wet little bruises left beneath the edge of his collar. Your hands roamed. You urged your chest into his. You seemed eager, certainly. 

But there had once been a discussion of taking it slow, and he did not know propriety’s rate of decay. He supposed it was instinctual. Wondered if he’d be able to differentiate intuition from selfish need. And thus a quiet fear had taken root: that he would lose his first and only friend here having first pushed to be more, then for more from you before it was right. 

The very same you who blindly plucked open his shirt buttons and shoved it off his bony shoulders; who reached for his trousers next and eased them open, smearing his lips with the sort of desperate, earnest affection that made his blood burn and his hands shake. They seemed to move of their own volition. 

One slipped from your face, his finger hooking the neck of your shirt. He breathed a hasty, thoughtless, “Off,” into your mouth, then added, “please,” but your hands stilled at his waist. He pulled a hair’s breadth away, just enough to search for discomfort as he knew it on your face. “Is it so wrong to want you naked in my bed?” he asked quietly. 

The cant of your head betrayed nothing. “What for?”

“So that I can…” Taste your skin, breathe its scent, learn your body’s blueprint. Know you, touch you, kiss you; slake your filthy thirst better than anyone who came before. “So that we may…” But what if you don’t want to? 

You drew a long breath in through your nose, then filled in the word: “Fuck?” 

“Yes, thank you, I—” he swallowed audibly “—didn’t want to be presumptuous…” You seemed very, very pleased. It empowered the crude, languid way he echoed, “Fuck,” and that first hard constant struck like flint to kindling. 

Your shirt hit the floor first, everything after it a blur of grasping, groping reverence until you knelt stripped bare beside him; traced his clavicle with great care and asked if he was ready. 

He nodded. 

You slung your leg back over his lap. He felt lightheaded enough just watching your lips part, concentrated, lining him up where you ought to be filled, but then you sunk down. Then you started moving—riding him until the headboard struck the wall in time with your hips, and he truly had no other fucks to give about who heard that rythmic slam or the sounds that came out of him. Out of you. 

His heels dug against the sheets, his fingers into your thighs, and suddenly the hot wave of pleasure wasn’t building so much as breaking, far sooner than he wanted. But you knew. Knew exactly how you wanted this to end too, and from above you said—

“What are you thinking about?”

He blinks your face into focus. It fills his field of view—not above, but curled beside him in the gauzy aftermath of it all. Sleepy and spent and sharing his pillow like a secret, your limbs thread together in lovers knots. Yes, this is good too. 

“You feel…” he murmurs, his hand tracing down your back, mapping the feel of your skin. No word for it is all-encompassing; can’t do the high of this proper justice. After so much guilt-stricken time, still but friends then, imagining how you might look and feel slotted naked against him, it would take a dissertation.

The wires cross, and he defaults to blunt observation. Chooses the word, “Warm,” when he should’ve reached for amazing. Wishes he were ready to call you something like milovaný after that, but it will come in time: an endearment that is entirely, uniquely yours. Not one so tied up in his childhood memories. 

You sweep the dark, sticky hair from his forehead, lulling his heavy eyes shut. “You’re very sweaty yourself,” you hum, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Don’t worry, you’ve turned my brain to soup too.”

He asks, “What kind?” because it is in his nature, even though he’s starting to slip away. 

He’s still present enough, though, to hear the answer and huff a laugh. It’s a good one—his favorite. It’s, “Borscht.”

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #8 for @elodieunderglass

Michael Vs. The Stanford Linear Accelerator, Part Two

(Part one is here: https://www.tumblr.com/idiomagic/785703810504015872/horse-story-7-for-elodieunderglass?source=share) When last seen, Our Heroes were confronted with the Unholy Sights, Sounds, and Stench of Monkey Hell. I had dropped my reins in shock, and Michael had decided that whatever the fuck was going on, it was Very Bad Juju and exited the vicinity posthaste. He got the bit in his teeth, and bugged out at full speed. Michael was not remarkably fast for a racehorse, but I had never before ridden at full racing speed. The fact that we were going cross country, on uneven ground, up and down hills, did not help matters. My reins were flapping everywhere, I immediately lost my stirrups, and my world narrowed down to an urgent imperative to Not Fall Off. I clung to the saddle, somehow, as we charged through tall grasses and prickly bushes. I managed to get my feet back in the stirrups, and got my brain working enough to assess the overall situation. It was Not Good. Michael was bolting at full speed, I had zero control, and we were aimed directly at the site of the linear accelerator. I had maybe half a mile or so to get Michael calmed down and regain my steering before we would plunge off the steep banks and plummet ten feet or so onto concrete at approximately terminal velocity. The Stanford Linear Accelerator extends for over a mile. It looks like this, though in places the banks are vertical, and in some places they are much closer to the building:

By the time I processed our Impending Doom, I knew we were fucked. I managed to get the reins into some semblance of order, but Michael was in no mood to respond to my suggestions that we slow the fuck down. He kept charging through the brush, we hit a downslope, then suddenly we were on the precipice of the bank, with a ten foot or more drop to the concrete, and the roof of the building about 15 feet away. So Michael did the only thing possible, and jumped. And landed on the metal roof. And, somehow, skittered to a stop instead of plunging off the other side. The roof was metal, and he slid a bit, all four legs splayed out, but we made it.

When we landed, the metal horse shoes hitting the roof at speed made the most colossally apocalyptic BOOM! CLANG CLANG CLANG! noise I've ever been unfortunate enough to hear. So, there we were...standing precariously on top of the most delicate, expensive, government run scientific installations in the world. With no obvious way down. I was aware that very soon, angry military types with guns would be heading our way, and that it was going to be very difficult to explain what the fuck we were doing there. The only plan I could think of was to sneak along the roof until we found a place where the banks were close enough to jump to. I wanted to attract as little attention as possible, in the hopes that maybe no one noticed the giant clanging noises that had heralded our arrival. I kept a very firm grip on the reins, but Michael had no intention to go his own way. He was baffled to be on top of a building, and eager to take any directions from me. He had confidence that I would have A Plan, which was heartwarming but sadly misplaced.

I picked the direction I hoped was away from the control building, and nudged Michael into a slow, sedate walk. A quiet walk. A sneaky walk. CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG Oh shit. The noise was unreal. It was like being inside a steel drum during Carnival in the Caribbean. Only much less melodious and charming.

Well, I thought, no point in sneaking. And kicked Michael into a slow canter. Michael did not like the noise, at all, and when we came to a spot where the bank was more gentle and only about 8 or so feet away, he turned of his own volition and jumped. The quiet was such an intense relief. Michael was blowing hard, and covered with sweat, but I felt a strong need to make tracks and get away from the scene of our crime. We alternated between a jog and a slow canter, until we reached a clump of trees. We hid there for a couple of minutes while I took my bearings, then headed back towards the stable, walking and then jogging. We finally made it back, I gave Michael a bath, then wrapped his legs and got him back in his stall. Which is when the big black government sedan rolled up, with two Very Serious Dudes in full Men In Black suits and sunglasses. There were only a few people around at that time, and they were blissfully unaware of my crimes. I hid in the doorway of the stable, and listened. Very Serious Dude: "What do you people know about the incident at the linear accelerator? If you confess now, we will go easier on you." No one had any clue what he was talking about. Except me. Innocent Horse Person: "We have no idea what you're talking about. We've all been here all day. What's going on?" Very Serious Dude: "There was a horse on top of the accelerator. The noise and vibrations and dust from the ceiling disrupted an experiment that was three years in the making. We're going to all the stables to find the guilty party." Innocent Horse Person: "No one in their right mind would ride onto the accelerator. There's a lot of pasture up there...it must have been a loose horse. Or a deer. Or even a bull or something. It sure as hell wasn't any of us." The Very Serious Dudes left, unsatisfied. Later, one of the people from the barn came up to me. "What the hell were you up to? It had to be you and that Damned Horse. As soon as I realized that no one in their right mind would do it, I thought of you. It couldn't be anyone else. You're just fucking lucky to be alive." And I am.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like the Michael Stories, please reblog my pinned post and donate if you can. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter VI

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: sorry for the major delay on this chapter everyone, I've been juggling a lot privately and professionally but I'll be back to regular updates over the course of the next week <3 also, just broke 20k with this update, woo!! summary for this chapter is: the art of self-sabotage. or, old habits die hard.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark @sadslasher13 (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 2.8k

Masterlist Next Chapter

How could you let this happen? Be this stupid?

This is exactly what you didn't want, trying your absolute damnedest to bury your feelings for Bjorn deep, deep under the weight of denial and downplay but—you can't, no matter how hard you try.

You're fighting an increasingly losing battle, falling further every time Bjorn comes around, every time he fucks you and holds you in his arms after. Every time he apologizes for whatever mean things he said in front of the others just so he can keep up the appearances you so desperately wanted to uphold. Every time he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers that everything's going to be alright when nothing about this remotely is.

And you cry every time he leaves, finding it harder and harder to hold it in each time he does, like he's taking another piece of your heart with him every time he goes, crying salt into your pillow as you hug it close to your naked chest in the hours after, until your sobs taper off into pathetic wet sniffles, dehydrated and drained like you’re grieving a loss that hasn’t yet come to fruition.

But it will—and that’s the crux of it isn’t it, because you know in your bones, in your soul that you’ll lose this just like you’ve lost everything else before, because you’ve learned early on that everyone, no matter how much you need them, will always, always, leave in the end.

It’s a tough pill to swallow but then again, the truth always is, so you do what you can to prepare for it, choosing to shatter the illusion of happiness yourself instead of waiting for it all to inevitably come crashing down around you, desperately hoping it won’t hurt as bad when you do.

A decision you come to after another night spent drinking in the quarry, most nights spent together spent drinking, alcohol the only thing that really takes the edge off after an incredibly long and difficult shift.

Slumped back into the camping chair you’re sitting in, the one that you’ve unofficially claimed as yours, you quietly watch the familiar dance of flames everyone was sitting around, finishing off the last of your beer while the others talked and laughed.

You’d been pretty quiet all night, barely contributing anything to the conversations happening around you, too busy in your own head contemplating how to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve found yourself in as you tossed the now empty glass bottle into some nearby bushes.

Usually you'd stop after three, never one to catch anything more than a buzz but tonight, tonight you wanted to get absolutely shit-faced, wanted to shut out all the white noise inside your head, if only for a little while.

So you go to get up, intent on grabbing another drink from the worn down cooler Navarro’s feet were propped up on when Bjorn’s voice made you freeze, asking, “needa refill luv?” from the other side of the pit, head whipping up so hard you almost threw it out.

He must’ve been watching you, had to have been for him to have immediately noticed you were out, your stomach fluttering wildly at the assumption, doing your absolute damnedest not to show it on your face, no matter how badly you want to hiss at Bjorn, “what the fuck are you doing—sit back down!!!” but, you don't. Can't. The words dying in your throat every time you went to say it.

With your eyes glued to him, you watched as he walked around the burning steel drum towards his sister, his shoulders slouched and his chin down, the confident swagger he usually carries himself with gone and been replaced with a level of uncertainty you're not used to, one that helplessly flashes you back to shy blue eyes unable to meet yours just before he sucked on your breasts or stretched you open on his thick fingers.

You squeezed your thighs together, feeling wetness starting to seep between them. Not the time.

Bjorn nudged Navarro’s feet off the cooler lid, totally ignoring the scowl his sister threw at him while her hand was cupped around the dying cherry of her cigarette she was trying to keep from going out, fishing another bottle of aspen beer from the half melted ice in the process.

He came to a stop in front of you, holding the drink out by the glass neck to take, giving a smile meant just for you, so warm it had you burning hotter than the kindling wood behind him as everything briefly dissolved around you, like the entire universe was made up of just you, him, and the space in between, the warmth he was wearing radiating throughout your chest.

It was incredibly tender and brief and all wrong, the moment interrupted when Rain cleared her throat beside you, bringing you crashing back down to reality.

More than enough to make you recoil—hard. The bottle you'd been mid hand off slipping from your grip and shattering onto the pebbled stones between his and your feet, splashing chilled lager across both of your pant legs.

Bjorn had sworn under his breath then, asking you things like, “fuck, ah’ ya alright?” and, “ya’ ain't hurt ah’ ya,’ darlin?’” but you’d barely heard, had tuned it all out as your gaze swung wildly around the lopsided circle your friends were huddled in, all eyes on you.

Whether from the beer or from Bjorn you didn't know—didn't want to know, feeling severely scrutinized under the weight of their collective stare, like they could see right through you, like they knew what you were hiding, causing you to shrink down low into your seat, line of sight trained on the freshly wet gravel as you snapped at Bjorn that you didn't want his fucking handouts.

You could see the lower half of Bjorn’s body go rigid from within your periphery, refusing to look up and meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find, of possibly seeing some of that blossoming affection you’d been feeling mirrored in his icy blues, waiting to let out the shaky exhale you’d been holding until he walked back to his seat.

No one commented on your bizarre little exchange, probably because they knew you were a flight risk, that you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of conflict—like you always did, which is why you forced yourself to stay, not wanting to raise any more questions.

After the bonfire had ended Bjorn, like most nights, found his way back to your apartment, a bit cautious to approach you in your bedroom, probably sensing the sour mood he'd inadvertently put you in, asking for permission to touch while he crawled into your bed to join you.

And now here you are, Bjorn grunting as he thrusts into you once, twice, three more times before he finishes inside the condom buried eight inches deep between your legs, hairline damp from exertion with his bangs sticking to his forehead in sweaty little peninsulas.

He leans down, the cool metal of his dog tags brushing up your bare chest while he does, to plant an incredibly tender kiss to your lips, smiling into it when he feels you reciprocate, going in for a slew of quick pecks the same time he lets go of the leg he’s still holding up, fingers dimpling the back of your thigh.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he grins a little wider, still a bit winded as he tries catching his breath, rolling off of you to lie flat on his back instead, covered in a fresh set of scratches trailing down from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

There's a beat of silence, only punctuated by the mingling of your heavy breathing slowly returning to normal and the systematic tick of your alarm clock on the bedside table next to your head, feeling Bjorn's hand find its way into yours down between your bodies.

Tears start to crease along your waterlines, rapidly fluttering your lashes to try and blink them away, to not draw Bjorn’s attention to how absolutely vulnerable you feel. This was a mistake. A big one. And not just tonight—all of it. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered filthy praise shared between you, closing your eyes for a moment, just long enough for you to work up the nerve and say, “we have to talk,” voice thick with thinly-veiled emotion.

Bjorn perks up at that, rolling onto his side as he sat up on his elbow, cheek resting on a loosely curled fist, the shitty stick and poke of the losing dice frowny face he has tatted on the back of his right hand, one of the many Navarro gave him when he was fifteen and they were both high as a kite while giggling quietly on the floor of his bedroom as to not wake their dad, upside down from this angle.

“Glad ya’ said sumthin’ princess,” he smiles a shy, tiny thing you aren’t used to, fighting the overwhelming urge to back out now, “cuz m’ pretty sure I feel tha’ same.”

You seriously doubt that, your suspicion sadly confirmed when he confesses, “I think m’ fallin’ fo’ ya,’” the same time you say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

More silence, except—this one says a hell of a lot more.

Your throat goes tight and painful, like you just swallowed shards of glass and poured salt into the resulting wounds, watching the smile on his face quickly dissolve, replaced by a pinched frown and the confused furrow of his eyebrows, sitting all the way up to stare down at you.

“Wha’?” He asks, so small and fragmented it feels like a knife stab to the chest having to hear it. Fuck, you knew it was going to sting,that you were in too deep by the time you realized you were falling for him, but you didn't expect it to hurt this bad, like you want to take it all back but you don't—you can’t, for your sake and his.

“I said,” you push through the acute ache, disguising your tone with something harsher, something hurtful, “we should stop seeing each other. It's just—not working out anymore.”

“M’ sorry but where in tha’ bloody fuck is this all comin’ from? I thought things wuz’ good between us,” he argues, using his hand to gesture between your body and his as you sit up against the headboard, pulling your blanket up over your chest so you aren't so exposed.

“Well, you were wrong. We just—we aren't meant for each other. We're only hooking up out of convenience and you know it,” you reinforce, unable to meet his eyes head on, just like the quarry, gaze trained on the worn comforter by his naked thigh.

Still, you're able to catch a glimpse of the confusion on Bjorn's face morph into utter annoyance, snapping at you to, “cut tha’ shit already.”

“Excuse me?” You bristle immediately, letting your anger temporarily eclipse your pain so you don't break down in front of him, “fuck you if you think I'm lying.”

“Oh, m’ sorry if m’ havin’ a hard time believin’ ya, but ya’ can't jus’ fake tha’ kinda chemistry. I'm willin’ ta’ bet it all on black ya’ felt it jus’ as much as I did.”

You can see desperation bleed into his eyes, hear it seep into his words, wavering like he's not so sure anymore but still trying to convince himself that he's right—and he is, you know in your bones that he is but he doesn't need to know that, muttering back, “what the fuck do you even know.”

His nostrils flare as a result, clearly offended by your statement, leaning in on his palm, fingers spread over your sweaty, wrinkled bed sheets, his gaze firmly transfixing itself on you, “‘scuze me? Ah’ ya’ tryna be daft on purpose?” not giving you any room to respond before he continues on.

“Listen—I can't speak fo’ ya,’ but I know wha’ I fuckin’ feel. D’ya really fuckin’ think I wanna feel like this?! Tha’ I wanted this ta’ happen? Course fuckin’ not. I don't get close ta’ people tha’ ain't mah’ family but then you. Ya’ came along an’—I neva’ intended ta’ get ta’ know ya’ at all. Yeah I thought ya’ wuz a total smokeshow when I first laid mah’ eyes on ya’ but I figured ya’ wouldn't stick around long with how bloody standoffish ya’ were, always lookin’ like ya' didn't wanna be there

“But then ya’ did. Ya’ did an’ we almost fuckin’ died so I opened up ta’ ya’ figurin’ we wuz both gonnas’ then ya’ let me touch ya.’ Let me inside ya,’ an’ I couldn't stop fuckin’ replayin’ it in mah' head tha’ night I slept ova’ at Kay an’ Tyler's. Had ta’ rub one out in tha’ bathroom an’ bite down on mah’ fuckin' fist like a hormonal tweener. I woulda been embarrassed if I wuzn't so fuckin' turned on.

“So I had ta’ go back fo’ a round two, see if it wuz jus’ a fluke but once I was fuckin’ ya again I couldn't stop, I wanted more every time, like a fuckin’ junkie lookin’ fo’ tha’ next fix, no matta’ how hard I tried resistin.’ But then I started ta’ notice otha’ things ‘sides tha’ face ya’ make when I make ya’ pussy weep around mah’ cock an’ ya' sing so pretty fo’ me,” he says, face neutral and tone even despite how hot your cheeks are hearing that.

“Like how carin’ ya' ah’ fo’ tha’ othas’ despite actin’ like ya’ don't. Tha’ ya' had ta’ grow up fas’ as fuck an’ took it out on yaself’ instead o’ lashin’ out like an’ insecure prick. Like me. Tha' I thought I'd neva’ seen someone so fuckin' beautiful in all mah’ life when ya’d fall asleep befo’ me, even when ya’ wuz droolin’ on mah’ chest and snorin’ like one o’ them fuckin' minin’ drills. Tha’ I thought I could listen ta’ ya' horrendous singin’ in tha’ showa’ all day when ya’ woke up befo’ me. Tha’ I wanted ta’ call ya’ mine fo’ a fuckin’ while now.

An’ I know I wuzn't jus’ imaginin’ shit. I might be shit at expressin’ mah’ feelins’ but so ah’ you. Ya’ can’t convince me none o’ it wuz real.”

You consider trying to take it all back, while he’s still giving you an out, feeling like your heart’s been violently ripped out of your chest but you refrain from doing so, choosing to stand your ground, no matter how shaky the earth beneath you feels. You can’t afford to lose someone again, it’ll be better in the long run to ruin it now than to let life steal someone else away when you least expect it, when you can’t possibly handle any more heartbreak.

Finally meeting his eyes you force yourself not to flinch at the intensity of his gaze as they scrutinize you, like he can see right through you, feeling more exposed now than you did when he first got you naked.

“It wasn’t,” you insist, somewhat petulantly.

It’s his turn to roughly swallow at what you say, his confidence visibly waning in the slouch of his shoulders and the way he pulls back a little, the uncertainty of his words when you first confessed making a comeback—much stronger this time but still underscored by a level of defiance like he’s clinging on to some modicum of hope.

“So allat—allat really meant absolutely nuthin’ ta’ ya?’”

You know you have to inflict maximum damage, to crush any chance of making the same mistake twice, finding yourself leaning in like he did earlier to emphasize your point, not deviating away from devastated blue as you hiss, “nothing. Nothing at all.”

And that was all it took, watching how quickly Bjorn turned his back to you while he quietly yanked on his clothes, shoulders shaking in anger, in rejection—in defeat. He's hurting, it's more than obvious by the way his voice shakes, sounding like wet gravel as he croaks at you to, “have a nice fuckin’ life,” before storming out of your apartment, leaving you alone, the silence you once found comfort in when you were on your own bordering on unbearable now.

It's for the best, you reason, it's what needs to happen, you don't need to make this any harder than it already fucking is, finally allowing yourself to break down, as pained sobs rack your body, crying so hard you grab at your chest like you’re trying to open another airway, gasping between each tearful moan.

So, if this is really for the best—then why does it feel like the worst decision you’ve ever made?

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

The bat boys reactions to their boyfriend having an Ed as headcanons

The bat Boys reactions to their boyfriend having an Eating disorder

Cw:Talks of an Ed, mental health struggles⚠️

Dick Grayson

Dick notices subtle changes in Y/N’s energy levels and mood before Y/N openly shares anything.

Instead of confronting Y/N aggressively, Dick chooses a calm, private moment to express his concern.

He reassures Y/N that his care comes without judgment.

When Y/N opens up, Dick listens more than he talks, validating Y/N’s feelings instead of immediately trying to fix everything.

Dick gently encourages Y/N to seek professional support, even offering to help find resources offering to accompany him to appointments if needed.

If Y/N resists help, Dick respects his boundaries but remains consistently supportive and hopeful.

Understanding recovery isn’t linear, Dick stays patient, offering steady encouragement during tough days without frustration.

Dick never pressures Y/N to eat or “just get over it,” understanding that recovery is neither quick nor linear.

If certain environments or people exacerbate Y/N’s struggles, Dick tactfully helps avoid those triggers without isolating Y/N.

He celebrates every bit of progress together, whether it’s a good therapy session or a peaceful meal.

Jason Todd

The moment Jason notices Y/N’s physical and behavioral changes, he doesn’t sugarcoat it. He calls him out bluntly, because Jason hates beating around the bush.

Jason’s first reaction is protective, mixed with frustration—not at Y/N, but at the situation and the disorder itself.

He insists on accompanying Y/N to see a doctor or therapist, refusing to let him go through this fight alone.

He’s direct in pointing out the symptoms he’s seen, not to shame Y/N but to make sure he understands Jason’s concern isn’t superficial.

Although he has a rough exterior, Jason is surprisingly patient when Y/N lashes out or pushes him away, recognizing the disorder’s complexity..

When Y/N hides food or skips meals, Jason lays down the law: “No secrets. No hiding. Not from me.”

Jason knows when to push and when to back off; he reads Y/N’s mood smartly, backing off if needed but always being there when Y/N reaches out.

He’s blunt but never cruel—if Y/N tries to minimize the problem, Jason’s response is a straightforward, “Don’t make me drag you to therapy myself.”

Jason insists they build a plan together for meals and check-ins, treating Y/N as an active partner in recovery, not someone he controls.

Jason refuses to let Y/N isolate himself, dragging him out for fresh air or even training sessions to keep him grounded.

Tim drake

Tim notices subtle changes first—Y/N skipping meals or growing unusually quiet during dinner—because Tim is naturally observant and detail-oriented.

When Tim finally approaches Y/N, he chooses a quiet, private moment and speaks calmly, making sure Y/N doesn’t feel cornered or pressured.

He shares facts about eating disorders with Y/N, framing it in a logical way to help Y/N understand the seriousness without making it scary.

He offers to help Y/N track meals and feelings if Y/N is open to it, explaining how patterns can be helpful in managing health.

Tim insists on accompanying Y/N to see medical professionals or therapists.

He’s patient, knowing recovery is a process, not a quick fix, and he resists showing frustration or impatience.

When Y/N downplays his struggles, Tim listens calmly and repeats his support without pushing too hard.

If Y/N experiences a setback, Tim picks him up with small, encouraging words and helps him focus on progress, not perfection.

When Y/N is feeling low, Tim offers distraction—puzzles, video games, or tech projects—but never as a way to avoid issues, just to provide relief.

Tim is mindful of his own language, avoiding comments about food, body image, or appearances around Y/N.

[krems-chair]

Something I'm realizing I'm missing from the Veilguard romances is the tension. Maybe between the playable character and them, but mostly in having the opportunity to absolutely throw tf down for your partner a la dueling for Josephine/putting Dorian's dad in his place/literally eradicating anyone who might ever look for Fenris/saving Alistair from being king or encouraging him to find the strength to take the throne. I want drama! I want passion! The quiet moments matter and are lovely but it's a little too linear for the pressure the end of the world would bring imo.

Give me the worst Bachelor home visit ever. Show me Rook strolling into a camp of judgy Dalish who pushed Davrin to the fringes for being hard to manage and being like "hiiii I'm Rook. Davrin's Rook. You must be the one that told him not to bother coming back until he was ready to conform to tradition and now here he is saving the world you live in. Anyone got anything to SAY?!" only for Davrin to pull you into his parent's aravel and assure you he's okay and show you his first attempts at carvings made by fumbling clumsy fingers.

Let me dance at the crow afterparty and shimmy up to Caterina & co. so they can accuse me in a thinly-veiled manner of distracting him from his duty, only so that I might dramatically whisper in-between songs "if you don't stop treating him like a prized showdog you won't have anything left of him" before joining Lucanis for coffee and assuring him that I only stayed late to make a good impression while Spite argues that I smell like Caterina's perfume and bad decisions. Let Lucanis say that he trusts even my bad decisions as we clink our little mugs against each other and swap more stories of our craziest childhood escapades.

Permit me, if you will, the opportunity not just to make some snide remarks to Cyrian's face but to see him make Bellara flinch and murmur a quick "excuse me" before dragging little bro by the ear behind a bush real quick (I'm sure Bellara and a Forgotton One can find something to chat about) to remind him what it means to be there for your family. Let me in a romanced storyline find a momento she's kept of his and present it to him so he knows exactly what he'll lose if he doesn't get his shit together.

Some of these characters need to be the one I fight! Let me take Harding into a field somewhere and encourage her to let it all out, to assure her that she doesn't have to be the smile that inspires everyone around her to carry on when it's just us. Let her resist at first before caving in on herself just a little and then ~exploding~ into the duel of a lifetime until screams of rage become tired tears and there's nothing left to do but hold hands in a circle of stone and watch the stars come out and let her teach me the constellations.

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ longer than forever

| bucky barnes x reader. ~800 words. comfort. alphabet soup B.

masterlist. | oneshot masterlist. | alphhabet soup.

The apartment was quiet, but not in a hollow way. Outside, the city murmured the same endless story.. distant car horns, the faint thump of footsteps on the floor above, life pressing on in its usual, it was an unrelenting rhythm. But here, inside this space the two of you had made yours, the silence held a kind of quiet built not from emptiness, but from peace. Hard-won. Carefully cultivated.

Bucky was laying on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped across your waist as you nestled into the crook of his side. The muted flicker of the TV washed light across his face, though neither of you were really watching it. Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw instead, the subtle twitch of a muscle beneath skin when his mind wandered too far, too fast.

“I thought I’d be better at this,” he said suddenly.

You looked up at him, fingers absently tracing the metal plates of his arm. “At what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling for a moment, like it held something he hadn’t yet figured out how to name.

“This,” he admitted eventually, “Being… normal. Calm. Safe.” There was no bitterness in his voice. Just quiet honesty.

You shifted slightly to rest your chin on his chest, “You don’t have to be normal, Buck.”

A faint breath escaped him, it was half a huff of dry laughter, half something more vulnerable. “Yeah, well.. tell that to the therapist who keeps insisting I try sushi and join a knitting club.”

You smiled at that, “You’d look great knitting. Real rugged. Like a lumberjack who’s in touch with his creative side.”

He rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the flicker of amusement that tugged at his mouth.

Unwinding him was a slow process, sometimes it felt like coaxing a wounded animal out of the bushes -- it wasn't done with force, but with consistency. With patience. With warmth.

Sometimes he didn’t even realize he was relaxing until you pointed it out. Sometimes, he fell asleep on the couch with your fingers in his hair, and woke up with a small, puzzled frown, like his body wasn’t used to rest without consequence.

You reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw. “You’re not failing at anything. You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear, Buck. It’s messy and slow and sometimes it feels like it’s not happening at all.”

His eyes met yours then, tired but present. Always present, these days. That had taken time too.

“You really think I’m healing?”

“I know you are.”

And you meant it. Not just in the big ways with the apologies he’d made, the nightmares that came less often, the fact that he didn’t flinch anymore when someone brushed past him on the street.. but in the smaller ones too. The way he reached for your hand now without hesitation. The way he asked how your day was. The way he laughed, not just politely, but like something was actually funny.

He sighed, the kind of sigh that seemed to deflate years of weight from his chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

You leaned forward, your forehead resting lightly against his. “You won’t.”

“I’ve messed up everything before.” He admitted.

“But this isn’t before.”

He was quiet again, and you didn’t push him. You knew how much effort it took for him to talk like this.. not just to speak the words, but to let them be heard. To believe someone would listen and not recoil. So you lay there with him in the silence, your hand resting lightly over his heart, counting the steady beat that had learned how to trust again.

Eventually, he spoke again, softer this time. “You know what helps?”

You tilted your head. “Hmm?”

“This. You. Just… being here. Not needing anything from me. Not expecting me to be anything other than... this.”

You didn’t reply right away, just tucked your head into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Then I’ll keep doing it,” you murmured. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

He curled his arm tighter around you. “Forever might not be long enough.”

You didn’t say anything else. Just stayed there with the weight of his arm around you and the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the quiet certainty between you that no matter how many ghosts still haunted the edges of his memory, he wasn’t alone anymore.

[20pc-chicken]

(pt.1!!!!)

What is a man like König supposed to do when he spots a pretty little thing like you? Go up to you and introduce himself? Fuck no, not in a million years. Waiting in your bushes and watching your every move through your windows for weeks? Yes!

For a retired, semi-respected military man, König should be drowning in pussy attention. He thinks of this fairly often. He can be handsome! He can be gentleman-like....sometimes!

König licks his dry and cracked lips thinking about ripping your flattering pajamas off, ravaging you in your own bed as he continues to watch you get ready for bed from his favorite tree. Until he falls out of course, landing into the rose bushes below with a fat thud.

"Scheiße-!"

He groaned quietly, rubbing his hood covered head. That's going to show up later. No matter..

You shoot up from your canopy bed, your head hasn't even touched the pillow yet and your eyes are slightly stinging from sleep deprivation. You were a busy woman! You needed your sleep. What sort of shit is going on outside? You rub your face, almost as if to remove the sleepiness. "Do I really want to check it out?" You ask yourself in your mind.

You stay silent, waiting for another noise.

The only thing you can hear loud and clear is the ticking of the clock on your wall.

You grumble before rolling over, grabbing your pillow over your ears.

The now-faint ticking seems to get louder. less linear. Almost like tapping.

Tapping? Rolling your eyes, you move your eyes to your window, earning a gasp from you and the man behind the window, now weirdly smiling.

Your eyes stay frozen on the window. Is this a hallucination culminating from all those all nighters? If so, why would you be imagining a hooded man nearly seven feet huffing on your window, drawing a sloppy heart from the condensation?

"Hallo Fräulein..." A low voice shakily uttered.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

AS2L Intro

I finally got it done! The intro for this concept has come to fruition. Unlike Lucky Break, this won't be completely linear and will just kinda jump around to random events that I feel are worth writing.

Ace, Sabo, and Luffy x Child Reader

5.5k words

Grown ups did a lot of things that you failed to understand the point of, and even more things that you found unpleasant. There were even some things that managed to be both. Namely, family reunions. You didn’t get why they needed to do this every year. You already saw them often enough since you all lived pretty close. So why do you have to spend a whole day with them at some park? It doesn’t even have a playground. Boring!

Small pebbles tumbled through the grass as you kicked them. At the moment, you were far away from everyone else, having had quite enough of your cousins’ teasing and hair pulling. Between not getting along with any of the people here that were your age, and the aforementioned lack of a playground, you were bored out of your mind. Possibly even dying of boredom. 

As you keep walking aimlessly, you notice a sign out of the corner of your eye. Having nothing better to do, you go over to inspect it. It reads “Horseshoe Trail” in big, bold letters. There’s a picture of what you assume is the trail itself beneath it. Much like the name implies, the trail is shaped like a horseshoe, going out and coming back to an exit not far from here. You look to your left and squint, and you’re pretty sure you can see where it lets out.

Maybe going for a walk in the woods would be fun? It had to be more exciting than kicking rocks all day. You hazard a glance back at the pavilion where your family is gathered. No one seems to be looking your way… This should be fine. You make up your mind quickly and hurry onto the trail before anyone can tell you not to. 

This will be fine. Besides, you’ll probably be back before anyone even notices you’re gone. The trail didn’t look that long in the picture.

The trail is a refreshing change of pace. You stare up in wonder at the tall trees on either side of the trail. Other plants and flowers decorate your surroundings, making for infinitely more interesting scenery than the bland grass of the main area your family was hanging out at. You don’t get why none of them thought to go walking through here. It makes you feel a little special to have discovered something new and exciting.

There’s a lot of noise in the woods. From the rustling of leaves as squirrels dart around, to birds singing, to insects chirping. It’s all enchanting to you. You hum happily as you wander down the path, not a care in the world. 

You’re walking for a while, a lot longer than you thought you would be. It starts to dawn on you that the trail was perhaps longer than you originally assumed. You start to feel nervous about how mad your parents will be if they notice you wandered off. Looking back, you wonder if it would be better to just turn around, or if you should keep going. The end can’t be that far away, can it?

A fallen tree is next to the path, and you walk over to sit on it while you try to figure out what you should do. You fiddle with your pink, frilly dress that your mom insisted you had to wear, tugging and picking at the seams nervously. Mom was definitely going to be mad when you got back… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just keep going even if it does turn out to be longer?

The sounds of foliage moving behind you snaps you out of your anxious daze. You tense up. Whatever it is sounds bigger than a squirrel. Slowly, you look over your shoulder and towards the source. Bushes shake as something works its way through them. You want to run, but you’re rooted in place by your fear. The bushes rustle louder as whatever is in them is about to pop out. Your tiny hands fist the fabric of your dress painfully tight.

A furry creature suddenly springs out and lands on the log next to you. You yelp and fall backwards off of it. The creature creeps closer and… meows?

You sit upright and finally see the animal for what it is. A cat. Instantly, your fear melts away and you squeal excitedly, “Hi, kitty! Can I pet you?” You stand up and reach out to the cat, only for it to hop off the log and start walking away. “Hey, wait! Come back!” You start walking faster, following the cat into the woods.

“I promise I’ll be gentle!” Your attempts to reason with the cat were moot, it just kept walking. Occasionally it would look back at you, but it didn’t stop. It hadn’t hissed at you yet, though, so you keep following it. You didn’t even realize how far you were getting from the trail.

Your dress keeps snagging on branches from the local shrubbery, slowing you down significantly. With every pause you take to rip your dress free, the cat gets further and further away, but you don’t give up.

It isn’t until you trip and fall over a root sticking out of the ground that you officially lose sight of the cat. You whine and slowly push yourself up. Your foot hurts from getting snagged on the root, the sandals you were wearing did nothing to protect you. It takes a minute to get back up onto your feet, and when you do, you realize that it isn’t just the cat that you’ve lost sight of.

The trail is nowhere to be seen. Tears begin to well in your eyes as you’re hit with how bad this is. How stupid could you be to have run so far away from the trail? Your parents are going to be so mad when they find you. You whip your head around wildly as you walk backwards, looking for literally any possible hint of the rail.

Suddenly, the ground dips behind you. Your arms flail as you try to catch yourself, but the ground is too slippery for you to get any traction. The next thing you know, you’re falling backwards and rolling down a hill. You scream and try to catch yourself on something, but you’re too disoriented to be able to hold onto anything for longer than a split second. Rocks and bushes attack you as you violently tumble down the hill.

When you mercifully roll to a stop at the bottom, your head is spinning and everything hurts. You whimper as you roll onto your side and try to get up. Something wet drips into your eye and stings, making you flinch and rub at it. You pull your hand away and see that it’s stained red with blood. Just like that, you burst into tears and sob loudly. You cry out for help, screaming for anyone to come to your rescue.

But no one comes.

Then, because today wasn’t awful enough, loud thunder sounds through the forest, and it begins to rain. Cold droplets fall and soak into your dirty, torn clothing. You sniffle loudly and force yourself to stand despite your body screaming at you to lay down. Sitting in the rain sounds terrible. You need to find somewhere dry to wait this out.

Looking around, you don’t see anything nearby that you could hide under. Seeing as that you’re already horribly lost, you pick a random direction and start walking. Well, more like limping. Your already sore ankle is now swelling, and the straps on one of your sandals ripped off during the fall. It’s barely hanging on and is more than a little uncomfortable to walk in. You trudge forward, sniffling and crying as you stumble through the woods in search of shelter.

It feels like an eternity before you see something through the trees that piques your interest. It looks like a small building isn’t far from here. Your tears dry for the first time and you smile, thinking that maybe you were closer to where your family was than you thought you were. You hurry as much as your pained body will allow.

The closer you get, the more your smile fades. The building you were looking at was some abandoned, broken looking shack. There weren’t any other buildings or signs of people in sight. Despite your disappointment, the rain pelting you encourages you to go inside the shack regardless. 

The door had fallen off and was laying outside of the structure. You step on it as you go inside, and it creaks loudly under your weight. Your disappointment only grows as you see that the roof had caved in. Rain was pouring into the dilapidated shack, leaving only one corner of it somewhat dry. You press yourself against the shelf in the dry spot, shivering in your wet clothes. 

Deciding that your sandals were more of a painful hindrance than a help, you unbuckle and kick them off. Next, you slip off the once cream colored cardigan your mom had insisted you wear with your dress. It got all torn up and covered in mud from your fall, plus there was some blood on it from the cuts you got. The frilly dress you had on was in a similar state. Your mom was going to kill you for ruining the outfit she picked out for you just for today.

Given that it was already ruined, you scrubbed your face with the sweater, trying to wipe away the blood you felt on it earlier. You wince as it touches a particularly tender spot on your head and pull it away. The sweater is now smeared with even more blood and dirt. You sigh and toss it next to your discarded sandals.

With nothing to do, you sit in the corner and wait for the rain to stop. Your stomach growls loudly, which makes you remember something. Reaching into your pocket, you are ecstatic to find that the candies your grandpa had slipped you hadn’t fallen out during your tumble. You smile softly and unwrap a piece of chocolate before popping it into your mouth. At least you have one good thing going for you. You look around the shack while you savor the chocolate, and your eyes are drawn to a box on the shelf next to you.

Having nothing to do, you pull it off and start rifling through it. There are some old flashlights, duct tape, and some ropes in it that you carelessly toss behind you. At the bottom of the box, you see a tiny key and a jewelry box. You grab both curiously and wipe off the dusty box. One of those cool skull-things that you see on pirates ships is on it, which only makes you more curious. Giving the box a shake, you hear something rattling inside of it.

Trying to open it didn’t work, so you put the small key into the keyhole. Much to your relief, it fits and unlocks the jewelry box. You pry it open and find a necklace inside. It feels extremely brittle in your hands, and it has the same pirate skull on it as the box. There is a piece of paper in the box, too. You pick it up and unfold it, finding that there is something written on it.

Congratulations on your lucky find

I wonder what desire you have in mind

Close your eyes, make a wish, and break the pendant in two

Whatever you want most will come to you

Now that was exciting. You looked at the apparently magical necklace in your hand with a surge of joy and intrigue. Maybe getting lost wasn’t so bad afterall! You kick your feet as you try to decide on a wish. You suppose that you could wish to be back with your family, but… did you really want to waste your wish on that? Did you really want to use a magical wish to be teleported back to your parents that will definitely be furious with you.

This is your wish. Why shouldn’t you use it for something that you want? But what do you want? To have more fun? To have a family that actually likes you? Those things would be nice. Would it be okay to squeeze two wishes into one? There’s only one way to find out.

Closing your eyes, you say your wish, “I wish to have fun with a family that loves me.” With that said, you snap the necklace in half. You keep your eyes closed for a few more seconds, then crack one open and look around. Nothing happened.

Both of your eyes open and your cheeks puff out into a pout. Why didn’t it work?! You got your hopes up and everything! Today was the worst! Who would leave a fake magic necklace here to trick someone? That’s just mean!

You’re about to throw the broken necklace away from you, but then something happens. You start to sink into the ground, with your legs disappearing in mere seconds. You flail, trying to pull your legs back up, but you can’t and you’re sinking down even more. What’s happening?! Were you sitting in quicksand?!

In a last desperate attempt, you grab onto the shelf next to you. You’re already up to your neck, only your arms and head are still free. You let out a high pitched scream, hoping- praying that someone will hear you and come to your rescue, but the shelf you’re grasping tips over, plunging you into darkness.

You expect the quicksand to drown you, but that isn’t what happens. It feels like… you’re floating. In the air. Experimentally, you wave your arms around. There is nothing around you. Death not being imminent did calm you slightly, but not entirely. Not when you were seemingly floating through some weird darkness. It felt like you were falling, however gently, so maybe if you wait long enough you’ll end up… somewhere?

Was this happening because of your wish? Was the necklace mad about you trying to squeeze two wishes into one? You whimper and curl into the fetal position as you fall, feeling stupid for making a magic necklace mad at you. Hot tears well in your eyes and drip down your cheeks as you cry to yourself.

Abruptly, your descent ends and you feel solid ground beneath you. Instead of pitch black, you can see a soft light peeking through your fingers. You pull your hands away and look around. You’re in a forest. But… it doesn’t look like the forest that you were just in. The trees are massive; way bigger than any that you’ve ever seen. It also sounds different. The woods that you had just been walking through sounded mostly quiet minus some birds chirping, but this place was much louder. The bird calls sounded different and more plentiful, and you could hear plants all around you rustling. Whatever was moving them sounded huge. 

Pressing yourself up against a nearby tree, you look around frantically, looking for any sign of other people. You saw nothing but more trees. Worse yet, it was starting to get dark. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt like you were about to start crying again.

Your hands flex nervously, and you’re distracted when you feel something in the palm of one of them. You look down curiously and open your hand. Your face scrunches in confusion when you see some weird looking necklace staring up at you. It’s got a skull and crossbones on it, and the skull looks like it’s biting something between its teeth. Maybe a stick or something? You flip it over in your hand and examine it closely.

You’ve never seen this thing before. Why do you have it?

Before you can ponder this mystery further, you hear a loud growl. You snap your head up and look around. You don’t see whatever made that noise, but you aren’t about to wait and find out. The necklace is stuffed into your pocket and you turn around to face the tree you’re standing next to. It isn’t easy, but your terror about becoming a snack to whatever made that noise motivates you to scale the tree faster than you would have expected. You climb until you find a cluster of branches that you can settle into securely.

The sun was setting fast, and the forest was rapidly becoming too dark for you to be able to see anything around you. You press yourself into the branches while rubbing your exposed arms. The wet dress you were in was doing nothing to keep you warm, and you found yourself wishing you still had your sweater. Even if it was soaked and torn up, it would be at least a little better than this.

Animal calls resounded all around you, ones that you’ve never heard before. You don’t understand where you are. You were just lost in the woods at home. How did you wind up in this strange forest? Was it just a different part of the woods that you’ve never seen before? How had you never noticed these huge trees before? Well, you suppose your mom has said that you don’t pay attention very well…

Another growl cuts through the air, but this one is from you. Your stomach takes the time to remind you that it’s been a while since you last ate. Digging around in your pocket, you pull out a few more pieces of candy and start eating them. It’s not like there’s anything else you can do right now. You need to find your way out of these woods, but you’re too scared to do it in the dark, so you’re going to have to wait until morning.

Your parents are going to kill you when you finally get out of here.

The night passes by slowly. With how noisy it is, and how scared you feel, sleeping is almost impossible. You do eventually nod off, but you’re awoken by a ray of sunlight shining right into your eyes. You whine and rub at your eyes before cracking them open. Light is filtering through the leaves and all the way down onto the forest floor.

Movement catches your attention, and you snap your attention to it. Much to your relief, it’s just a small bird that is perched on your knee and watching you curiously. It has green feathers on its body and colorful feathers forming a large fan-like crest on its head. The bird’s head tilts and it lets out a series of whistles before leaning down to peck at the frills of your dress.

“Hi, birdie. Do you know how to get out of here?” You knew that a bird couldn’t answer your question, but it was nice to talk to something.

The sound of your voice made it glance up at you again, but it quickly ripped a frill off of your dress and then flew away. Yeah… that was about as helpful as you thought it was going to be.

After giving your surroundings a thorough scan to make sure there wasn’t anything scary nearby, you climb out of the tree. You wince as the tree bark digs into the soles of your feet. Much like your sweater, you find yourself bemoaning the fact that you ditched your sandals. You reach the forest floor and look around warily. You weren’t able to see any houses or anything from up in the tree, so you had no idea which way to go. So, you just started walking in a random direction and hoped for the best.

Your stomach growled again. You checked your pocket for more candy and after rifling through a bunch of empty wrappers, you found one last piece. As hungry as you were… you felt like it would be dumb to eat your final piece of candy now. It’s stuffed back into your pocket as you resolve to save it for later.

What feels like hours pass, and you have yet to see so much as a trail, much less a person or building. It’s starting to feel hopeless and like you’ll be lost forever. You stop and sit down on a rock, wondering what else you can possibly do right now.

That’s when you hear it. Crying. You’ve never been so happy to hear that sound before. You scramble off of the rock and run in the direction of the noise, feeling a sense of relief that you’ve never felt so intensely before. You bound through some tall grass and find yourself in a small clearing. There aren’t buildings or anything like that in sight, but there is someone here. A boy with black hair is sitting in the middle of the clearing and crying into his knees.

Taking a look around, you don’t see anyone else here. This isn’t exactly what you wanted to find, but maybe he knows how to get out of this place. The boy doesn’t appear to have heard you stomping through the grass, so you approach him carefully and call out to him.

“Hello?”

The boy flinches and whips his head around to look at you. He stares at you with wide, teary eyes, and his face has dirt smeared across it. You think that he’s about the same age as you. It looks like he’s also had a bad day.

When he doesn’t respond, you take a few more steps towards him. You try talking to him again, “Are you okay?”

He sniffles loudly and wipes at his face with his arm, “I’m okay… I’m just lost.” Your heart sinks upon realizing that he’s no better off than you are and won’t be able to help you. The boy looks up at you hopefully, “Do you know the way out?”

You avert your eyes and shake your head, “No… I’m also lost.” That little bit of hope he had in his eyes dies instantly and he hangs his head again. It makes you feel bad that you can’t help him. You crouch down next to him, “My name is (Y/N), what’s your name?”

The boy sniffles again and speaks in a quiet voice, “I’m Luffy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luffy. I don’t know the way out of here, but maybe we can be lost together?” The proposition hardly sounds appealing, but it’s not like either of you have any other options right now. Not being alone will be better than nothing.

Luffy looks at you again, then nods and starts to stand up, “Yeah… we can be lost together.” As soon as you’re up, he grabs onto your hand like it’s a lifeline. You two start walking again, but it’s obvious that he’s still upset.

Something about his sad face makes you want to do whatever you can to make him feel better. You think hard as you walk with him. Then, an idea pops into your head. Candy makes you feel happy, so it should do the same for him, right? You pull out your last piece of candy, saltwater taffy, from your pocket. You stare at it for a moment, feeling conflicted. While you are hungry, you want to do the right thing.

Holding out your hand to Luffy, you present the taffy to him, “Do you want some candy?”

This makes Luffy come to a halt and stare at the offering. You pull your hand from his and unwrap the candy for him before holding it up to him again. That seems to snap him out of it and he quickly snatches it out of your hands and eats it. The fast movement startles you slightly. He must’ve been really hungry, too.

Finally, he grins at you, “Thank you! Do you have any more?”

You look down, now feeling a little guilty about snacking on your candy all night long. “No, I’m sorry. That was my last piece.”

Luffy blinks in surprise, “And you gave it to me?” You nod, not really seeing it as a big deal. It was just one piece of candy. Before you can blink, Luffy lurches forward and hugs you tightly. You’re lifted off the ground a little, then dropped back down. He pulls away and smiles widely at you, “Let’s be best friends, (Y/N)!”

Best friends? Just for some candy? Well, he seems nice, and you could always use more friends. You return his smile with one of your own, “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

With the new friendship established, you and Luffy resume your trek, but now he is much more bubbly and talkative. He’s rambling about pirates when he suddenly looks around and lights up, “Oh! This looks familiar! I think we’re almost out!” Luffy breaks into a sprint and you’re forced to run to keep up. Rocks and plants dig into your bare feet, making you wince, but you feel a surge of joy at the prospect of getting out of this stupidly big forest.

Finally, the trees thin out and both of you are free. A small town can be seen in the near distance. It doesn’t look familiar at all, and definitely isn’t your hometown. Was it a nearby town that you’ve never seen before? You guess you and your parents don’t get out a lot, so that makes sense.

Luffy doesn’t give you much time to catch your breath before he’s running again. As you run through the town with him, you notice how weird it looks to you. None of the roads are paved, and you can’t see a single car. It looks super old, like something out of a history book. Where are you right now?

You’re forced to make a hard right as Luffy turns and runs into one of the buildings. You stumble in behind him and look around the place. It looks like a restaurant or something. You’re dragged towards a counter while Luffy calls out, “Makino! I made a new friend!”

A woman with green hair is behind the counter and smiles warmly at Luffy before flicking her attention to you. Her smile drops instantly and is replaced with a look of concern. “Oh dear, are you alright?”

Oh right, you did get pretty dirty and hurt from your fall yesterday. You look away sheepishly, embarrassed to be looking like a mess. Your mom would definitely scold you if she could see you right now.

“This new friend of yours must be pretty great if you haven’t even noticed me yet.” A new voice cuts in. You look up as a man with red hair and a straw hat spins around in his seat. He has three scars over one of his eyes that you can’t help but think look really cool. Like Makino, his relaxed grin drops when he sees the state of you. One of his hands reaches out and pulls something out of your hair. A small twig with a leaf on it. He raises a brow, “Rough day, kid?”

“Shanks!” Luffy abandons you to clamber up to the man, and you’re left standing alone and feeling very self conscious about your appearance as you notice even more people staring at you.

Makino comes out from behind the counter and crouches down next to you. Her warm smile is back and she starts wiping off your face with a wet rag. “Why don’t you tell me your name, sweetie?” You mumble out your name while avoiding eye contact with her. She hums in acknowledgment, “(Y/N)? That’s a lovely name. Now, can you tell me what happened to you?”

“Well… I wandered away from my family because I was bored, and then I got really lost in the woods because I was chasing a cat. Then I fell down a big hill and got all dirty and hurt.” Saying it all out loud made it sound really dumb.

“And when did all of this happen? Just a little bit ago?”

“No, it happened yesterday, and then I was lost in the woods all night.” You winced as she wiped at a gash on your head.

“You were in that forest all night?” Makino looked shocked at your statement.

“Yeah… I tried to find my way out, but I couldn’t, so I slept in a tree until morning.” Again, you felt embarrassed about your situation. How stupid were you to get that lost all because you wanted to pet a cat?

Makino still appears to be shocked by your story, but she tries to force another smile onto her face. She stands up and takes your hand, “Come into the back with me. I have some spare clothes for Luffy here, and I think they’ll fit you.”

The prospect of having clean clothes sounds amazing to you, so you follow her without any protest. When you’re in the back of the restaurant, she takes the time to clean off the rest of the blood and dirt from you before giving you some clothes to change into. The shorts and t-shirt are much more comfortable than your tattered dress, so you can feel your mood lifting instantly just from having them on. You were still barefoot, but you weren’t about to complain. Makino examines your discarded dress with a puzzled look, then shrugs and tosses it into a bin.

You’re guided back out to the main part of the restaurant, and placed in a seat next to Luffy. Shortly after that, a plate of food is placed in front of you, as well as in front of Luffy. He happily digs in, but you hesitate, “I don’t have any money…” 

Your concern makes Makino chuckle, “Don’t worry about that, it’s on the house. You look like you could use something to eat.” Her words were enough to demolish your already weak resolve, prompting you to start wolfing down the meal. It tasted amazing and was a relief to your empty stomach. It didn’t take long for the plate to be completely clean.

As soon as you're done, Makino comes back over to you and starts asking questions. “What do your parents look like? Do you think they’re nearby?” You tell her that they probably aren’t around here and rattle off a description of them. She frowns and doesn’t seem to recognize them based off of your description.

Shanks chimes into the conversation, “What’s their ship look like? We just docked a little while ago, I might’ve seen it.”

“Ship? My parents don’t have a ship.” The question confuses you. There aren’t any big bodies of water around your town as far as you know. Why would your parents have a boat?

“Oh? So you’re local?”

“No, I’ve never seen this place before.”

Makino perked up at that, “You aren’t from Goa Kingdom, are you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t know that place.” You tell them the name of your hometown, but all that does is make everyone look confused. Everyone looks around at each other, silently asking if anyone recognizes the name. It would seem that no one does.

“Well, if you aren’t from around here, then you definitely got here on a ship. Did your parents get a ride here from someone else?” Shanks stares at you more intensely, as if trying to find answers written on your face.

“We weren’t on a boat, we were just at a park.” The questions were starting to frustrate you. Your town had to be nearby. There’s no way you walked that far.

Shanks stares at you hard, then his eyes drift up and focus on the gash on your head. He sighs and relaxes his expression. “Your parents are probably lurking around the docks, you should try looking for them there.”

Luffy sits up straight and turns to face you, “Oh! I can show you where they are!” He hops down from his stool and doesn’t wait for an answer before hauling you off of your own seat. You’ve barely made it out of the restaurant before another person runs out after you.

“Wait! I’m coming, too!”

You look over your shoulder and see a girl with red and white hair running after you two. She looks to be a few years older than you. 

Luffy smiles at her, “Hi, Uta! Why are you coming with us?”

Uta reaches out and pokes his cheek, “Because I know that you only offered to go so you can sneak onto Shanks’ ship.”

“Nuh-uh! I want to help (Y/N)!”

She rolled her eyes and lightly shoved his shoulder, “Yeah, right. You’re definitely going to sneak onto the Red Force as soon as you see it.” The two start bickering amongst each other, not paying you much mind as you all make your way to the docks.

All of this is very confusing and overwhelming. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but at least the people you have found have been really nice. This situation wasn’t great, but it could certainly be worse.

At least you made a new friend.

[katatonicimpression]

Top 5 Sambucky Fics Self Rec Game

Thanks for the tag @jemgirl86

i. Here I Go, Don't Let Me Go

M, 16,395 Words

This is my longest, and probably my most popular one (aside from that smut one that's staying anon until I ever sort out the jank in the first chapter) and I think it's pretty good, if intense. Rated M for heavy themes/mental health stuff. We've got bisexuality, we've got angst, we've got Kate Bush. All the good things.

ii. You’re Moments Ago, but Seconds Away

T, 1,868 words

This is the only short one on this list (most of my fics are short scenes tbh). It's a "Sam finds Bucky before civil war" fic, lighthearted and fun. This time with a Gossip song (the Fred Falke remix of Heavy Cross).

iii. Don't Help Them to Bury the Light

M, 3,730 words

Another Sam-centric character study-ish thing, but with added superpowers. This one is even darker I think. A lot of angst, a lot of mental health stuff, again the M rating is for that. But also a happy ending. Comes with a Pink Floyd song (Hey You). It also features my most enduring Sam headcanon: regional gymnastics champion 1992, gold in the all-rounder and the pommel horse.

iv. I'm Inside Your Head, and You Don't Know Me

T, 5,058 words

Samsharon and Sambucky and jealousy? Push and pull at the boundaries? Betrayal hurting less than condescension? Non-linear storytelling? CIA shenanigans? If you like the sound of these themes, then I have a fic for you! Seriously thought I did re-read this recently and I had a great time so there is definitely an audience for it... even if it's just me. This time it's The Apprentice by Gorillaz.

v. Ready for the Real Thing

T, 5,953 words

This is the one I just wrote! It's inspired by the What If episode with Sam... by which I mean I hated that episode but I wanted Sam to fight some kaiju. I tried really hard to do a proper sci fi short story here, with a character-focused throughline. Again, this is Sam with his superpowers, but a generally lighter tone despite the divorce-era angst. Title is from Brilliant Mind by Furniture... the title's kinda wevs but the vibe of the song fits.

[waffliesinyoface]

thinking about Echoes of Wisdom again, and, I really hope that the progression in that becomes the standard for zelda games from here on out.

Like, the old standard set by Ocarina of Time, followed all the way to Skyward sword, was strictly linear. I, personally, don't have a problem with linearity, but the devs at nintendo clearly do, if their comments on BotW are anything to go by. In my mind, the downsides of a lack of player agency are more than made up for by the dungeons having a proper difficulty curve, and having a linear story.

In BotW and TotK, in a desire to put player freedom above all else, you can do the dungeons in whatever order, and you get all your abilities right out of the gate. ...Which also means that every single dungeon has to be presented as though it's the first dungeon a player might encounter (ie: explaining you need the map to activate the terminals to control the divine beast every single time) and also can't be too difficult either. And the also means that the story can't be too heavily tied to dungeons because, again, the player can do them in any order. Which leads to moments like every single one of the sages in TotK giving the exact same backstory of "Ganondorf attacked with armies of demons, we fought him with sacred stones, we almost lost but then rauru heroically sacrificed himself, and then the Sage of Time showed up and said you'd be around to fix shit in a few thousand years".

This is, uh. I'm not going to beat around the bush: fucking terrible. TotK tried to solve this a bit with the 5th sage dungeon being locked behind doing the other 4, and the run up to the castle, but it kind of fell flat. Especially because mineru, by the time you get her, really isn't very good.

Echoes of Wisdom, thankfully, fixes this! You have free roam of the map from the start - though, some areas will hand you your ass if you don't have strong enough echoes of your own - but you have to do the starter dungeons, the Gerudo and Zora, first. If you go to the areas with the later dungeons... well, you can go there, but there's no point, because the plot hasn't actually happened there yet. If you decide to go visit the deku scrubs first, they're just chilling. The only thing there is funny dialogue. (For example, if you try to climb the mountain first, Tri will pop up and go "there is nothing here for you and you WILL freeze your ass off, are you sure you want to be here...?")

This!! Is the best of both worlds. The player has freedom to do stuff in whatever order, within limits. And, unlike TotK, which just gives you the same goddamn information each time, the game goes "okay we have 3 different lore-drops we need to do, and they need to be done in [x] order, but it doesn't actually fucking matter who says them."

Granted, this is much easier to do when there's no voice acting, but. Come the fuck on, nintendo. You have like 10 scenes total with voice acting. You can make the actor say something different depending on when you do them. This isn't hard.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 16 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary - You and Spencer start making plans to leave Bandera. When Spencer makes a discovery about Luke, it leads to him having a blow out with the whole BAU team before saying his goodbyes to his old friends.

A/N - there will be a time jump after this chapter and things will ramp up pretty fast. Also just to note, if it seems like Spencer takes two steps forward and five back sometimes it’s because he does. Healing is not linear and he still has a long way to go.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - dissociation, jealousy, swearing, tears, arguing, mentions of prison and vague hints of sexual abuse, mentions of Cat Adams and Ben’s Believers, Luke and Spencer are both mean, goodbyes, sad BAU team.

WC - 6.8k

Chapter 16 - Take Your Memory With You

Grant was whistling to himself as he swept the barn floor, finishing up making the ranch look as presentable as possible. He was working tirelessly getting the place to look as orderly and neat as he could before he had a realtor round to get the old place on the market.

He was slightly wistful about the idea of selling his parents ranch but the excitement he felt about taking the next step outweighed it. He’d already eagerly been looking at homes in DC and Virginia, scouring job vacancies and preparing for his potential move. 

He and Luke spoke on the phone and texted every chance Luke had available whilst working on a case he could tell Grant little about. Every time his phone went off and he saw Luke’s name on the screen he got butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t know this, but Luke also experienced the same thing when Grant texted him. 

It was probably crazy that he was considering this, packing up his life and moving to the other side of the country for a man who was supposed to be a one night stand. 

He’d never once allowed himself to throw caution to the wind, to do something reckless like this. He was sensible, predictable, he didn’t do things like this. But that was part of the reason he wanted to do this. 

It might be insane and it might end up being the dumbest thing he’d ever done but he had to give it a try. Luke had made him feel things he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt and it was worth the risk to see if there could be something lasting between them. 

As he finished sweeping, he wiped his brow on his sleeve and leant the broom against the wall of the barn. As he did so, he heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the gravel. His brows pinched together, he wasn’t expecting company. 

He picked up his shotgun which was leaning near the broom but didn’t raise it, taking a few cautious steps out of the barn with it by his side. He was surprised to see Spencer headed up the path, one hand in a thick splint and the other in the pocket of his jeans. He wore a brown suede stetson which covered his mess of hair.

Grant placed the shotgun back down and rubbed his hands together as the other man slowly approached. Spencer was offering him a slightly lopsided smile as he grew closer.

“Uh, hey, sorry to just show up here like this.” Spencer rolled his lip awkwardly between his teeth.

“Not a bother.” Grant shrugged. “What can I do you for?”

Spencer removed his stetson, holding it in his good hand while he considered how to begin. He’d told you last night he was going to get moving on selling the ranch so the two of you could make a break before Luke inevitably showed back up and that’s what he was trying to do.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.” Spencer exhaled. “I’m leaving Bandera and wondered if you were looking to acquire any more land? I’ll be leaving my cattle and two of my horses as well if that sweetens the deal. I’m not looking to break even or anything, I just need a quick sale.” 

Grant narrowed his eyes on Spencer curiously, a small smile creeping to his lips.

“Well I’ll be, I was gonna ask you the same thing.” Grant chuckled deeply.

“You’re leaving too?” Spencer’s brows pinched together. 

“Yeah, I’m relocating to the East Coast.” 

“Oh,” Spencer pulled a face. “How come?”

Grant chuckled again before a dreamy smile spread across his features and Spencer could tell he was getting a little lost in a memory.

“I, uh, met someone.” His cheeks flushed. “I reckon it makes me a damn fool for upping sticks for a man I hardly know but he’s not like anyone I ever met before. But I’m gonna make it to DC if the creek don’t rise.” 

Spencer felt a sharp pain in his chest, his vision becoming blurry around the edges. He stared at Grant as the cogs turned in his head. Surely it had to be a coincidence? It could not be feasible that Grant was talking about…no, no way.

“Uh, DC?” Spencer croaked. “Weird, that’s where I’m from.” 

Suddenly Grant’s brow furrowed heavily and he sucked in a deep breath as he remembered something Luke had said before he’d left. 

“Never chose this life, it chose me. Always thought I’d get out of the south one day, move to some big city, ya know? New York, LA…maybe even DC. Unless that idea scares ya.” 

“Why would it…why would it scare me?” 

“You seem like the jumpy sort.” 

“I was still processing an old break up. It ended suddenly and I never got any closure. But I think I have now, I think I’m ready to move on.” 

“Hold on a gosh darn second,” Grant shook his head. “He’s not…you’re not…”

“Luke,” Spencer exhaled. “Luke Alvez?”

Both men’s expressions fell, skin paling as they came to the same conclusion. Spencer’s head started to spin and his vision grew even hazier. 

“You’re the break up he was talkin’ about.” Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had no idea, Spencer.”

“It’s fine.” Spencer shook his head, his tone saying it was anything but fine. “I’ve moved on. He should too. You two would make a great couple.” 

It seemed as though you and Spencer weren’t the only ones with the same taste in men. Spencer stumbled backwards at the implications, feeling lightheaded. 

“If I’d known-”

“It’s really fine,” Spencer laughed but it didn’t sound genuine. “You’ll love DC, it’s great. Uh, I should probably…go.” 

Before Grant could say another word, Spencer was turning and running back down the path towards the road. Grant watched him go with a sigh. Of all the men in the world, he’d ended up in bed with Spencer’s ex. And clearly Spencer was not as fine with it as he made out.

***

When Spencer arrived back at the ranch he was in a complete daze. You found him wandering outside the lodge aimlessly. His eyes were unfocused, he wouldn’t respond to your voice or to your touch. 

You led him inside but he didn’t even seem to realise what was happening. You sat him on the couch and went about breaking him out of his dissociation. You placed ice cubes in his hand, got him to drink some honey and lemon tea and used the photograph of his mom to snap him out of it.

You knew he’d gone into town to ask around if anyone was interested in buying his land, what had led to his dissociation? You wondered how long he had been in this state for, how long he had been wandering around like a zombie. You were grateful he’d made it back without hurting himself. 

It took close to fifteen minutes but suddenly his eyes were present again and he looked at you with a frown, melted ice dripping from his hand onto the floor. 

“Hey you,” you whispered with a soft smile. “You okay?” 

Spencer blinked rapidly, looking down at what was left of the ice cubes in his hand, noticing the citrus flavour on his tongue and the photograph of his mother on the coffee table. 

“Wh-what happened?” He croaked as if he’d just woken up. 

“I was kinda hoping you could tell me.” You quickly got up and went to the kitchen for some napkins. 

You hurried back and scooped the last of the ice from his palm before giving him the napkins to dry himself off. 

“I…I have no idea.” He shook his head. 

He was lying. He knew exactly what had happened. Grant had met Luke and the two had clearly hit it off and now Grant was moving to DC to be with him. His Luke. 

No, that wasn’t fair. Luke wasn’t his and hadn’t been for a long time. It wasn’t beneficial for Spencer to think that way. He had moved on, he had you, Luke was in his past. 

Spencer had never had any intention of him and Luke being together again after he moved to Bandera, that relationship never would have worked again. But it didn’t mean he stopped loving Luke, stopped caring about him. And it made his heart ache to think of him with someone else. Now he knew exactly how Luke felt.

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” 

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” 

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot. So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?” 

———

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” 

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” 

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?” 

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” 

Luke had to walk in on the two of you in bed, seeing first hand that Spencer had moved on. The mere thought of Luke with Grant was enough to cause him to slip into a dissociation, he couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Luke to witness that. 

“You don’t remember?” You gave him a look of scepticism and Spencer shook his head.

How could he tell you what had sent him over the edge? There was no way he could admit that this had happened because he found out Luke had moved on. Spencer loved you, he loved you more than he’d ever loved anyone. But selfishly he thought Luke would always be there. God that made him sound terrible. 

“No,” Spencer pushed himself to his feet, balling the napkin up in his hand and traipsing to the trash can. 

“I don’t believe you.” You stood too, folding your arms over your chest. “You’re lying to me.”

Spencer sucked in a breath and slowly turned back to look at you, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Yes I am,” he nodded. “But only because I’m trying to protect you.” 

“Protect me?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Protect me from what?” 

“If I tell you why I dissociated you will no doubt get upset and I have upset you way too many times before.” He heaved a sigh.

“Tell me.” You insisted. “Tell me right now.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes a little, leaning back against the kitchen counter and glancing out of the window at the land beyond. 

“I went to speak to Grant about buying the ranch and it turns out he’s also leaving town. He’s moving to DC because he met someone…” Spencer trailed off, keeping his eyes out of the window.

In his peripheral vision he saw you frowning, filling in the blanks to the sentence he didn’t want to finish and honestly it wasn’t all that hard.

“Luke?” You croaked. 

“Yeah. Grant is moving to DC to be with my ex boyfriend.” 

“And that caused you to dissociate.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you still have feelings for Luke.” 

“Yes.” He huffed, turning his head to face you. “Of course I do. But I don’t want to be with him, okay? I want you and only you. But it surprised me and it upset me and I would understand if you were annoyed by my reaction.” 

“Spence,” you exhaled, taking a few steps closer to him. “I’m not annoyed. He was a big part of your life, I understand that it would throw you through some kind of loop to find this out.” 

“I really wish I didn’t love you so much.” His words surprised you as he raked his fingers over his ever growing facial hair. 

“Why?” You frowned lightly. 

“Because you’re too good for me.” He shrugged meekly. “Everything I’ve put you through, it’s too much. I’m a fucking wreak. Last night after we…fuck Y/N it was so amazing but when you were asleep I just…I felt numb. I should have felt something, you know? But I felt fucking numb because no matter how much I keep trying to convince myself otherwise, I’m not whole.” 

Tears started down his cheeks and you came closer, placing your hands on the sides of his face and holding his gaze. 

“I’m too good for you? Spencer, I murdered my step father.” You gently reminded him. “And so what if you aren’t whole? Who says you need to be?” 

“I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve done.” He cupped the back of your neck in his good hand. “And I want to be whole, I want to give you every little piece of myself but I can’t because I lost a big part of who I am in prison.” 

You cooed him, brushing his tears with your fingertips and trying to calm him down. 

“As long as you can love me with every piece you have left, I’m okay with that.” You smiled before he was tugging you close for a kiss. 

He could undoubtedly give you that, every shred that still belonged to him was yours. And he’d never loved you more than he did in that moment. 

You were startled apart by the sound of a phone ringing. Spencer turned back to the counter where his device sat and saw the name flashing on the screen. You peered over his shoulder and saw it too. 

His body went rigid and he sucked in a deep breath. His hand reached out for the phone and you saw it was trembling. 

“You don’t have to answer it.” You whispered but Spencer was shaking his head. 

“I need to.” He picked up the phone. “I need this to finally be over.” 

Spencer took the phone and without looking at you, turned to the door and quickly left the lodge. You observed him through the window as he put the phone to his ear and continued walking in the direction of the stable. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself and rolled your lip between your teeth. You just had to hope he was strong enough to handle this. 

***

Spencer headed down the steps of his lodge and once his feet hit the dirt at the bottom, he answered the call. He huffed out a breath before he spoke.

“What?” He grumbled. He was met by silence for a moment or two so with a sigh he spoke again. “Hello? What do you want?” 

Another short burst of silence and Spencer was grinding his teeth as he trailed up the path towards the stables.

“I, uh…” the voice croaked. “Sorry I didn’t expect you to answer.” 

“Well I did. So what do you want? No, let me guess. Grant called you?” Spencer wished he could keep the bitterness from his voice but it was impossible.

“Yeah,” Luke sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.” 

“Sorry I found out that way or that I found out at all?” Spencer spat, unable to calm himself. 

“You don’t get to be angry, Spencer.” Luke’s voice remained calm, but was laced with his frustrations.

“I get to be however the hell I want to be.” Spencer bit back. 

“I found you in bed with a woman Spencer, if you’re allowed to move on so am I.” Luke growled slightly. 

Spencer reached the stable and cradled the phone between his shoulder and face while he unlatched the door with his non-splinted hand. 

“I don’t care about you moving on.” Spencer scoffed. “But you could have done that with literally anyone! Why did it have to be someone I know? Someone where I live?” 

“Sounds like you don’t plan to live there much longer anyway. Grant said you were trying to sell him your ranch?” Luke spoke and then Spencer heard him thanking someone under his breath. 

He must be at work. Judging by the sound of him then sipping something Spencer assumed someone had just given him a mug of coffee. 

“That’s why I answered your call.” Spencer walked across the stable, ignoring his horses and sitting down on the wooden crate against the far wall. “I am leaving Bandera and I wanted to tell you to stop calling me. I need a real fresh start, one where you guys can’t keep hassling me.” 

“Hassling?” Luke spat. “You’re mistaking us caring for hassling?” 

“Luke you guys smother me!” Spencer raised his voice, almost immediately back on his feet. “For my entire FBI career I have been the youngest on the team which means I’m babied and coddled and I’m sick of it. I am a forty year old man! I don’t need you or anyone else to worry over me like I’m a still a kid.” 

“After what you’ve been through, Spencer, how can we not worry about you? It’s nothing to do with age, or you being younger than everyone else. You spent three months in prison being abused before having to face off against your rival who tried to kill your mom. Then less than a year later you were taken hostage by Ben’s Believers, you almost died. 

“And then you made the decision to runaway without telling anyone, except Prentiss but I’m sure you only told her because you had to. How the hell can we not worry about you? Half of the team expected you to relapse, you know? Hell, I thought you might relapse. How the fuck can we not worry about you when you’re out there in the middle of nowhere on your own!” 

Spencer had started to pace while Luke ranted down the phone, back and forth through the stable and ignoring the attention seeking huffs from the horses. 

“Well I’m not on my own anymore. And I’m leaving Bandera and I’m not telling any of you where I’m going. I picked up the phone to tell you this is the end. I will be blocking your numbers, fuck I might even just destroy my goddamn phone again so there is no way of Garcia tracking me down. It’s over Luke, I don’t want anything to do with any of you anymore.” Spencer spat harshly, unable to stop his rampant pacing. 

“I’d argue with you but to be perfectly honest I’m sick of this. I’m sick of worrying about you all the time, I’m sick of feeling dejected every time you ignore my calls. I am sick of the fucking Spencer Reid show!” Luke yelled. 

If he was at Quantico Spencer imagined it would have garnered a lot of attention. 

“The Spencer Reid show? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Spencer grumbled. 

“Our entire relationship was about you. You and your goddamn trauma, even before prison! You and your daddy issues or mommy issues and your adabonment issues and your sobriety and whatever the hell else you were dealing with. My PTSD didn’t matter. I had to suppress my own trauma, trauma from serving overseas to protect the fragility of your psyche.” Luke was really shouting now and Spencer could only imagine the eyes of the team were all on him. 

The rage was pooling in Spencer’s stomach, rapidly clawing its way through his body. He turned to see Rusty staring at him but it wasn’t the same wary way she usually regarded him. Her eyes were wide but docile. 

Tentatively he stepped closer to her, once again cradling the phone in the crook of his neck so he could raise his hand in her direction. He moved slowly, cautiously, so as not to frighten her. But she didn’t move. 

He laid his palm against the side of her face and she nuzzled into his touch. Spencer felt a little sceptical by her sudden fondness for him when she’d previously shown him nothing but disdain.

He dared entwine his fingers with the coarse hair of her mane, trying to ground himself with the texture whilst staring into her large brown eyes. She made a small noise of contentment. 

“If I was such a fucking problem for you then it shouldn’t be hard to hear that I never want to speak to you again.” He fought to keep his voice levelled and under control. 

Luke was breathing heavily down the phone, clearly trying to rein himself in like Spencer was. 

“You…” he huffed. “You fucking broke me, Spencer. The way you left, it destroyed me. Nothing in my life has ever hurt as much as having to hear from Prentiss that you’d left without a word. I’ve spent the last two years trying to get over you, trying to move past the pain that you caused. And I have finally met someone who made me forget all about you. I’m not asking you to be happy for me, but you don’t get to be mad either.” 

Spencer kept his focus on Rusty, weaving his fingers deep into her golden mane and staring unblinking in her eyes. He swallowed thickly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. This was so strange. 

“Have a nice life, Luke.” He breathed out. “Tell the others I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to forge my own path and the only way I can do that is by cutting old ties. I’m sorry.” 

“You owe them more than that.” Luke was quick to speak, feeling as though Spencer was imminently going to hang up. “At least tell them yourself. We’re all here at the BAU, let me put you on speaker?” 

Spencer clenched his jaw, holding tighter to Rusty as he felt his knees buckling. He knew Luke was right, he did owe them more than him vanishing again. It didn’t mean the thought of talking to them all didn’t make him feel nauseous. 

“Fine,” he croaked out before he changed his mind. “Hurry up though.”

He heard shuffling and some barely perceptible whispers. A chair scraping across the floor, footsteps and a door opening and closing. 

He knew Luke’s hand was over the microphone when he spoke again as his voice was muffled but he just managed to hear what he said. 

“Guys, I’ve got Reid. He wants to talk to us all.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, that wasn’t exactly true but he wasn’t going to argue it. A little more shuffling as he assumed Luke put the phone on a table and then Luke’s voice was louder. 

“Go ahead Spencer, we’re all here.” Luke remained on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Rossi and Emily were standing by a layout board going over the information in the Sicarius case while Tara, JJ and Penelope were at the table, the latter hovered over her laptop and the other two looking over files.

Spencer was silent. He could all but picture his old team gathered in the round table room and he felt the nerves swarm his body. 

He moved his hand from Rusty’s mane to the side of her face, brushing his fingers along the silky texture of her coat. Again she didn’t seem to have any qualms about him doing so. 

“Uh, hi everyone.” He spoke quietly. 

At the BAU, Penelope Garcia’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a gasp at hearing her boy wonders voice for the first time in what had to be months at this point. 

Tears flooded to JJ’s eyes, obscuring her vision as she gnawed on her lip. Tara, Rossi and Emily managed to keep their composures. 

“Kid, it’s good to hear your voice.” Rossi was the one to speak. 

“Hi Dave, good to hear yours too.” Spencer’s voice cracked. 

“Is everything okay junior G?” Garcia couldn’t stop herself speaking. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “I, uh…I told Luke that I’m leaving Bandera. I need to get away from everything for real this time. And I’m afraid that includes all of you.” 

More silence swelled in the room as the six agents exchanged looks of concern and upset. 

“What do you mean?” JJ’s voice gave way to her sorrow. 

“I don’t think I’m ever going to fully heal while I still have one foot in DC. I love you all very much but you all remind of me the worst things that have ever happened to me. I need a clean break. Last time I left without saying goodbye and Luke reminded me that I owe you more than that. So, uh, I guess this is goodbye.” He sighed, feeling strangely emotional.

Until now he’d only let himself think of how in running away with you he would miss his ranch and the life he’d created in Texas. He hasn’t let himself dwell on the idea that it also meant cutting ties with his old team entirely. 

He heard a little more shuffling, key tapping and then the device cradled against his face beeped in his ear. With a frown he removed his hand from Rusty and pulled the device into his eyeline. 

Incoming FaceTime call.

He grit his teeth. Apart from Luke he hadn’t see any of their faces in two years. 

“Turn your camera on, Reid.” Emily’s voice came through the speaker, commanding him like he still worked for her. “At least let us say goodbye to you face to face.” 

Spencer huffed, moving to sit back on the wooden crate. His finger hovered over the button for a moment or two before he accepted it. 

This was going to be tough. It was hard enough lying to them at the best of times let alone face to face. As much as he was being honest when he said he was fed up of their babying, their worry it wasn’t the full story. 

He had to cut contact with them in order to keep you safe. He was choosing you over his friends. He just had to keep his expression in check so they didn’t see through to his hidden agenda. 

The screen was blank for a few moments and then suddenly it was as though he was back in the BAU round table room. He could tell from the angle that Garcia had mirrored Luke’s phone screen and his image was being displayed on the large TV. 

Apart from Luke, none of them were prepared to see Doctor Spencer Reid sporting scruffy facial hair, with curls down to his shoulders and longer than any of them had seen in years or wearing a denim shirt over a plain white tee. But to their credits, they hid their surprise well, including Garcia. 

Spencer almost waved at them before he remembered that would mean them seeing his splinted arm. Luke could have told them already but he didn’t want to worry them any more than they already were. 

Garcia and JJ at the table both had tears in their eyes and Tara was sitting in the middle of them had her hands laced together in front of her. Emily and Rossi were nearest the camera and Luke was off to the side with his arms folded. 

“Wow this is weird.” His brows pinched together. “I feel like I’m in the room.” 

“Are you eating?” Garcia suddenly spoke up. “You look skinnier than I remember and that’s saying something because you were always so tiny.” 

“I’m eating.” Spencer nodded. 

“Clearly not enough.” Penelope huffed. 

“Garcia,” Emily shot her a look to silence her and the bubbly blonde shrunk a little in her chair. “You look good Reid, rugged even.” 

The small quip of her lip made Spencer chuckle. 

“About time.” He joked but there was still the underlying melancholy in his voice. “I really am sorry to be doing this but I just need some time. I appreciate that you all care about me, but I’m fine I swear.” 

“Does this have something to do with the girl? Because it seems like odd timing.” Luke grunted as he spoke. 

Spencer felt his cheeks redden but only Rossi and Tara seemed confused by what he’d said. Spencer didn’t know that Luke had already filled Emily, JJ and Garcia in on how he’d found Spencer indisposed when he’d visited. 

“Girl?” Tara cocked her eyebrow at the screen. 

“Uh, yeah.” Spencer pulled a face. “I guess I met someone. Thanks for telling everyone, Luke.” 

“So she’s the reason you’re leaving? Why you’re cutting us all out of your life?” Luke narrowed his eyes. 

“No, of course not.” Spencer shook his head. “I just need to do this.”

“Is she going with you?” Luke frowned, his jaw set. 

“That’s none of your business.” Spencer spat. “Why don’t you focus yourself on your own personal life rather than sticking your nose in mine.” 

“Spence,” Emily spoke in her calming manner. “Is this still about what happened to you in prison?” 

Spencer’s face fell and thanks to a combination of his new phone's excellent camera and the quality of pixels on the BAU screen, they all saw it. 

“Prison? With your friend Delgado?” Garcia pouted. 

“Spence, we know that was hard for you.” JJ added. 

“That’s not what she’s talking about.” Luke spoke up, his slightly pointed tone obvious to everyone. 

“What is she talking about?” Rossi frowned looking between his Unit Chief, Luke and Spencer on the screen. “Prentiss? Alvez? What do you know that we don’t?” 

“Don’t you dare.” Spencer spat. “Don’t you fucking dare tell them!” 

“They have a right to know why you’re being like this.” Luke growled. 

“Alvez,” Emily scolded him. “It’s not your place. And it’s not mine either.” 

The other members of the BAU gave each other curious looks while Spencer tried hard to control his anger. He couldn’t believe Emily would have the nerve to bring it up. She threw it out there like a grenade but refused to pull the pin, expecting him to be the one to do it. 

“What happened in prison?” It was JJ who asked, of course it was. “What don’t you want us to know?”

“It’s nothing.” Spencer hissed. “Goddamnit Emily, did you really have to say that?” 

“Don’t hiss at me like that.” Emily shook her head at him angrily. 

“You aren’t my boss, I can talk to you however I like.” Spencer growled. “You had no right to bring that up in front of everyone.” 

“I’m your friend and I’m worried about you.” She shrugged. 

“You had no right to mention it.” He repeated. “What happened to me is nobody's business but my own. So stay the fuck out of it.” 

“Spencer!” Garcia gasped. “What has gotten into you?” 

“I’m not the same person I was.” He grunted. “Look I didn’t want this, I don’t want to fight. I just need to say goodbye.” 

Silence flooded over them all again, the impending end was heavy in the air. None wanted to speak, none wanted to bring this to its closure. So Spencer spoke again. 

“You’ve all been such a huge part of my life and I love you all from the bottom of my heart.” He wasn’t entirely sure he meant to look at Luke but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. “You meant the whole world to me, I wouldn’t change a single second of what we had. But I have to move on, I have to heal. I’m sorry this has to be the end but it’s the only way.” 

If anyone else noticed Spencer was talking solely to Luke, no one mentioned as much. But Luke knew, and he gave a soft nod as his vision blurred with tears. 

“We, uh, we love you too man.” Luke replied. “You’ll always be a big part of my heart - our hearts I mean.” 

The others sent their kind words Spencer’s way but he was still staring at Luke and Luke at him, eventually they fell quiet and Spencer forced his eyes off of his ex.

“Uh, bye then I guess.” Spencer shrugged. 

“Bye kid, stay safe out there.” Rossi nodded at him.

“Bye Reid,” Tara smiled sadly. 

“Oh I hate goodbyes!” Penelope was crying now. “Love you boy wonder, goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, Spence.” JJ wiped her own eyes. 

“We’ll always be here if you ever change your mind.” Emily added. 

When he looked back at the space Luke had previously been occupying, it was empty. Luke was gone. 

Spencer swallowed, trying to hide his upset at the fact Luke had fled in such a way before he’d technically gotten to say goodbye to him. 

Before he could show how much it hurt he ended the call and sighed heavily. Before he got back up he went through their numbers one by one and blocked them before deleting their numbers. But just as he was about to do the same to Luke’s contact information, a text appeared on his screen. 

📲 Luke Alvez: I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye. I really do wish you all the best but I just can’t let myself believe this is really over. I will always love you, Spencer Reid. 

Spencer felt his chest tighten as he read over the words a few times. And then he blocked Luke’s number, forgetting to delete it like the others. Perhaps it had been subconscious, or perhaps he’d deliberately kept it, he wasn’t sure. 

Either way he had removed them from his life so he could take this step forward without putting you in danger. 

***

Two days later Spencer’s ranch was up for sale with a local realtor but the two of you didn’t have the luxury in sticking around and waiting for it to sell. 

He’d managed to get another nearby rancher to take on his cattle and, somewhat reluctantly on his part, Wilbur and Franklin too. Although he didn’t have as strong of a connection with them as he did with Willow, he was going to miss his two stallions a great deal. 

Spencer had purchased a horse trailer which could be hooked up to the back of your car for Rusty and Willow and the rest of the backseat and trunk were filled with Spencer’s belongings, which were mostly books. 

He sat in the passenger seat while you arranged the last few things on the backseat and checked the trailer was secure, assuring Willow and Rusty with pats on their heads that they were okay. 

He stared out at his lodge, the one he’d called home for two years and the For Sale sign stuck in the dirt. He was growing wistful at an alarming rate, feeling his vision blurring with unshed tears. 

He’d never made a home here quite like he had in DC but for some reason this was harder to leave behind. He’d loved his apartment in the city, lived there for most of his adult life, but he’d given it up without a second thought. 

Perhaps because here on his ranch in Bandera it was the life he’d chosen. DC and the FBI had been thrust upon him by Jason Gideon, not that he minded that and he was grateful for Gideon’s persistence to have him on the team. But it never really left Spencer any room to choose his own path.

With his intelligence he could have done just about anything, he’d thought he might have long ago cured schizophrenia. But Gideon had pursued him, claiming the young genius as his own prized pig for the BAU to show off. Moving to Texas was probably the first thing he’d done for himself his entire life. 

Sure, he still wasn’t making any medical breakthroughs or using his brain to help the world. But this life was so simple, something he’d sorely needed after years of chasing criminals. But now instead of chasing them, he was going on the run with one. 

Really if he stopped to think about it, it was insane. He’d spent fifteen years protecting and serving, bringing people like you to justice. He should just turn you in, then he could keep his ranch and not have to cut his friends out of his life. 

But you had opened up Spencer’s eyes. In meeting you, Spencer finally understood why he’d never made things work with anyone else. Life just made so much sense to him now. 

Relationships of any kind for him had always been about compromising pieces of himself. With Ethan he’d become subservient, as was par for the course for a first relationship he was a moldable putty in Ethan’s hands. He said and did what he thought the other man wanted whether or not Spencer himself wanted it too. 

With Lila and Ivy the woman he’d had a one night stand with after Maeve’s death and Caleb with whom he’d had a six month booty call with, he’d conceded parts of himself for the sake of casual sex. He’d lessened his own values for the sake of other people. And with Maeve herself he often dumbed himself down to allow her to feel superior. 

And then there was Luke, who Spencer didn’t realise until it was over just how compromised he’d let himself become. Luke was traumatised from serving overseas, needed something to focus his mind on to quell his own darkness. Spencer permitted himself to fall into the role of beta, not that it was a hard persona to emulate. 

He was for the most part a submissive person, but mostly in part because he’d always been pushed into that mantle. Sometimes he thought it might be nice to have a little control in his own life, in his own decision making but with Luke that was taken away. 

He didn’t mind, for the most part. But now he looked back on it there were times where he’d wished he’d been able to make even the simplest choice of what they were having for dinner or what movie to watch. 

He didn’t need to be an alpha and honestly he probably wouldn’t even know what to do with that kind of dominance. But Luke coddled him as though he wasn’t able to make his own decisions, handled him with kid gloves as though Spencer was one moment away from breaking at all times.

And that was even before prison. 

Even with his friends, his team, Spencer compromised himself for their own happiness and well-being. He slotted into roles that needed filling in their lives rather than forging his own. He was what people needed him to be. He was malleable. He was a hunk of clay just waiting to be sculpted by those around him. 

But then he met you and he finally understood what it was like to not have to bend to the will of others, to shape himself around the demands of others. 

In moving to Texas and being alone for so long he was able to start forming himself away from the ordinance of the people around him. He started to discover exactly who Spencer Reid was in his most authentic incarnation. 

Upon meeting you he did not bend, he did not falter. And he found that someone actually loved him for who he was when he was just himself and not trying to appease or alter himself to be deemed fit. 

So he would miss his ranch, no doubt. He would miss his friends despite the fact they barely talked anymore. But the decision to leave with you was an unimaginably easy one. You didn’t love him for the person he could be, you loved him the raw version of him, the real, uncensored Spencer Reid. 

The driver’s door opened and you slid in with a smile, rolling down the window and lighting a cigarette between your lips. You turned to him as you started the engine reaching across the centre console and giving his hand a squeeze.

“You ready for this, stud?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not too late to change your mind.”

He waited until you took a drag, exhaling the smoke out of the window before he gripped the back of your head and drew you close for a kiss. 

“Y/N,” he spoke once he pulled back, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I have never been more sure about anything in my life. I know things haven’t always gone smoothly for us, I guess we’re both just a little…rusty.” He chuckled and you did too. “But practice makes perfect, right? And I’m fairly certain we’ll figure it out together.” 

You smiled brightly at him, taking another drag on the cigarette before putting the car in reverse. Spencer took one last look at the place he’d called home for two years, wistful but excited for what the future held. 

You dangled your arm out of the window and with a wink sent his way you spoke in mirth, “Well then cowboy, we better giddy up.”  

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

heyy 📓

I have this one fic that I’m deeply fond of but will likely never write due to the inexorable confines of linear time that’s basically assistant Jon trying to gaslight the entire archives that his husband, Gerry Keay, is dead. He is not. He is trying to bring Jon coffee and wondering why his dear, dear husband is shoving him into the bushes.

The idea is that Gertrude figured out that Elias was trying to groom this feverish nerd as her replacement (he is not a subtle man) and, as a matter of checkmating him, made Jon her assistant to basically give him an out from the contract in the case of her death. A deadman’s switch, basically. She didn’t explain shit to him with the transfer, however. She wanted to keep her options open until she decided how exactly to play the matter.

She did not account for this feverish nerd going off the deep end at record speed, stalking everyone including her and her goth buddy cop companion, who found the fact that there was stupid enough to stalk the man accused of violent murder and subsequent skinning inexplicably attractive. Jons reasoning was anyone who burns leitners couldn’t be THAT bad, which did NOTHING to prevent Gerry’s burgeoning crush. Gerry explains everything to him pretty immediately after catching him at the stalking thing and they’re sickeningly in love in record speed.

Gertrude is a lesbian but honestly they’re disgustingly in love enough to make her homophobic. Stop holding hands where she has to see it. She has some regrets about this decision.

Elias manages to finagle past the deadman’s switch by getting him to re-sign through a very compelling hiring bonus. The compulsion is a gun and the bonus is his beloved husband doesn’t get shot in the fucking head. Jon re-signs.

The thing is that he signs on as an assistant again, because Elias is faking him out. Jon and Gerry are both half-Become and terrified of losing themselves. They’re desperately trying to find a way of breaking Jon’s contract and escape with their lives and souls intact. He knows that, if Jon was the Head Archivist, he’d follow in Gertrude’s footsteps to slow his own becoming.

Except the Archivist is a what and the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute is just a title. Elias basically tricks Jon into thinking he’s trying to make Sasha the Archivist by promoting her and letting Jon “get one over” on him by interfering with her Becoming, furthering his own in the process. Jon thinks he’s just there as Gertrude’s former assistant who knows about her plans to stop upcoming apocalypses. Gertrude never told him that she suspected Elias wanted him for the job, so he’s completely blind to the real stakes. He thinks he’s protecting Sasha from her own becoming and instead just sinking further into his own.

The thing is that Elias has made it very clear that if actually tells Sasha and the rest of the assistants anything, Elias will find a way to kill both him and Gerry. And Jon’s very much tied to the archives, so they’re limited in ways they can protect themselves. He’s stuck pretending that he knows nothing and working in the background to keep them safe as he can.

Cue “Let’s see if we can track down this Gerard Keay fellow in all these Statements” “We, we can’t” “why not” “He… died. Very tragic. So sad.”

In Jon’s defense he panicked and also if they find Gerard Keay it’s a very short jump to “hey Jon why did we find a marriage certificate with your name on it and this very spooky man’s name on it” “hey Jon why did we find all these statements that featured both you and him in these spooky circumstances hidden in your desk” “hey Jon have you been lying to us this entire time” “hey Jon is that Elias with a fucking gun.” It’s just. It’s a slippery slope. The only reasonable thing to do is fake his own husbands death.

Gerry finds this solution hilarious and is immediately and violently reminded of why he married this man.

(“Oh I’m sorry I can’t do the dishes I’m too dead for that” “Gerry do you want to die for real”)

Guest starring:

Michael’s aggressive, mandatory, and deeply troubling adoption of Jon during his time as an assistant (he wants to prove he’s better at keeping assistants alive than Gertrude)

Wlw/mlm violence starring Basira and Daisy (Basira met Jon via Sectioned matters and they got on like a house fire, and like. It’s really hard to find those couple friends, you know? Like sometimes she wouldn’t mind going out to a pub with her partner and a friend who has a partner and they like, get group discounts or something. Daisy come on it will be fun. Only Jon shows up with accused murderer Gerard Keay and Basira shows up with a fucking Hunter. Both of them think the other has terrible taste in partners)

Sasha and Tim trying to set up Martin with Jon, who is absolutely not married to Gerard Keay, because Gerard Keay is too dead to be married to anyone

[centeris2]

You know, I feel really bad for the SSO writers

Not even from a "constantly changing lore, unfinished story threads, and so many NPCs good luck remembering characterization" sort of way. I mean in a meta and game writing way.

I look at the events and wince because oof, these are tough decisions. I play through the latest story quests and think about how hard that job is.

Unless there has been a staff change since I did contract work (and given it's been a while now, that is possible), it's mostly two ladies trying to wrestle with a difficult challenge:

How do you create the illusion of choice and feel of an RPG when writing a linear story with no possible deviations?

A player gets dialogue options, they are given a choice! The choice they pick doesn't matter, it doesn't change the outcome of the quest because it can't change. The story is linear. The characters ask the player for ideas, but either have to shoot them all down or the player can actually only suggest one idea.

There is also the issues of the world of Jorvik changing and not matching what the text says. The dialogue says to hide in bushes to stay hidden, but no bushes are around where the characters have been positioned. Katja and Jessica ride off on ice made by Katja, but the quests are released during winter, so the ice effect isn't visible at all under the snow textures and the dialogue about not being able to follow across a river now look very silly. A character mentions Moorland Stables getting renovated, which doesn't make sense years after Moorland's update. And so on.

And then there are events! SSO comes out with these brand new shiny models: the Dark Riders! So obviously they want to use their newest and best looking characters in events to show them off to all players as soon as possible. This makes things no longer make sense. How does Sabine know a brand new player? Why would a player recognize Katja or Sabine, who they have never met in game? There is the tug of war between "this doesn't make sense to have these characters at these events" and "these are the best looking models in the game and therefore we want to show them off", so the writers have to find a way to write these characters in and just sorta accept that the events are non canonical for most (all) players. How else would all the soul riders the brand new player hasn't saved yet be there standing around?

It's tough, it's a tangled mess, it's a balancing act with lots of other departments and needs pushing on the scales. I don't envy them and I don't know a good solution. (Short of like, releasing a single player story game for the story quests. IDK about the events, have event-only npcs? having every event have an ongoing updating story every year means a lot of time and resources is going toward just events, I can see why they would want to stop that, especially with 4 major events a year.)

Don't get me wrong, if I had a chance to do another writing or proofreading contract for them I'd do it in a heartbeat. But my god, tough job.