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#and draws home how parasitic they truly are
notstarcey · 4 days
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She Magnus on my archives til I
I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.
You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help. I need it to be seen. To be seen in the cold light of knowledge is anathema to the things that crawl and slither and swarm in the corners and the cracks. In the pitted holes of the hive.
You can’t see it, of course. It isn’t real. Not like you or I are real. It’s more of an everywhere. A feeling. Are you familiar with trypophobia? That disgusted fear at holes, irregular, honeycombed holes. Makes you feel that itch in the back of your mind, like the holes are there too, in your own brain, rotten and hollow and swarming. Is that real?
I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.
I… I haven’t slept in some time. I can’t sleep. My dreams are crawling and many-legged. Not just slithering and burrowing,. though it is the burrowing that draws me. They always sing that song of flesh. I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse. I have that feeling, that instinct that squirms through your belly. There will be great violence done here. And I bleed into that violence.
Do you know, I wonder? As I watch you sitting there through the glass. Eating a sandwich. Do you know where you are? You called me “dear”. “Have a seat, dear.” “You can write it down, dear.” “Take as much time as you need, dear.” Can you truly know the danger you are in?
There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.
I don’t know how long the nest has been there. It’s not even my house, I just live there. Some sweaty old man thinks he owns it, taking money for my presence as though it will save him. I used to worry about it, you know. I remember, before the dreams, I would spend so long worrying about that money. About how I could afford to live there. Now I know that whatever the old man thinks, as he passes about the house with brow crinkled and mouth puckered in disapproval, it is not his. It has a thousand truer owners who shift and live and sing within the very walls of the building. He does not even know about the wasps’ nest. I wonder how long he has not known. How many years it has been there.
Have you ever heard of the filarial worm? Mosquitoes gift it with their kiss and it grows and grows. It stops water moving round the human body right, makes limbs and bellies swell and sag with fluid. Now, when I look at that fat, sweaty sack, I think about it, and the voice sings of showing him what a real parasite can do.
How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear. It didn’t matter, because no-one in the shop wanted to hear about the ants below it. I tried to tell them, to explain, but they did not care. The pretty young things complained and I left.
That was when I still called myself a witch. Wicca and paganism, I would spend my weekends at rituals by the Thames. I wanted something beyond myself, but could not stomach the priest or the imam or pujari of the churches. I knew better. I knew that it was not so simple as to call out to well-trodden gods. I never felt from my rituals anything except exhaustion and pride. I thought that those were my spiritual raptures.
I wish, deep inside, below the itch, that they were still my raptures. I have touched something now, though, that all my talk of ley lines and mother goddesses could never have prepared me for. It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms.
When did I first hear it? It wasn’t the nest, I’m sure of that. I never went in the attic. It was locked and I didn’t have a key. I spent a day sawing through the padlock with an old hacksaw. My hands were blistered by the end. Why would I have done that if I didn’t know what I would find? The face of the one who sang to me dwelling within the hidden darkness above me. I had seen no wasps. I know I hadn’t. There are no wasps in the nest. So how else would I have known that I needed to be there, to be in the dark with it, if it had not already been singing to me?
No, that’s not right. The nest does not sing to me. It is simply the face. Not the whole face, for the whole of the hive is infinite. An unending plane of wriggling forms swarming in and out of the distended pores and honeycombed flesh. The nest is nothing but paper.
Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.
I used to pick at my skin. It was a compulsion. I would spend hours in the bathroom, staring as close as I could get to my face to the mirrors, searching for darkened pores to squeeze and watch the congealed oil worm its way out of my skin. Often I would end with swollen red marks where it had become inflamed with irritation or infection. Did I hear the song then?
Was it when I was a child, such a clear memory of a classmate telling me a blackhead was a hole in my face, and if I didn’t keep it clean it would grow and rot. Did I hear it then, as that image lodged in my mind forever? Or was it last year, passing by a strip of green they call a park near my house, after the rain, and watching a hundred worms crawl and squirm to the surface.
Perhaps I’ve always heard it. Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.
I need to think. To clear my head. To try and remember, but remember what? I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.
You can’t help me. I’m sure of that now. I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that I itch. Because ‘itch’ is not the right word. There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why the hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note it’s every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.
I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.
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adalricus · 6 months
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Yandere oc x artist!gn!reader
Tw: possessiveness, mood swings, blood mentioned, nsfw, non-con
My Siren
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Elaine was continually bored, nothing new ever happened and all she met were tropical mer-people. It was unconventional to say the least. After years of this inner torment, she ventured to the tropical beach in hopes of finding something more. And a human caught her eye, you. You were odd, a peculiar sight so to speak. She watched as you set up your canvas and easel along with a stool. She couldn't keep her eyes off you as you continued to paint the scenery. So everyday it was a habit, you continued to paint the sea at different times and when you weren't you picked up the litter in favour of making more. My weren't you just alluring.
Her curiosity turned to interest and interest to full-blown obsession. She had to have you, but how on earth could she obtain a human such as yourself, one who seemed unobtainable. Minutes turned to hours, hours to day. She felt twisting and turning in her mind, when finally she knew how to make you hers. You loved art didn't you, you would have an eye for beautiful things such as herself. So when the sun was setting and you set up your art supplies, she splayed herself in your line of vision. "What in the world?" She successfully caught your attention as you slowly crept toward her she spoke. "Human! Come here, I don't bite" and you obeyed "what are you?" A question any normal person would ask "well ofcourse you've heard of mermaids, but I suppose you were sheltered our kinds don't often interact. But what a marvelous human you are! Almost as marvelous as me" you heard of them, of their sightings but always thought they were truly horrid looking beings and untrustworthy, but she didn't seem like that at all. "Would you like to draw me, Human?" You slowly nodded "I'll allow you just come closer, and hold my hand, for only a second." What an odd question, but perhaps this would be away for you to end the sigma against mer-people alike. So you did and suddenly with an inhuman strength she pulled you into the water, your lungs burnt as she swam deeper and deeper when she stopped and kisses you forcing her abnormally long tongue down your throat. And suddenly you could breath. She continued swimming down to an ocean cave with a door which had a short hall with twists and turns. "Well then sweetie this is your new home" she opened a final door and passed through and enchanted barrier separating ocean water and air. With a well designed room, with a bed in which you could sleep, the floor covered with a layer of shallow water and by it a small pond-like formation that Elaine could sleep in beside you. She leaped onto the bed and pinned you down as tied your hands and legs to the bed posts. "Just be a good little human and I'll untie your hands, so you can draw me, you never learnt my name have you my cute little siren. It's Elaine."
"I really wanna go home!" That seemed to make something in her snap " Well you better be greatful for me to grace you with me elegance! You bratty disgusting little parasite. Keep running your mouth like that and I'll break your ribs so you don't have enough energy to continue spewing your nonsense!" You shut your mouth and averted her gaze, well if you excuse me I'll go hunt food for the both of us." A few months pass and finally you got access to your arms, but all you did with them was eat , hold Elaine and paint her. Painting after painting, one day she left for her usually hunting. You decide to use your free hands and untie your legs as ran to the entrance Elaine suddenly opened the door. When she saw you untied she seemed pissed. "You are ungrateful you little parasite! She swept your feet with a tail and started drowning and choking you, your lungs burnt when you accidentally breathed in some water. Your nose started to burn as your head felt like it was spinning and you finally pass out. You wake up tied to the bed your arms, legs and torso. And you were naked. Elaine layed next to you, "Elaine, did you?" "No, I was simply curious about the human body, especially the genitalia", she moved your hands down towards your nethers and rubbed, you couldn't help but moan, she rubbed faster until you came to your climax. She then positioned herself above your privates and she removed the cloth above her crotch. And rubbed against yours. You both came and she went down to your legs. "You are such a bitchy slut, so disobedient." She complains on and on as she unties your legs. She suddenly crushes your ankle and twists the other. You scream in agony.
"You belong to ME"
"My Siren"
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33-PRINCE AND PRESIDENT GAAP
Enn:Deyan anay tasa Gaap
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Other names:Goap, Gilap
The Thirty-third Spirit is Prince/President Gaap. Gaap is a divinatory spirit. He also acts as an accelerator of social behavior, i.e. how individuals act are perceived and read by specific body language and posture, etc. Gaap is also a spirit of astral and dreaming projection. He appears when the sun is in some of the southern signs, in a human shape. He helps to make men Insensible or Ignorant. He can cause love or hatred. He teaches the understanding and application of the ideals of philosophy and other liberal sciences. He brings love or hatred between politicians. He can make a political opponent insensible. He teaches how to consecrate things of Amaymon, and delivers familiars from other magicians. This is useful for those who want to fight the prayers of the religious right, or the spellcraft of the new age left, and answers truly and perfectly of things past, present, and to come. Evoke Gaap to render others’ magick or power inert while enhancing your own. He rules over 66 legions of spirits, and he was of the Order of Potentates.
Call upon Prince/President Gaap for
⬩Answer on the past, present and future
⬩Astral/dreaming projection
⬩Delivers others familiars
⬩Divination
⬩Liberal sciences
⬩Love and hatred between politicians
⬩Reading body language and posture
⬩Makes people insensible
⬩Philosophy
⬩Ask him what else he will work with you on⬩
⊱•━━━━━━⊰In Ritual⊱━━━━━•⊰
Enn:Deyan anay tasa Gaap
Sigil:Posted above
Plant:Moss
Incense:Storax
⬩Orange candles or objects
⬩Ask Prince/President Gaap what he likes⬩
⬩It is important to learn protections before trying to work with any spirits. You can get tricksters and parasites if you don't.
Cleansings- cleaning your space of negative energies. You can burn herbs or incense for this.
Banishings- forcing negative energies out of your space. The lesser banishing ritual is one of the most commonly used.
Warding- wards keep negative energy out of your space. Amulets, sigils and talismans do this.
Set up a your space and do a cleanse and banishing. Have wards up in your home. Meditation is to calm yourself and get your mind ready. The sigil (symbol) is what you draw on paper. The enn is what you chant or say to call forth the spirit.⬩
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mag200 · 1 year
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what's your favorite tma quote? :O also have you ever listened to the penumbra podcast?
my favorite tma quote? yeah its uh
I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.
You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help. I need it to be seen. To be seen in the cold light of knowledge is anathema to the things that crawl and slither and swarm in the corners and the cracks. In the pitted holes of the hive.
You can’t see it, of course. It isn’t real. Not like you or I are real. It’s more of an everywhere. A feeling. Are you familiar with trypophobia? That disgusted fear at holes, irregular, honeycombed holes. Makes you feel that itch in the back of your mind, like the holes are there too, in your own brain, rotten and hollow and swarming. Is that real?
I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.
I… I haven’t slept in some time. I can’t sleep. My dreams are crawling and many-legged. Not just slithering and burrowing,. though it is the burrowing that draws me. They always sing that song of flesh. I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse. I have that feeling, that instinct that squirms through your belly. There will be great violence done here. And I bleed into that violence.
Do you know, I wonder? As I watch you sitting there through the glass. Eating a sandwich. Do you know where you are? You called me “dear”. “Have a seat, dear.” “You can write it down, dear.” “Take as much time as you need, dear.” Can you truly know the danger you are in?
There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of the pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.
I don’t know how long the nest has been there. It’s not even my house, I just live there. Some sweaty old man thinks he owns it, taking money for my presence as though it will save him. I used to worry about it, you know. I remember, before the dreams, I would spend so long worrying about that money. About how I could afford to live there. Now I know that whatever the old man thinks, as he passes about the house with brow crinkled and mouth puckered in disapproval, it is not his. It has a thousand truer owners who shift and live and sing within the very walls of the building. He does not even know about the wasps’ nest. I wonder how long he has not known. How many years it has been there.
Have you ever heard of the filarial worm? Mosquitoes gift it with their kiss and it grows and grows. It stops water moving round the human body right, makes limbs and bellies swell and sag with fluid. Now, when I look at that fat, sweaty sack, I think about it, and the voice sings of showing him what a real parasite can do.
How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear. It didn’t matter, because no-one in the shop wanted to hear about the ants below it. I tried to tell them, to explain, but they did not care. The pretty young things complained and I left.
That was when I still called myself a witch. Wicca and paganism, I would spend my weekends at rituals by the Thames. I wanted something beyond myself, but could not stomach the priest or the imam or pujari of the churches. I knew better. I knew that it was not so simple as to call out to well-trodden gods. I never felt from my rituals anything except exhaustion and pride. I thought that those were my spiritual raptures.
I wish, deep inside, below the itch, that they were still my raptures. I have touched something now, though, that all my talk of ley lines and mother goddesses could never have prepared me for. It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms.
When did I first hear it? It wasn’t the nest, I’m sure of that. I never went in the attic. It was locked and I didn’t have a key. I spent a day sawing through the padlock with an old hacksaw. My hands were blistered by the end. Why would I have done that if I didn’t know what I would find? The face of the one who sang to me dwelling within the hidden darkness above me. I had seen no wasps. I know I hadn’t. There are no wasps in the nest. So how else would I have known that I needed to be there, to be in the dark with it, if it had not already been singing to me?
No, that’s not right. The nest does not sing to me. It is simply the face. Not the whole face, for the whole of the hive is infinite. An unending plane of wriggling forms swarming in and out of the distended pores and honeycombed flesh. The nest is nothing but paper.
Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.
I used to pick at my skin. It was a compulsion. I would spend hours in the bathroom, staring as close as I could get to my face to the mirrors, searching for darkened pores to squeeze and watch the congealed oil worm its way out of my skin. Often I would end with swollen red marks where it had become inflamed with irritation or infection. Did I hear the song then?
Was it when I was a child, such a clear memory of a classmate telling me a blackhead was a hole in my face, and if I didn’t keep it clean it would grow and rot. Did I hear it then, as that image lodged in my mind forever? Or was it last year, passing by a strip of green they call a park near my house, after the rain, and watching a hundred worms crawl and squirm to the surface.
Perhaps I’ve always heard it. Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.
I need to think. To clear my head. To try and remember, but remember what? I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.
You can’t help me. I’m sure of that now. I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that I itch. Because ‘itch’ is not the right word. There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why the hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note it’s every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.
I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.
and no i havent listened to penumbra yet!
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zzilaa · 5 months
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The Myth of the Two-State Solution
The colonial regime currently residing in Palestine has been preaching about coexistence for the past n number of years. The crux of the matter, they claim, is that Palestinians are uncivilized and they refuse to stop their "senseless violence" in order to even consider peace, which is only achievable by accepting the reality that they have been forced to endure. This is similar to introducing an open wound to the bloody sword, over and over.
For 75 years, the absence of the notion of coexistence has been glaringly obvious, and that is speaking from a social standpoint. In order to truly understand this idea one must draw parallels between two historical events, who share some similarities.
In 1915, as a result of the Armenian genocide, the levant witnessed an influx of displaced Armenians who had no home to go back to, and who came into countries such as Syria and Lebanon with nothing to offer except their skills. Similarly, in the 40's, Palestine received boats upon boats of Jews who had survived the Holocaust, and who were now trying to find a safe haven.
It is important to stress on the fact that both minorities were faced with horrific circumstances, and that the cause of the Nakba was not Jews but the international forces that have been planning to preserve their interests in the Middle East. As a matter of fact, it can be said that Judaism was used as a scapegoat for an operation that has served the West's plans for decades.
But socially speaking, since coexistence has been such a vital point in this debate, one must analyze what it means. Let's take Syrian-Armenians as an example. To this day, while they consider Syria their home, they do not identify themselves as the rightful citizens of the country. They have adapted to Eastern customs, they have learned their language and their traditions, all while maintaining their own heritage and passing it onto the next generations. When they first came to Syria, they worked as craftsmen and they taught these skills to others, whether they were Armenians, Christians, or Muslims.
When we compare this with what is currently going on in Palestine, we notice how coexistence takes on a new meaning. When the West speaks of coexistence, they mean surrender. Israelis have discarded every single contribution that Palestinian natives have made and they have taken credit for them. Suddenly, you have Israeli hummus, Israeli falafel. You have people living in houses that they did not build, that they did not even pay for. Zionists have a superiority complex when it comes to other races and religions. They spit on Christians and prevent Muslims from praying in the Al-Aqsa Mosque. They repeatedly call for "the death of all Arabs". They throw parties by the borders while thousands of bombs rain on millions of Gazans. To them, Palestinians are not their equals, but they are parasites that must be terminated. To the West, Palestinians are an example. They are a subtle but constant way of threatening the Middle East, "disobey us and it will be your turn next".
It this coexistence?
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drxwsyni · 3 years
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genshin hc’s - what makes them snap
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characters: Kaeya, Diluc, Childe anonymous asked: “could I request what makes kaeya, diluc and childe (separately) snap?” a/n: of course, ty for the request bby <3 warnings: physical & verbal abuse, injury, swearing, general yandere themes
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Kaeya
•   He snaps when you snap - that moment when you laugh in his face and call him pathetic for how hard he tries, yet still fails to be the person you need. Kaeya’s the one who should be finding joy in other’s conflict, and sometimes their suffering, not you. To have those harsh and truthful words shoved in his face in such a familiar manner breaks something inside of him that he didn’t even know existed.
•   Kaeya realizes you’re right, he tries so hard to win you over, despite it being all for naught when his sadistic personality ruins things in the end. It was never supposed to be a problem though - you were supposed to just put up with him, because he refused to give you another option. No relationship is easy after all. And, he hoped that you’d be too scared of him to be so defying.
•   Apparently that isn’t the case when you just keep going, calling him a parasite with how he’s leeched to your side, always ruining your chances of making friends in Mondstadt. Hell, at this point you should just leave the region all together, your reputation being tainted by his presence. 
The second such words fall from your lips, a gloved hand comes down on your face, the sting shooting across your cheek.
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
You’d never heard such desperation in Kaeya’s tone before, never felt his strength first hand. If anything told you of the line you’d crossed, that’d be it. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, in which you’re inwardly praying he’ll storm off to cool down. You don’t have to look at him to know the look of uncontained rage on his face, and you don’t try upon hearing him draw closer, boots loud against hard tile.
“Here I was thinking you’d finally learnt your place.” He didn’t bother restraining himself, a hand quickly gripping your upper arm in a painful, vice like hold. “Oh, but don’t worry―” with an alarming pace, Kaeya began practically towing you behind him towards your shared bedroom, “―I’ll do whatever is necessary to re-acquaint you, sweetheart.”
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Diluc
•   There’s not much you can do to deter Diluc. He’s painfully stubborn, your words not phasing him. He loves you too much to let you go, so there isn’t a single thing you could do or say to sway him. 
•   As such, it’s not really what you do that makes him snap, but what others do. 
•   An injury is what makes Diluc lose all self control. The second he takes his eyes off of you, gives you too much freedom - it nearly costs you your life. 
•   Wherever it is you go down, you’ll still wake up in a place none other than his residence, under the care of personal healers that he pays whatever sum needed to bring you back to good health, and to make sure they keep your condition a secret.
•   Nobody knows where you’ve gone, and he intends to keep it that way. The mere thought of putting you in that kind of danger again, or losing you entirely - nothing makes Diluc more sick. Any length to keep you sealed off from the world isn’t too much, not after seeing you on death’s door. 
•   If you thought he was stubborn, controlling to no ends before, it’s only worsened tenfold now. He never wanted things to go this far, truly wishing for the day he’d have a normal and domestic relationship with you. That’s in the past now though, not even mad at the ways he must keep you in line, so as long as it means you’re safe at the end of the day
You’d actually managed to get pretty far this time, making it all the way to the front entrance of his manor. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been any worse, Diluc swinging open the heavy wooden doors just as you reached for the handle. 
It’s okay, you told yourself, there’ll always be a next time.
Now, as you plead for Diluc to calm down, having been sent into a fit if fiery rage seeing you outside your room, you're not too sure there will be a next time.
Finally, the man stills, taking a moment before regarding you with a glare that could kill. “No more chances - if you even so much as think of pulling something like this again, I’ll hurt you so bad you won’t be able to take a single step without my help.”
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Childe
•   Childe needs your attention like he needs to breathe. It’s unfortunate that his duties as a Harbinger often keep him away from you, and so the time he does get to spend in your presence is very precious. 
•   You learn quickly how he thrives off of getting a reaction from you, of being close and the feeling of your body against his. Depriving him of that is the only way to get to him. Childe doesn’t care all that much if you hate him, so as long as you’re not focusing on anyone else. 
•   At first, he’ll take you ignoring him as a challenge. A battle for dominance that he must win. And he tries hard in that battle - Childe is nothing if not a determined fighter. He might start out with innocent means to garner your attention, but that won’t last long. 
•   His constant teasing is bad, the far too intimate touches and heavily suggestive words whispered softly in your ear - but it’s nothing compared to the measures Childe will take should you continue to pretend he doesn’t exist. 
•   Starting fights with innocent people right in front of you, slaughtering his own soldiers should they disobey him - if it gets a reaction, he’s happy. Except he doesn’t realize it’s just pushing you away more. 
•   He snaps when you do the worst thing possible - try and leave him all together. 
Even being the hardened warrior Childe is, he still gave pause from the intense emotional shock when you were nowhere to be seen in your shared bedroom. Hours later, his heart still beat a thousand miles per minute. He’d personally tracked you down, carried you home and chained you up.
You were finally paying attention to him, and he suspected it had something to do with the bloodbath you witnessed on the way back. Well, there was that, and the deep set look of unhingedness in Childe’s eyes. 
He knew what he was doing - how he was scaring you. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious - what with the way you were shaking like a leaf in his lap. You both knew what was coming, how he’d make you regret ever leaving him, which likely made the wait the worst part.
For now, he wanted to bask in the effect he has on you. Of how it makes him feel powerful, seen after so long of being disregarded. 
His perfect little darling, not a thought in your mind that didn’t revolve solely around Childe.
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theharrowing · 2 years
Text
Boy Blue 💙 25: Somewhere where I can truly be myself
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While going through a painful but necessary breakup, you meet someone who is patient, kind, and understanding; everything your last ex was not.
Or is he?
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PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT
💙 Taehyung x Female Reader
💙 word count: 950 + images of text conversations  
💙 college au, text message au, strangers to lovers, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slow burn, slash, poly, major character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+
💙 warnings: discussion of date rape
💙 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin
💙 posted nov. 2021 | read on ao3
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Taehyung's house is far bigger than you expected, and when you walk through the front door, you gasp. Large open rooms are flooded with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city in one direction and other million-dollar homes in the others. Despite the large open windows everywhere you look, trees and shrubberies line the property outside, making his home feel private and secluded. 
Hardwood floors and dark marble countertops make this place look truly luxurious, and you picture the place with his furniture and artwork, imagining it coming together nicely. 
Slowly, Taehyung draws dark curtains across each window as he walks from room to room, inspecting each one, engulfing each space in shadow and fully enclosing you two from the outside world. Despite how large the room is, you suddenly feel a bit suffocated.
"There are five bedrooms, which is a little excessive, but I plan to make one into a darkroom for processing my photos and one into an office," Taehyung beams, looking around the empty space like a kid in a candy store. 
"There's also a wine cellar and a basement that hides behind a panel in the storage room, like in Parasite! It doesn't go down as deep, but it's a fun little secret place for me to store things! Oh, and maybe I'll turn one bedroom into a little library or something!"
A staircase runs along the wall just inside the front door and leads up to the five rooms and a guest bathroom. The master bedroom is at the top of the stairs and it even has an en suite bathroom. You can't believe this place is real as you wander around, eyes wide and mouth agape as the two of you make your way up to the second level.
"Feels like my own little slice of heaven," Taehyung says with a wide smile as he stands at the top of the banister, looking down into the rest of the house. "Somewhere where I can truly be myself."
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Your head hurts as you sit in class, waiting for the lecture to start. So far, Hana and Taehyung are nowhere in sight, and you worry that there's been some complication with your phone being repaired, and worse, that Hana is intentionally avoiding you after what happened yesterday. You catch yourself tapping your pen against your desk nervously, feeling embarrassed by the eyes of annoyed classmates falling on you whenever you look up.
It is only five minutes into class when Taehyung enters sheepishly, bowing to the teacher apologetically before making his way to where you're seated, and you sigh with relief at the sight of his faded teal hair the moment it comes into view. 
Taehyung hands off your phone, and you mouth, "Thank you," before he takes his seat. The screen is fixed, everything seems to be in working order, and you notice 10 unread messages. 
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You try again and again to send the gif but continue to see "Not Delivered" beneath it. Did your service drop? Did Hana block you? You look up, panicked, and spot Jungkook turned around in his seat, glaring at you. Did she tell him what happened? When you look down, your hands are shaking, and you feel the urge to cry, but do your best to suppress it and attempt to focus on class. 
Of course, your phone buzzes, instantly pulling your attention away from the lecture you were barely listening to, and you notice notifications from Jungkook and look up, finding him watching you once more. It's as if he is cutting straight into your soul with those dark, mischievous eyes, and you try to look away, anywhere else, but can't stop your gaze from averting back up, watching him watch you. Why is he behaving like this? Has Hana said something? His eyes flicker to your right, and when you turn your head, Taehyung is now staring at Jungkook, and he looks furious. They both do.
When class ends, you look up to find Jungkook sitting in his chair and staring back at you before he finally scoffs with an eye roll and gets up, taking his bag with him. You feel frozen, and when Taehyung places his hand on your right shoulder, you jump, yanked out of your worried headspace. 
"Let's skip our next classes and get out of here?" Taehyung suggests.
You start to nod but remember your midterm, which is, unfortunately, today. 
"I can't miss today; I'm sorry," you say, feeling suddenly exhausted from frustration. 
Taehyung chuckles and squeezes your shoulder. "There's no need to apologize. I was just offering you a break."
As you gather the items that you've barely taken out of your bag, you realize that you hadn't taken any notes, nor had you been paying attention to anything in class. You feel foolish for letting Jungkook bother you so much, still reluctant to check the messages he's sent to you. When you finally get up to leave, Taehyung wraps his arm around your waist and descends the risers with you. His embrace is warm and soothing, and you wish you could just stay here for the rest of the day.
"I'm probably going to head straight home," Taehyung says as you leave the classroom. "Movers will be there today to start taking everything to the new house."
"That was fast," you respond.
Taehyung hums in response. "Yes, well, I'm excited to finally be there. Many of my belongings are still at my parent's home, so it'll be nice to be reunited with my things. And I want to get all of the rooms set up. Plus..." Taehyung kisses you on the temple, releasing his arm from around you as you approach the door to your next class. "...I'll be closer to you."
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tag list: ​ @dasexydevitt13​, @girl8890​, @illnevertrustmyselfagain​, @mwitsmejk & @starlight-night0​​ ✨ unable to tag: @ffionatev, @giriiboyy 
comment or dm to be added!  💜
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please don’t be a silent reader! comments & reblogs help so much (and likes are nice, too.)
Boy Blue is copyright 2021 theharrowing, all rights reserved.
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peachywrite · 3 years
Text
Unpleasant Pleasantries
Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader
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Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes
Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.
It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.
~
“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.
“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.
“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.
“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.
~
Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.
“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.
Knock Knock
You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.
You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.
“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.
Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.
“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.
The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.
“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”
“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.
“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.
The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.
Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.
“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.
“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.
You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.
The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.
“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.
A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.
“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.
“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.
His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.
“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.
“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.
You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.
“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.
“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.
When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.
As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.
“Heaven’s Door.”
You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.
“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.
“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.
You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.
“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.
“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.
“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”
His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.
You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.
“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”
“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”
Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.
“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.
“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.
The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.
Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.
“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.
“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.
“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.
When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.
“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.
“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.
All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.
The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.
He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.
Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.
“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.
I’m late.
As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.
“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.
“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.
Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.
“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”
He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.
“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.
Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.
Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.
On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.
~
It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.
“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.
“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.
Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.
“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.
“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.
When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.
“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.
Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.
When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?
His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.
You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.
“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.
Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.
“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.
The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.
“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”
Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”
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notstarcey · 13 days
Text
She Prentiss on my worms til I I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.
You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help. I need it to be seen. To be seen in the cold light of knowledge is anathema to the things that crawl and slither and swarm in the corners and the cracks. In the pitted holes of the hive.
You can’t see it, of course. It isn’t real. Not like you or I are real. It’s more of an everywhere. A feeling. Are you familiar with trypophobia? That disgusted fear at holes, irregular, honeycombed holes. Makes you feel that itch in the back of your mind, like the holes are there too, in your own brain, rotten and hollow and swarming. Is that real?
I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.
I… I haven’t slept in some time. I can’t sleep. My dreams are crawling and many-legged. Not just slithering and burrowing,. though it is the burrowing that draws me. They always sing that song of flesh. I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse. I have that feeling, that instinct that squirms through your belly. There will be great violence done here. And I bleed into that violence.
Do you know, I wonder? As I watch you sitting there through the glass. Eating a sandwich. Do you know where you are? You called me “dear”. “Have a seat, dear.” “You can write it down, dear.” “Take as much time as you need, dear.” Can you truly know the danger you are in?
There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.
I don’t know how long the nest has been there. It’s not even my house, I just live there. Some sweaty old man thinks he owns it, taking money for my presence as though it will save him. I used to worry about it, you know. I remember, before the dreams, I would spend so long worrying about that money. About how I could afford to live there. Now I know that whatever the old man thinks, as he passes about the house with brow crinkled and mouth puckered in disapproval, it is not his. It has a thousand truer owners who shift and live and sing within the very walls of the building. He does not even know about the wasps’ nest. I wonder how long he has not known. How many years it has been there.
Have you ever heard of the filarial worm? Mosquitoes gift it with their kiss and it grows and grows. It stops water moving round the human body right, makes limbs and bellies swell and sag with fluid. Now, when I look at that fat, sweaty sack, I think about it, and the voice sings of showing him what a real parasite can do.
How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear. It didn’t matter, because no-one in the shop wanted to hear about the ants below it. I tried to tell them, to explain, but they did not care. The pretty young things complained and I left.
That was when I still called myself a witch. Wicca and paganism, I would spend my weekends at rituals by the Thames. I wanted something beyond myself, but could not stomach the priest or the imam or pujari of the churches. I knew better. I knew that it was not so simple as to call out to well-trodden gods. I never felt from my rituals anything except exhaustion and pride. I thought that those were my spiritual raptures.
I wish, deep inside, below the itch, that they were still my raptures. I have touched something now, though, that all my talk of ley lines and mother goddesses could never have prepared me for. It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms.
When did I first hear it? It wasn’t the nest, I’m sure of that. I never went in the attic. It was locked and I didn’t have a key. I spent a day sawing through the padlock with an old hacksaw. My hands were blistered by the end. Why would I have done that if I didn’t know what I would find? The face of the one who sang to me dwelling within the hidden darkness above me. I had seen no wasps. I know I hadn’t. There are no wasps in the nest. So how else would I have known that I needed to be there, to be in the dark with it, if it had not already been singing to me?
No, that’s not right. The nest does not sing to me. It is simply the face. Not the whole face, for the whole of the hive is infinite. An unending plane of wriggling forms swarming in and out of the distended pores and honeycombed flesh. The nest is nothing but paper.
Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.
I used to pick at my skin. It was a compulsion. I would spend hours in the bathroom, staring as close as I could get to my face to the mirrors, searching for darkened pores to squeeze and watch the congealed oil worm its way out of my skin. Often I would end with swollen red marks where it had become inflamed with irritation or infection. Did I hear the song then?
Was it when I was a child, such a clear memory of a classmate telling me a blackhead was a hole in my face, and if I didn’t keep it clean it would grow and rot. Did I hear it then, as that image lodged in my mind forever? Or was it last year, passing by a strip of green they call a park near my house, after the rain, and watching a hundred worms crawl and squirm to the surface.
Perhaps I’ve always heard it. Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.
I need to think. To clear my head. To try and remember, but remember what? I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.
You can’t help me. I’m sure of that now. I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that I itch. Because ‘itch’ is not the right word. There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why the hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note it’s every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.
I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.
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spencersawkward · 3 years
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hi! today is my birthday (yeah, a day before his) and as a big fan of yours that i am, i know that you made a one-shot for his birthday, but could you do it like it would be if it was your first birthday with him? i reeeally appreciate and love your work! keep doing this, you're amazing! thank you!!
ok the daddy kink gotta go on pause bc we have an EMERGENCY called it's a baddie's birthday! 🥳 happy birthday babe i hope it's as special and lovely as can be! also thank you that made my day of course i'd be happy to write a one-shot like that :)
summary: reader reunites with Matthew for her birthday after his absence on a week-long trip. 
relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew
content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk.
word count: 3.8k 
masterlist
after lighting my favorite candles on the bedside table and smoothing out the wrinkles on the bed, I climb onto the mattress and fold my legs up beneath me, criss-cross applesauce. there's a warm, peachy light that falls onto the white comforter, aureate and gentle when I straighten my spine.
I have spent my birthday so far dealing with tired limbs and people I don't like; the only good part so far was getting lunch with a couple of my friends, but something still feels absent.
that something is Matthew.
he's been in Los Angeles for a week, and I miss him like crazy. the apartment is cold and hollow without him in it, despite the numerous objects of his that decorate every nook and cranny. a star and moon mobile hangs above our bed, which sounds childish but actually is fun for both of us to look at when we're lying together at night.
our eyes always follow as the crescent and circle shapes cross each other in a slow circle while we talk. and every time he's gone, his side of the bed gets cold. I miss his mouth and the shape of his arms when they enfold me. I've never been much for showing affection, but I would cover him in kisses if we had all day together.
absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.
he's coming home tonight and I've been looking forward to it for days now. even our kitten, Clarisse, lifts her head every time someone in the hallway of the building passes. she likes to sit between us whenever she can.
I let my thoughts roam freely as I take deep breaths and center my mind. it's hard to reign in the joy I feel at the memory of him. I haven't had an orgasm since he left, not because I haven't had the motivation, but because Matthew has created a new rule.
neither of us can pleasure ourselves until we see each other again. technically, I suppose we could break the rule and there would be no ramifications-- but it's kinda fun, to be honest. every night he calls me, and every night he tiptoes around the things he wants to do when he gets home. he can always hear the shortness of my breath when he says anything erring on risqué, asking what I'm wearing or if I've been thinking of him. of course I've been thinking of him; my nights swell with apparitions of his touch, moving over my skin without any tangible reality.
it usually ends with him tsking and telling me to be patient while I dig my fingernails into the inside of my thighs, resisting every urge within me to get off to the sound of his voice. he does it so well, too. all deep and desirous when he tells me to be good.
even as I sit here on the bed, a tingling feeling starts in my stomach. I want him too badly, and waiting has been absolute torture. I remember two nights ago, when I was sitting in his favorite armchair with my knees tucked into my chest, speaking softly to him.
"what have you been up to?"
"nothing out of the ordinary: filming, drawing... thinking of you." he had said, the last three words igniting a flame in my stomach. I love to hear him say that.
"anything in particular?" I started to trace absent-mindedly over the skin of my calves.
"thinking about how good you'd look with your hands between your legs." his voice was somehow silky and raspy all at once, like the idea of it was arousing him. I bit my lip and squeezed my thighs together.
"stop tempting me."
"why?"
"you know damn well why." I giggled. he sighed on the other end of the line.
"I'm starting to hate this rule."
"you made it!" I argued, practically able to hear the mischievous little smile on his face.
"I know, but I wanna hear your noises."
"Matthew..." I blushed, even though he wasn't right in front of me.
"I can't wait to hear you scream that." the drop in his tone made goosebumps rise over my skin.
"are you hard right now?"
"maybe." he hesitated. I felt every cell in my body begging me to cheat our rule-- maybe bend it slightly-- but I hold true.
"get home, then, and I'll suck the soul out of you." I laughed a bit and heard him move in his seat.
"stop teasing."
"you're one to talk," I glanced out the window at the city glittering, full of so many people and empty of him. "I should go before we fuck this up for ourselves."
"no..." he whined like a needy puppy for a moment. "just talk to me normally."  
"fine," I pretended to be disappointed. I didn't want to hang up, anyway. "do you wanna hear about my coworkers? that's guaranteed to eradicate all sexual thoughts."
...
he texts me half an hour later, as I blow out the wicks of my candles and watch the rest of the sun disappear. I love nighttime. he's on his way and I get butterflies, despite the fact that I already know what's coming.
instead of waiting giddily with Clarisse, I elect to take a hot shower and wash the day from my bones. I feel more at ease now that I've had some time to sit with my thoughts, although they've made me even more sexually frustrated.
it's only when I'm drying my hair and sitting in my new lingerie slip dress that relief walks through the door in the form of Matthew and a pizza from our favorite neighborhood place. I hear him come in, practically leap up and run into the living room.
"hi!" he greets, standing in the entryway with his suitcase and a scarf thrown casually around his neck. he shuts the door just in time for me to get to him.
"hi hi hi!" I attach myself like a parasite, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tightly.  
"happy birthday, my sweet girl," he kisses the top of my head and lets out a chuckle at my affection. "can I set my stuff down, quick?" Clarisse brushes against his leg.
reluctantly, I disentangle myself and take the pizza box from his hands and carry it into the kitchen. he makes a high-pitched whistle noise as I walk away, bending over to greet our cat.
"liking the view." he jokes. I set down the box and return to him, removing his scarf and coat with something of an impatience.
"shut up," I laugh. he starts to kiss my cheekbone, smiles against my skin while I peel off the winter layers. he's got too many clothes on. "you didn't need to pick up a pizza."
"it's your special day-- I wanted to get you the finest cuisine in Manhattan." he replies sincerely. I bite back a grin and stare up at him, completely and utterly in love with his stupid turns of phrase.
"it's gonna get cold, though."
"why?" he frowns. I answer by pulling him in for a voracious kiss, cupping his face in my hands. after a moment of us pressing our torsos together, he grabs the backs of my thighs and I jump, letting him hold me up. one of his hands rests beneath my butt, squeezing the flesh while we embrace.
"you're gonna drop me if we don't get to the bedroom soon." I giggle into his mouth. he playfully smacks my ass and carries me into our favorite place, slamming the door shut with his foot and setting me down on the mattress. I smile at his perfect features, wanting to both tear into him and preserve this moment in time forever.
he climbs onto the bed, pushes my legs apart and runs his hands along the outside of my thighs to hitch up my slip. I raise my eyebrows but don't argue when he gathers the dress up around my waist and yanks my panties down.
"I've been thinking about your pussy all day." he kisses the skin above my knee, moving much too slowly up my legs while he holds them open. I feel my hips leave the bed in eagerness, and he glances at my core hungrily. "you're dripping, baby."
"don't make me wait any more." I roll my eyes and he places the flat of his hand over my center, barely stimulating me while pushing me down. he knows the effect it has from the tortured whine I release.
"the best things come with time." he winks and continues his open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs. his head is between my legs, but not nearly in the way I'd like it to be. I crave more; he knows it. he licks over a spot near my pussy and I moan.
"sensitive, huh?" he raises an eyebrow. I run my fingers through those unruly curls, tug.
"don't act as if you aren't just as turned on right now."  
"delayed gratification is a skill, darling." he's smirking and it's driving me wild looking at him in this position, not doing anything. he peeks at my body again before meeting my eyes. "you're dragging this out by talking, by the way."
"oh my god." I throw my head back into the pillow, but go silent as he starts to resume his movements. finally, slowly, he licks up my entrance, pausing at my crest to flick his tongue. I gasp and look at him, his focus all on my face.
he rolls his mouth expertly over me, dipping between my folds to taste and releasing a greedy moan before starting to lap and play with it like he can't stop himself anymore. this time, when I grip his hair, I use it as leverage to grind against him. he feels so good, the sounds coming from my lips are truly unhinged.
"oh, shit, shit-- just like that." I choke out. every part of me clings to him. he wraps his hands around my thighs and yanks me down the bed so he can do more with me. every action with his tongue is like a delicious torture, him exploring all the parts of me as if he's never tasted them before. when he runs his teeth gently across my clit, I moan loudly.
"so hot, Matthew, god, please--"
he doesn't even stop to tease me at all. judging by the darkened irises and blown-out pupils, he's lost in his own world while he eats me out. I can feel the pads of his fingertips gripping onto my skin as if it's his only tether to reality. he behaves like someone inebriated, trying new tricks and thrusting his tongue into my entrance. I'm already close, and he can feel from the insistence of my sounds.
he pulls away for a second and I whine, but he puts two fingers over my clit and rubs me like crazy while he talks.
"is this what you wanted for your birthday, sweetheart? to cum?" his mouth is glistening with my essence, lips swollen, while he holds my gaze. I'm whimpering.
"we're gonna have dinner after this and then for dessert, I'm gonna give you what you want," he pants and I can see the erection straining against his clothes. "okay?"
"mhmm." I buck against his touch, which is bringing me closer with every passing second.
"I'm treating you until that little pussy can't take it anymore." he bites his lip and watches me squirm. I'm almost to the edge and I know what will finish me.
"I need your mouth." I beg him hopefully. Matthew grins.
"whatever you want, baby." and with that, he bends down again and replaces his talented fingers with his lips, flicking and running over my clit until I can feel my stomach tensing.
"fuck!" I cry out, rolling against his face and climaxing intensely. my eyes squeeze shut at the tightening of all my muscles. my skin is on fire as I clutch at my tits through the fabric of my dress and feel my back move off the bed. he's pulling my legs up so that he can work me through my orgasm at an angle, harshly sucking at it until I'm completely worn out.
he puts me down and I breathe deeply, try to settle the quickness of my pulse.
"how was that?" he asks, rubbing over my legs affectionately while I come down from my high.
"amazing." I sit up and start to tug at his belt in the hopes of undoing it, but Matthew removes my wrist and shakes his head. I peek up at him with a curious, disappointed expression.
"it's your day, remember?" he says it so lovingly with a slightly higher pitch than normal, soft and laced with kindness. I look at his erection, anyway, always wanting the sight of it.
"that can't be comfortable."
"oh, it's not." he laughs. I let him lift me off the bed and he guides me to the kitchen on my slightly weak legs. everything about him leaves me like that.
Matthew and I eat pizza and drink champagne while he tells me about his trip, about all the cool people he met and places he went to shoot. he shows pictures of the cast and him making silly faces, and a bakery he saw.
"all the pastries are named after amazing women," he grins and presents a photo of the interior, which is full of flowers and hues of rich blue. "so I obviously thought of you."
I smile through my bite of food, heart fluttering. he shows me a picture of a half-eaten cookie that has the silhouette of a woman on the front, sitting in a chair. it's very 1800's-looking.
"it's supposed to be Jane Austen."
"I'm jealous." I grin.
"I'll take you sometime." he puts his phone away and we go back to talking normally. I could watch his lips move forever, listen to his voice forever. there's a quality to his speech that is entirely unique, that draws me in and makes me want to claim him for life. I didn't know it was possible to want someone so completely.
I rant about the things I had to deal with today, and he chuckles at my naturally indignant tone. by the time I run out of steam, we're just sitting with pleased expressions on our faces. even when I'm angry about something that's happened earlier, he knows how to make me forget all about it.
"it would be fun for everyone to meet you." Matthew toys with the napkin in his lap. I sigh.
"as long as there's alcohol involved, sure."
"why?"
"they make me nervous!"
"you have no reason to be nervous," he shakes his head slowly. "they'll love you."
"that's the thing-- I want them to like me so badly, I'll do something to mess it up."
"you couldn't. you're adorable when you're shy." he reaches under the table and squeezes my knee reassuringly. I try to smile, but my stomach twists up at the thought. it's easy for Matthew; he's so uninhibited.
"you say that now, but it'll be a different story when I've managed to fall on my face in front of everyone."
he snorts. "okay, that would be kind of funny."
"hey!" but I'm hiding a smile.
"they'll love you," he keeps his hand on my leg as he looks at me. "you wanna know how I know?"
"how?" I wait patiently for his reply. he leans forward in his seat and beckons me closer.
"because you are the sweetest--" he kisses me. "smartest--" another peck. "funniest girl I know."
"stop." I deadpan as I turn my face away just enough for him to nuzzle my cheek with his nose as I laugh.
"not to mention the sexiest one, too." he whispers in my ear. I put my hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away playfully but finding myself not wanting to.
"I knew that's where you were gonna take that." I roll my eyes. his other hand has been creeping progressively up my thigh until his fingers brush my core. I suck in a breath, remembering that my panties are still in the bedroom.
"you want me to prove it to you?" he starts to stroke over me, gathering the wetness on his fingers that already waits for him. I let out a slight moan as he dips inside and curls his digits.
"mhmm."
he starts to finger me easily, adding a second and pumping them inside while I grip the edge of the table and watch his face concentrate on mine. he's rough and deep, the result of not having his own orgasm earlier. I can see the lust in his eyes like he can't wait to dive in. all that comes out of my mouth are chants of his name, begging for him as his thumb toys with my clit. my walls clench and his jaw hangs open with a slight smile.
"do that again." he says. I obey, squeezing my thighs around his wrist. he feels so good there, and he's not even doing that much. "god, I can't wait for you to do that on my cock."
"fuck me, then." I breathe.
"gladly," he removes his fingers so suddenly, I make a disappointed noise. "get on the table, sweetheart."
"the-- the table?" I glance down at the surface. he nods in complete seriousness. oh, wow.
we clear off the two plates and down the rest of our champagne, his lips capturing mine easily the second I turn around from putting them in the sink. he walks me back to the table, never breaking our contact, before I end up sitting on it. he's between my legs, pushing his hips to mine while he moves my dress up again.
I hum into his neck while he starts to grind against me, undoing his belt and breathing quickly in my ear. I can feel his length through the fabric, feel how desperate he is. I scoot closer to the edge and try to get more.
"are you sure you don't want me to suck your dick?" I peek at him. he tilts my face up and I feel myself sink into those dark circles around his eyes. my beautiful, haunted boy.
"I need to be inside you." he says it without an ounce of humor. every word weighted with desire as he holds me there. my insides feel like they've been electrified, nerves sparking. all I can do is nod fervidly and pull his shirt off.
he takes off his bottoms and stares back at me, stroking his cock while I trail my nails down his chest, abdomen, whatever I can find. he's so gorgeous, I want to leave marks just so I can make sure he's real. he rubs himself in my essence, then pushes the head inside.
"Matthew--" I bite down on his shoulder to silence myself as he stretches me out. it hasn't even been that long, but it feels like the first time. his head dropping down with a long, low groan of pleasure.
"I missed this." he sheathes himself inside, deep, and I feel my walls tightening around him. there's a pressure on my clit from the position we're in, too. I whine on it, letting myself wiggle impatiently.
"move." I whisper. he starts to withdraw, only about halfway, before going in again. I throw my head back at the force of his thrust, so greedy. he's groaning softly while he presses his mouth to my throat, the flutter of his breath over my skin causing shivers to run up and down my spine.
I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to find a rhythm with my body. nails dig into his back as an anchor. the closeness of his chest to mine is comforting.
"do you know how hard it was not to get myself off, baby?" he says, the words threaded with a needy tone. I shake my head and pray he'll keep talking. "every night I'd think about you and I couldn't do anything about it."
"you could have." I taunt.
"this is better," he goes faster, clutching at my waist and legs to pull me closer. "so much better."
"yeah?" I giggle, although it's hard when he's pounding into me so hard. I cling tightly and try to meet his thrusts. he's hitting different angles within me that I didn't even know existed, tearing me apart in the absolute best way.
"I wanna be inside it all day." he moans. I'm scratching his back with the way we're working together, every word out of his mouth and the sounds he makes causing me to lose my mind. his fingers dig into my ass as he slams into me. the table shakes beneath.
"that feels so fucking good." I grab on and roll my hips against his. his hand moves to my shoulder to push the straps of my dress down.
"let me see you," he tugs them until my tits are out, at which point he grabs my waist and pulls me against him, moaning loudly at the feeling. "pretty girl."
I can feel the tidal wave building within me, the seconds that gather into one wild, exquisite torrent of pleasure. the knot in my stomach tightens as he fucks me.
"I'm gonna cum." tears prick the back of my eyes. he's working my figure so perfectly, I can barely see. my legs are shaking before I even reach the culmination.
"good." he gets erratic as he imagines how pleasurable it'll be to have me clenching around him, and I sink below the surface. my hips jerk and I cry out like it's my last time being with him, his name pouring from my mouth. Matthew speeds up.
"so... tight--" he shudders. "oh fuck-- that's it, baby, that's it."
he spills inside and it prolongs our orgasms, both of us breathing hard while I remove my arms from his shoulders and lean back on my hands against the table, him still thrusting gently into me while we hold eye contact.
when he's finished, he removes himself from me and then we're just there, looking at each other with love all over our faces.
"happy birthday, Y/N." he grins.
"can you give me one more gift?" I bite my lip. he frowns.
"oh, I have several gifts for you in my suitcase--" he starts to say with a laugh, then sees that I'm not referring to anything tangible. "yes, anything."
"can you Clorox this table, please?"
Matthew kisses my cheek. "of course."
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shreddedleopard · 3 years
Text
Thoughts on chapter 137, and why it makes complete sense and cements the themes and lessons of Attack on Titan.
I have so many thoughts, I just want to word vomit them out at a million miles an hour, but I’ll try to do this in some sort of order and not my usual chaotic mess.
Attack on Titan is about family and belonging, and THIS is the dream that Ymir was drunk on. This is ‘that scenery.’
Ymir, the founder, just wants to belong somewhere. With someone. She wants to be loved and valued as a person, not as a slave; not as someone who merely fulfils a role. In the latest chapter, Zeke explains how he failed to understand her, but Eren did.
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Look at Eren���s words to Ymir in this moment, several chapters earlier:
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All Ymir has ever wanted is to be held. To be loved like a person. To feel that connection because of who she is, not the role she fulfils.
Eren understands this, in contrast to Zeke, who once again tries to impose her role upon her:
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Ymir has been hanging around in paths all this time, unable to fully die and let her consciousness pass on to the next world, because she needs to find this thing that she’s been searching for since the start of the story.
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It’s not just about romantic love. It’s about connection. That sense of being understood and belonging with someone else, whether that be romantically, platonically, as family ... we keep seeing the same theme brought up throughout the entire manga.
Who else is a character that constantly searches for the same thing? Mikasa.
She has so many parallels and yet also opposites with Ymir. Ymir is told she is a slave, she obeys the king, that is her role. And she accepts it. Because she believes that it’s the only way to find happiness; to find this belonging she’s been craving. However, unlike Ymir, who does not truly love the king, I believe that Mikasa does truly love Eren - what form that takes doesn’t necessarily matter to me at this point. It’s just about connection.
Whether Eren feels the same, tragically for him, doesn’t matter. Because Eren knows he is destined to be the one to end the cycle of hatred and free Ymir. And that will ultimately cost him his life. That is why, when Zeke asks him what he will do about Mikas’s affections - which have nothing to do with her bloodline and everything to do with him - Eren cannot answer. That choice has sadly been taken from him.
When Eren asks Mikasa what she is to him, I think he genuinely wants to know at that point. I think he cares about her so deeply and wants to know she feels the same way, and it’s not just about him being ‘her saviour’. But as we’ve seen before, Eren cannot afford to stop for too long and dwell in the moment, because he must push on towards freedom - the freedom of Ymir and the Eldian people from the curse of the Titans.
This brings his conversation around the table with Armin, Mikasa and Gabi into a whole new light. Eren insults his friends in an attempt to push them away from him - because he knows he won’t be around to live that ‘long, happy life’ with them. So instead, he wants to push them to confront their feelings in the arms of others. He pushes Armin to really consider what Annie means to him, and for Mikasa, I believe that Eren intends her to perhaps look towards Jean, who is truly willing to give her the love she has always sought from Eren. Because again, so tragically, Eren will not be around to provide that for her - regardless of whether it’s something he wants or not. His own wishes no longer matter on the path he has been set upon.
Back to Ymir. Eren tells her, he will put an end to this world:
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He doesn’t mean the human world; the living world. He means the world of paths, where Ymir is trapped, unable to let go of the souls of dead Eldians, because she’s still searching for that connection she craves so much. Her paths world is an attempt to quell that feeling of loneliness she’s been plagued with, but ironically, she’s more lonely than ever, stuck there, serving the bloodline she’s created from a place of misery and duty, rather than love.
The rumbling and the destruction of Marley is a very tragic consequence of what Eren has to do to put an end to the curse of the Titans. He’s searched for another way to no avail; we’ve seen his remorse when he apologises to Halil or Ramsey in chapter 131:
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I think the anger and devastation that’s unleashed in the rumbling, is a result of the hurt and mistreatment both Eren and Ymir have felt at points in their lives.
Eren understands that to destroy the paths realm, first this devastation is necessary, because he’s seen it in his future memories, despite the conflicting feelings it’s evoked from him - he doesn’t really want to destroy humanity outside of the walls, but his own future is telling him that he must and he will. But it’s not Eren’s emotions that drive this initial destruction - it is Ymir’s. These emotions are no different in nature than the ones that Eren felt in response to Armin’s childhood bullies - that sense of unfairness and need to lash out at oppressors - but tragically, unlike Eren who in that moment of intense, irrational emotion had only his fists to vent and release, Ymir is in possession of one of the most terrible and destructive weapons there is - hordes of colossal Titans. And in that moment where Eren finally gives her that validation she has been searching for, and allows her that feeling of release from the duty she’s felt she needed to fulfil for thousands of years, Ymir releases that frustration and anger too and sends them walking.
This theme of the oppressor and oppressed switching places in an endless cycle of revenge and stealing from others what has been stolen from you is a theme that we see repeated throughout not only the AOT manga, but also soundtrack and additional content too.
Eren was right that it would be Armin that saves humanity - because Armin is the one that makes the connection in paths - he understands what is being shown to him with the leaf - and tragically, it actually highlights how, even up until the very end, Eren and Armin knew each other very well. Eren trusted Armin to make sense of what he’s had to do - even if it’s only Ymir that he understands, because while Eren is the one to give Ymir her freedom and unleash this terrible devastation, Armin is the one who must stop it.
But how does this idea of family and connection tie in to the rest of the events in the chapter, and wider manga, and what’s up with Historia’s pregnancy? And how is paths going to be destroyed, if the rumbling has been stopped and Ymir is free, but the Titans are still around?
This is where the rest of our cast fit in - namely Zeke, Levi, Historia and Reiner. If my theory is correct.
Eren gave Ymir the validation she needed and that sense of connection, freeing her from her role, and this bought that final bit of time needed for Historia to give birth to her child. Why is Historia’s child important? Because it is the ‘new dawn’ we’ve seen foreshadowed repeatedly throughout the series. The birth of a new history. And this comes in the form of a new bloodline, no longer infected with ‘parasite’ of the founding Titan.
Unlike Ymir’s bloodline, which stemmed from a place of duty and slavery - as she was ordered by the king to take ‘his seed’, and carried the parasite of the creature that bound to her within the depths of the tree, creating the paths realm and an almost purgatory type space free of death or heaven or earth or anything, Historia’s bloodline will be ‘cleaned’ because of the genes of the child’s father. And not only this, it will be born out of a moment of love and connection, rather than duty. This new combination will make it impossible for a child of the royal bloodline to become a Titan. There will be no coordinate - no link for Ymir from her paths realm to the living world, because the last link to her bloodline - a Titan with royal blood - will no longer exist.
This really brings home the gravity of the moment where Levi cuts Zeke down - he’s the last of the royal Titans, but the reader knows Historia’s baby is about to be born - will they inherit the Titan, and the cycle will re-start?
They will not. The cycle will be broken with them, because - and here’s where it gets wild - Historia’s child is not a Fritz, or a Reiss - they are an Ackerman. They physically cannot turn.
Why does all this fit in symbolically? Let me draw your attention to the genre of Seikaikei.
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Attack on Titan uses this idea with our two Ackermans.
We have both endings. Eren and Mikasa, our bittersweet ending, where Eren ultimately chooses the fate of humanity over his relationships with Mikasa and Armin, and Levi, who, in a moment of selfishness, allows himself to put aside his role for a night - probably at the railroad banquet, where he was supposed to be making sure the likes of Eren and Yelena were kept apart - and indulges in this connection that he’s formed with Historia. You can read my 10 reasons post if you want to for why the heck I would think these two would form a deep bond - it’s all there in the Uprising Arc. They have been the same as Ymir - yearning for a sense of love and connection, but bound by roles neither of them asked for or particularly wanted - reluctant heroes comes to mind. Remember how freckled Ymir’s parting wish was for Historia to live for herself?
The result is an accidental pregnancy which, ironically enough, is what is going to annihilate the curse of the Titans and save the world. How poetic that the Titans will not be ‘driven out’ by hate, violence, and destruction, but instead by love, connection and new life.
Remember Kenny and Uri’s miracle?
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Kenny and Uri’s chapter, ‘Friends’, was exactly halfway back into the manga. History moves in repeating cycles in AOT, and we see things change slightly each time, on this journey to freedom. At this point, the Ackermans and royals were one step away from where they needed to get to in order to build this paradise - and Levi and Historia complete the cycle by becoming ‘lovers,’ tragically, the thing that Eren and Mikasa could not become, because Eren had to undertake the rumbling and be the one to free Ymir from her sorrow and loneliness. She can make the choice now - will she fight to be reborn as Historia’s child - fight for dominance with the Ackerman bloodline - or will she concede, finally laid to rest because the cycle has been broken by two people that love one another, just like the couple Ymir saw long ago and wished for.
Remember how Eren asked Zeke whether the ackermans act the way they do from a place of duty or genuine feelings? He needed to check it was the real deal that would break the curse, and finally lay Ymir to rest peacefully, after 2,000 years of hatred and searching. She will see that her descendant, Historia, finally has what she always dreamed of. That idea of dreams pushing us onwards - Ymir’s dream is realised through Historia and Levi.
As for the parasite itself? I believe Reiner will be the one to lock it in a Crystal prison with himself, deep underground.
A new dawn will come, and a new world will be built from the ashes of the old.
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leftovercuriosity · 3 years
Text
Who & What are the Gods?
Okay! So, you want to work with and/or worship a deity. That’s absolutely, positively amazing; and I truly in my heart of hearts believe you should do that. Once you’ve done extensive research on who they are, what they do, their mythologies, possibly some cultural history; and you know what, let’s throw in some research on the current state of wherever they’ve originated from!
With that all out of the way; I have a question. And I’ll be opening the floor to anybody and everybody who wants to answer this question of mine. My question is as follows; who and what are the Gods? I’m asking this question simply because I get a whole bunch of dirty looks, and people tell me my belief just “can’t be true,” almost as if they are saying it’s impossible for my belief to be true.
If you are wondering what my belief is, I’ll tell you. Personally, I think the Gods are just something that the ancient “humans”, way before we could document the first ever cave drawings, manifested(?) I’m not sure if that’s the right word for this, but please hear me out. I believe this because why would any all-powerful being want to be in a place where they are not believed in by all the inhabitants, first of all; and second of all, why would they want to aid us in any way, shape or form? By nature, us humans are parasitic. It’s gotten to the point where we’ve caused visible changes in our home planet; I mean, we’re destroying the ecosystems of countless animals, plants, and other humans… shall I go on? So, because no one wants(or even can) take the blame for causing our planet to slowly become an uninhabitable inferno; because it truly was and still is a collective, group effort… the gods were created to “save us from ourselves.”  I’m not saying I don’t believe in them, because I do! But, the way we go about them, how we talk to/about them; that portion does not make sense to me. And, I’d like to hear everybody else's opinions!
Let me know your opinions by either messaging me directly, reblogging this post, sending an ask, commenting; I could care less on how you do it, just please let me know!! Also, if you need clarification on anything I said, let me know that too!!
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sukipershipper · 3 years
Note
Can you spill some of ur bugsnax hcs?
I assume you mean with the characters, in which case, Yes of course!  Bear with me though that all of these are going to take place Post-Snaktooth Island. I might do some headcanons on what happened on the island but for now take these.
(SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE END OF THE GAME, I also apologize for it being so freaking long...I actually did not intend on that)
FILBO
They all lived in a small but very prosperous town, said town doesn’t have a name cause Mun isn’t creative enough to make one yet
After being elected Mayor, Filbo had learned to become more assertive with others. His role as Mayor of the small town involves him doing a few small tasks, like cleaning up the streets or helping with lessons at the schools
Other times however he is brought into meetings to plan celebrations, opening new buildings and ways they can develop the community.
His meeting council includes Floofty, who is always helping him out in terms of his decisions.
His office has all of the trinkets and maps from Liz’s adventures, as well as pictures of everything they did on Snaktooth and all the pictures she and Eggabelle have of each other.
Filbo constantly sends out letters in bottles to Snaktooth in the hopes that Liz and Egg will find it and write back. He is still waiting on a response from them
When he gets bored, he often just draws in a spare journal he has. He does this in meetings or when he’s at a lunch with the others
He had a statue of Liz and Egg made and placed in the center of the town to help remember them and what they stood for
WAMBUS/TRIFFANY
Wambus and Triffany live in a small country home just outside the town next to the beach and a small grotto. 
The place has a large amount of land for Wambus to start a farm with all sorts of sauces. The beach they live next to has a big cave with all sorts of secrets that Triffany is willing to discover.
Reconnecting with their kids has been a challenge, seeing as they left quite abruptly. The kids did eventually start coming around though.
Wambus is a very good cook, lots of people headcanon it and I headcanon it too. The man can make a mean roast. Only reason he never did it on Snaktooth was because the food was already walking around so he had no need to.
Triffany may look like a stick but she’s actually quite strong. On the same levels as Wambus and Chandlo? Maybe not. But she has punted several people before.
She is also very unconventional in her methods, resulting in lots of Scars and broken bones. Wambus had tried bandaging her up before but after failing 15 times he just called Floofty.
Speaking of Floofty, the couple have a very good relationship with the scientist. Floofty often helps Triffany with collecting samples or attempting to help Wambus with growing crops, though those attempts often result in Wambus yelling and Triffany trying to calm her husband down.
FLOOFTY
Floofty now teaches at the towns school, they’re a very talented professor and many of the students they teach have delighted in their work. Though other teachers find the methods very...unconventional.
Though Floofty is still quite cold hearted to most of the grumpus’ they have learned to be more cheerful towards certain Grumps. One of which being Snorpy and the other being their students.
Many students ask how Floofty lost their leg, to which they reply: That information is irrelevant, but if you truly wish to know then speak with the Mayor
When Not teaching they’re usually helping Snorpy out with anything involving the Grumpinati. Though they aren’t really of much help considering their methods
They definitely are considered a cannibal, Floofty was once seen carrying an arm (no one knows if that was theirs) and took a little nibble of it...then spat it out and complained that it was too salt
They are always helping Filbo out in terms of his mayoral duties.
GRAMBLE/WIGGLE
Gramble and Wiggle share a small little two story home in the town. The house is decorated with all sorts of flowers and different patterns on the fence
While Wiggle is always busy touring, playing music, Gramble became the local veterinarian for the town. His experience with the Snax actually prepared him for the animals. 
He also has a small little puppy, ten times better than any of the Snax he had
Gramble still does keep pictures of Sprout around his room, as much as he hated knowing he harbored a parasite in his home, he still missed the little guy. (I am fully convinced the one at the end though was Sprout)
He and Wiggle began dating right after they settled into the house together, believing that it was much needed change for the both of them.
Gramble knits sweaters for Wiggle since she goes out touring so much, he also knits plush versions of the Snax he kept back on Snaktooth. It was the biggest mistake he made, cause now he envisions them staring at him and wanting to murder him
Wiggle always tries to help him when it comes to his nightmares. Playing white noise or ASMR videos so he can go to sleep
Her songs are very well received and she has quite a lot of publicity. Do The Wiggle is still one of her best selling numbers, but she has some love for her other pieces too.
She is always asked to sing at events by Filbo, and of course she never says no. One of her favorite things to do is get one of the kids to come up and sing Do The Wiggle with her since it’s one of the best songs in their opinion
She has a ring box tucked away in her dresser, she’s waiting for the right moment to pull it out on Gramble and propose
CROMDO
Cromdo is doing much better in life, opening up a successful karaoke bar and gets quite a lot of business from some of the guys in town. 
He also showed the less serious side of himself a lot more, and once he let down such a defensive guard he was able to get further in life, albeit he still has a long way to go
He and Beffica still don’t get along, but they’re on better terms than they were back on Snaktooth 
He hasn’t completely dropped his ways though, he’s still a big old Scumbag (and we love him for it). Often he tries to make a profit off something miniscule like an old bottlecap. 
Though Cromdo is still a scumbag, he helped Filbo and Buddy set up Filbo’s campaign to get him elected
Cromdo still tries stealing Triffany’s stuff and Wambus fucking yeets him all the way into town. How he has no broken bones from that is still a mystery to everyone.
BEFFICA
Beffica is now a photographer for the local newspaper, probably not a good choice in many of the Grumps opinions
She is however much better than she was on Snaktooth, and does have a small friend group outside of the Snaktooth Island group
Her old friend group has tried getting in touch with her but she’s very reluctant to talk to them again
Many of the older grumpus’ have basically adopted her because she’s still very shaky after everything, they didn’t expect her to be so shaky but life is surprising.
Her favorite person to go to though is Triffany, for the pure fact that she and Triffany just talk about guys and it’s the best chat ever
She and Filbo are on much better terms, and she may or may not have some feelings hidden for the new Mayor but we will never truly know
She and her ‘Bestie’ go out for Boba tea all the time, a truly fun experience for the both of them
CHANDLO/SNORPY
Chandlo takes Snorpy out on morning runs all the time, he’s proud that his bro is taking baby steps into letting the outside world embrace them
Oh, Snorpy is also He/They now, I honestly feel like it fits them
Snorpy and Chandlo moved to a small little apartment complex for now. The home is very quaint and the two have little designated areas for all the stuff they have.
They also had to make room for Floofty as the sibling insisted on staying with their brother for...reasons
Chandlo goes to library a lot to learn new techniques to help Snorpy, but he also secretly reads up on articles about the Grumpinati in the hopes to help Snorpy destroy them one day
He and Floofty have made a strong pact over the fact that Snorpy must be protected at all costs, no exceptions
Snorpy is a lot more open about what he does now, often asking for advice from Chandlo about his inventions and whatnot.
Neither of them are good cooks, they both try but both almost always burn the complex down so they just ask Floofty to do it
Snorpy actually bruises very easily, he is a literal tomato. So he doesn’t always participate in many physical activities but he does try his best
When Snorpy does bruise, Chandlo goes into full panic mode as he doesn’t know how to tend to wounds. No one ever told him that you can put ice to make it go down quicker
They are married, they have all the paperwork signed and the rings to prove it
SHELDA
She does still go by the name Shelda as people aren’t quite used to calling her Shellsy Woolbag
She actually took up dating when she encountered an old friend of hers, such friend does not have a name because as stated before, Mun is not creative
Shelda has a lot of books and meditation CD’s in her shelves, she also has a Tape Player so when she goes out on walks she can listen to some of the best audiobook readings
She and Floofty get a long a little better, sometimes Floofty will give her insight as to what the world is to THEM and Shelda shares a funny story in return, one that does manage to make Floofty laugh surprisingly.
People don’t often see her get out much, possibly because she’s always busy writing up her experiences and whatnot
She is Buddy’s comfort and the one that they room with currently, she is actually very good company believe it or not
She and Buddy also love writing little stories together as practice for her next book, and they also exchange drawings and doodles they’ve done over the course of the day.
And that’s pretty much it! 
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yelenasdog · 3 years
Text
wondrous mess (40s!bucky x fem reader)
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𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: angst with some tooth rotting fluff halfway 
𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: war is so cruel, it’s only fair that the both of them have to expirience it’s wrath together.
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 11k+ (my longest fic!!)
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: the beginning shows implications of alcoholic tendencies and behavior as well as derogatory terms from the 40s to describe those who are suffering from alcoholism, war, character death, denial of death, being a widow, cheating, crying, implications of sex, that’s abt it. if i missed any, feel free to shoot me an ask or message :) 
𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: (listen to these in order for best reading experience)
☆time flies- mac miller
☆at last- etta james
☆crying time- dean martin
☆paper rings- taylor swift
☆fine line- harry styles
☆dream a little dream of me- ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong 
☆twilight time- the platters
☆you don’t have to say you love me- jerry vale
☆moon river- andy williams
☆as the world caves in- matt maltese
☆we’ll meet again- vera lynn
☆everlong (acoustic version)- foo fighters
𝚊/𝚗: i hope u enjoy this!! i’ve worked so hard on this and done so much research, it truly took the most time and effort i’ve ever used in a fic. there’s more disclaimers at the end :)
·。·☆·。·。
December 28th, 1941
The alleyway was dark, unnerving, and cold. A man’s loud and gruff voice projected through the nearly empty alley, bouncing off of the newly propaganda strewn walls. His arm was left hanging defenseless in the air.
“Don’t go, please, we’ll talk it out.” His 5 o’clock shadow seemed more prominent, his clothes wrinkled and smelling of alcohol while his breath was that of smoke.
He had changed since they had gotten together, but he wasn’t the only one.
She turned on her heels from where she stood just outside the backstreet, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill. 
She had aged in the time she had been with Jake, the lines on her face deepening, the bags under her eyes darkening with blue and purple hues. Her painted lips had become cemented in a scowl, her formerly bright smile rarely seeing the light of day. But the distraught girl had no intentions of letting her new Bésame mascara go to waste on some jerk, much like the past few years of her life had. She strutted towards the blonde, regaining her lost composure.
She jabbed a manicured finger onto his chest, causing the man to recede slowly, the girl he had angered not far behind.
“You listen here, you crumb. I will not sit around all slack happy so you can go around and kiss some other dame behind my back.” She removed her hand, crossing it tightly against her chest with her other arm.
“Well, I was buzzed, that bird wasn’t even any importanc-“
“You’re unbelievable!” She gasped, rolling her eyes. She turned away once again. Jake followed in suit.
“Leave me alone, Jake.” She kept her eyes straight ahead on the unfamiliar Brooklyn sidewalk. She had originally come to the area to surprise her now ex- boyfriend after his work in the factory, but was in for a shock when she saw him making out with some girl (not for the first time) just outside the diner on the way.
So even if she didn’t have a clue where she was going, she sure as hell was going to act like she did. Seeing that her stride wasn’t faltering, he made an outcry of her name followed by a bellowed  “No!”
Jake grabbed her shoulder, and she shrugged it off, continuing to walk down the cobblestone street. There were cars buzzing past, and people talking around her on the street.
Couples. Happy couples who she quite honestly envied.
“You’re not allowed to touch me like that anymore.” Jake scoffed at her seemingly venomous words, wrapping a strong hand around her dainty wrist.
“Now don’t go into a decline, it’s not that big of a deal.” Her eyes narrowed at the sandy blond.
“Oh, please. You kissed her, and all the others, because you wanted to and because you could. No regard for anyone’s feelings but your own, just like always. And I’m sick of it, I really am!” She threw her hands up, and they fell back to her side with an audible plop against the gabardine fabric.
Jake looked around nervously at all the people whose attention he had drawn, his eyes darting to and fro.
“Don’t make a scene,” he called her by her nickname in a vain attempt to draw out her sympathy. “Please, we can work it out like we always do.”
“Don’t you dare call me that. You have no place to do so. And I think I’ve made my point fairly evidently. Jake Nelson, you are nothing but a swigger and a cheat, and I want nothing to do with it any longer. Goodbye.” She felt a rush of adrenaline as she picked her head up, the setting sun in what to her seemed a poetic manor.
She didn’t know where she was, how she would get home, where she would sleep. But he was gone. That parasite that had been feeding off of her and her emotions, taking advantage of her again and again, was finally gone. And it felt great. She took a breath of the heavily polluted air, noting how it somehow seemed clearer.
She could breathe again, and the feeling was intoxicating. In her newfound bliss, she continued walking for she didn’t know (nor care to find out) how long.
The sky that had since changed from it’s scarlets and oranges to an indigo sheet (becoming nearly impossible to see the stars with all the heavy smoke wafting in the air from the ever so busy factories) provided a hint at exactly how long it had been since she began her adventure. 
She would stare at the buildings as she walked past, analyzing those who walked in and out of them, considering the way they walked, how some appeared dreary, others animated, and making up backstories for them each in her mind. Some of her stories were sadder than others, and some had the most glorious of tales. She liked to think that she was correct about her human hypotheses, even if she was the furthest thing from it.
She swung her head to the left side of the street she was walking on, and not far ahead, she noticed a rickety looking old bar. After her day's events, she felt she deserved a celebratory drink, so she pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the dimly lit area.
The airy sound of piano filled the air, a joyful demeanor to the place. Couples (which she still envied, even if momentarily the said envy had gone vacant) were dancing about happily. Not a care in the world. Not in the moment, at least.
But when she made it past the entrance, that moment stopped. It was like every head turned, all conversations paused, the clinking of the piano keys was no longer to be heard. She gave a small nervous smile to the occupants of the room as she walked to the bar itself, standing just a tad bit taller at the attention. 
And as soon as the moment had stopped, it seemed to have started back up again when she ended up at her destination. Because as she had learned, time truly never stopped for anyone. 
The piano’s melody resumed, everyone was back on their feet in no time. She took a look around, soaking up the atmosphere in complete awe, feeling free as a bird of some sort.
Soon enough, she was slowly sipping away at her concoction while facing the splintering door, her head occupied with thoughts concerning what came next, how she would handle the effects of this adrenaline high she was now stepping off. Her thinking was interrupted, though, by a deep voice and a tap on the shoulder, making her jump in her seat.
“‘Scuse me?”
She turned on her stool to face whoever it was that wanted her attention. Both figures eyes widened at the sight of the other, shock spreading across their faces.
“Well if it isn’t James Barnes!” She spoke, genuine excitement filling her soul. He called out her old nickname, contended with his discovery.
“It’s been awhile! And please, doll, it’s Bucky.” He reminded her with a charming smile. A warm blush rose up from her neck to her cheeks, and butterflies suddenly hatched in her stomach, fluttering about like nobody's business. She nodded, taking another sip from her drink to avoid meeting his eyes (which were much prettier than she ever had remembered from school). 
The clean shaven boy- or man as of late, pulled out a chair next to her, sitting down. The two engaged in friendly conversation, their laughs mixing in the warm, thick air with the sounds of the music. Her heart was beating out of her chest, leaving her feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush all over again.
After some time of very pleasant conversation, a less effervescent matter had risen.
“So,” James began, taking a swig from his glass. “Still with that souse, what was his name,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Jake! That’s his name, Jake!” 
The girl shook her head and rolled her eyes with a laugh.
He was enchanted already.
She began to tell a toned down version of the occurrences with Jake, Bucky remaining captivated by her presence the entire time. James would speak up every few statements, always resulting in her losing her place, not that she minded.
Towards the end of the so called story, there was an interruption towards the front of the bar. 
The moment stopped once more, but in a quite different manner than how it did when she had first entered.
He hollered out her name, followed by an equally as loud “Where are you?” He turned to a man to his left. “Where is she?” He slurred. The scruffy man only shrugged, scooting away from the drunken one that had walked into the brick building.
“Jake, what are you doing here?” She questioned, slowly walking towards the man, trying not to upset him further. 
“Why’d you leave me, huh?! Why’d you cause a scene and go?” He was hysterical. Tears ran down his red face and his hands feverishly grabbed at his scraggly locks for some sense of comfort. 
“Jake, you’re not in your right mind. Leave me alone and go home, you’re leaving your mother worrying, I’m sure of it.”
Her voice began to shake, ripples of emotion that had been repressed for the past years bubbling up to the surface, taunting her, threatening her, to erupt.
And God, his mother, his poor mother.
The frail old woman was half the reason she had even stayed with Jake in the first place,
Her heart was weak, and her son’s behavior never left her any room to breath. So the girl would dedicate much of her time to cooking meals for the widowed Ms. Nelson, bringing them over and sitting with her for hours on end, speaking with her of Jake’s childhood, memories of her late husband spending time with the boy along with it.
Her favorite stories throughout them all, though, were the ones of Jake’s childhood pup, a golden retriever called Benjamin.
Ms. Nelson loved to tell the story of how odd it was that the young boy chose the human name, rather than something frivolous and fun, like Buddy, or Peanut.
So a teary eyed version of the girl would think back to that story whenever Jake would behave in this manner, she would think of Benjamin and a youthful Jake, frolicking in the Oklahoma fields where Jake had grown up.
An extremely happy child, an even sweeter boy.
But no longer could she do so. Not now, after Jake had gone and betrayed her for some random girl.
Some random girl who would never sit with his mother for hours, listening to her weep about her broken son who she pretended to not notice was silently suffering. Some random girl who wouldn’t comfort him when he had a rough day at work, trying to be an active distraction so that he wouldn’t turn to his vice.
Because she had loved Jake Nelson, even if she wanted to pretend she didn’t.
And it hurt her to walk away, but she had to, for his own good.
Which led her to push the image of a golden fluff ball and the face of a smiling small boy out of her mind completely, weighing herself down to the present, meeting Jake’s sad emerald eyes. She walked forward, taking him by the shoulders. Her voice was hushed as she spoke.
“Jake. You’ve become someone I don’t know, someone that’s hard to love. But I did it anyway for a long, long time. Maybe some other time, perhaps even in another life, we can be together. But that all depends on you.
You’ve hurt me, and I can’t pretend you haven’t any longer, Jake. So go home. Please.”
Her eyes hunted through his, sifting for some sign of reassurance that he understood the gravity of the situation.
“But I love you-” He whispered, acting a stuttering mess. Everyone at the bar had gone back to whatever they were doing before he came into the room, not wanting to involve themselves in whatever mess it was obvious the two of them were in.
She took hold of the brown fabric of his coat, gently turning him towards the door. She walked behind him, her hand not leaving his back for some subconscious fear he would do something he would regret once he was of sober mentality.
She discarded it as nonsense;
But nevertheless, her death grip on him never faltered, even for a moment.
As soon as she made it outside, she waved over a cab, the bright yellow vehicle being the only completely visible object in the cool night.
It pulled over with a loud screech, leaving rubber tracks on the damp asphalt. She wrinkled her nose, before digging around her embroidered bag in a flurry, pulling together $5.27 exactly. She knew it would be enough to cover the long ride from the factory to his home, as the high cost of the ride was one of his many worries he did his best to forget in any way he could possibly fathom.
So she told the cabbie his address, helping Jake into the back of the car. He held her hand and looked up to her with pleading eyes. She squeezed it once before putting his back on his lap.
“Goodnight, Jake.” She smiled softly, briefly touching his cheek before shutting the door. She saw him look out the dirty window, before leaning back into the leather headrest and letting his tired eyes flutter to a close, finding momentary bliss, despite all going on around him.
She took a deep breath, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, watching him until the taxi was just barely visible, to where calling it a yellow blob would be generous. But she followed it with her eyes not a moment later, for she had some explicable fear from a tall-tale her mother had told her long ago, about how you would never see someone again if you watched them off completely.
Whether that be by death or some curious mishap along the journey towards it, she never quite felt the urge to find out. And one could take that as a bitter yet nectarous testament to her feelings towards Jake, but even if she wanted to, she wasn’t even sure if she could herself.
She revolved in zombie like fashion, too caught up in her own world once more, to notice a certain brown haired (soon to be, not that he knew it) sergeant.
A stormy look of displeasure had casted itself across his stark features, but his cerulean eyes remained cordial, almost like a safe haven of calm waters to find refuge in.
And almost like in every cliche love story that ever was, she bumped into Bucky, gasping before transitioning into an expression of her regret, a waterfall of apologies gushing from her lips.
He called her by her nickname once more, catching her attention and making her heart skip a beat.
“Seriously, it’s alright, no harm done.”
She zipped her mouth shut, so to say, and just gave a curt nod before starting to go inside. And ever the gentleman, Bucky let her get halfway to the door before calling out her name. She turned once more, salty droplets beginning to roll down her face. 
“Yes?”
He looked down to his feet and then to the bustling city street beside him. After much contemplation in the span of what felt like hours (but was only a few moments), he met her eye.
“I know it’s not my place, and if you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, we don’t have to, but what happened in there-”
He paused, taking a deep breath in a futile effort to put his nerves at bay, keep the storm from shore to the best of his abilities. He puffed his cheeks, offering his arm before retreating it again, similarly to the way Jake had however many hours ago.
“You don’t deserve that.” He shook his head, left to right, his ungelled hair shiny under the yellow street lights, making him look like an angel.
“I know.”
He shuffled closer to her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The wind howled around them in an agonizing manner, how lone wolves under a full moon would do the same.
They watched as their frosty breaths floated like smoke in the air, their faces illuminated by the storefront displays lining the streets from Christmas that was only a few days prior, leaving no time to take down the brightly colored decor. You could practically hear the animated Santa Claus’ “Ho ho ho!” from where he sat in the front of a toy store, beckoning those who walked past to come on inside and take a look, maybe spend a few dollars.
But to Y/n, it felt as if the cheery old man was simply mocking her as she was in her current state.
“Really, I mean that, I do.”
Now to reiterate, Bucky was a gentleman, that much was clear. So although he outright wanted to tell her that it seemed as if she didn’t realize her own worth and that, Hell, Steve could treat her better than that punk. But alas, he kept it to himself, only doing his best to comfort her, upsetting her further, never an intention in his mind.
She nodded, giving a tight lipped smile. “Thanks, really.”
She shivered, admiring the red and green lights around her, her glazed over eyes reflecting the image of them beautifully, almost like a work of stained glass art in her iris.
“You wanna head back inside? You look kinda chilly.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m just going to stay out here for awhile.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
All that was heard then, was the clicking of his shoes against the cobblestone, with the occasional car whizzing past. But then, she asked him to stay.
Her voice was soft, so much so, in fact, that she possessed what Bucky would say was mistakable for the voice of a mouse, which he would know after spending as many years around Steve that he had. He almost had missed it, but by some miracle, maybe a lucky star, he didn’t
So he turned around, not saying anything to disturb her seemingly exteriorly serene state, only walking up behind her, pulling off his jacket and placing it on top of her shoulders. He smoothed it out briefly, his touch feather light. For he wasn’t sure if he was breaching a certain level of intimacy, breaking any boundaries, with a woman who was practically a stranger.
“Is this alright?”
She nodded again.
“This is fine.” She closed her eyes, feeling much warmer now, but she was slightly torn on if the newfound comfort was accredited to the jacket resting upon her shoulders, or the company standing patiently beside her.
She was starting to think it might just be a little bit of both.
-
June 14th, 1943
The two's relationship (if you could call it that) was painstakingly slow, not that Bucky ever minded.
Word of the war and when, not who, would get drafted had spread, and any waking second for the past years, she was terrified the man she was developing ever strong feelings for would be ripped away with only a moments notice.
But regardless of that, she had a hard time trusting him, that much was true. It wasn’t his fault, not in the slightest. She wished more than anything to forget her past with Jake, but it was no use. So it took her much time to be able to trust James. But he was patient, and he always stayed.
So when he did get called away, it was a rude awakening.
She had only recently met Steve, before Bucky (who she still called James) was sent overseas. Her maternal instinct she didn’t even know she had immediately kicked into overdrive at first sight of the sickly boy, making her promise Buck that she would watch over him, much to Steve’s dismay. Although, there was no doubt in any of their minds she would in the first place, it was a given.
(Steve secretly loved the way she fussed over him, but he would never admit to that.)
The three of them had a lovely time at the Stark Expo the night before Bucky left, leaving a happy new memory for Y/n to drift to whenever she missed the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and his cologne, that was all uniquely him.
She would picture entangling her arms with Steve and Bucky’s own as she skipped happily, pulling the boys along behind her; not too rough of course, for Steve’s sake
She had been full of an electric happiness that night, stealing kisses with James when Steve wasn’t looking, a pink tint falling upon his plump cheeks. She stole his hat right off his head of hair that she loved to run her fingers through so much and put it on, crooked so much so it nearly fell right off. She wore it the whole rest of the night, Bucky wanting to never see her take it off, if it were possible.
Later that night when he took her home, she stood by the doorway, the porch light doing a sad job of lighting up the area, casting a faint amber glow across James’ features.  
The hairs left astray from where she had Bucky’s hunter green cap previously were lit up, forming a halo. 
She was a wondrous mess, and James simply adored her in that moment.
(He also adored her in any other instance since the minute he had laid his eyes on her, but the point still stands.)
You could smell the grass if you had tried, freshly cut and still damp from the late night shower they had run through while making their way home, turning through twisty alleyways, feet pattering against walkways.
Their hands had been slipping apart the entire time, perhaps an attempt by Freyr for a cruel joke in the last hours the lovers would spend together before James was to leave.
Maybe he was up in the sky at Mount Olympus, laughing down at the two mortals as the girl kept her hand gripped securely around the man’s stronger limb, refusing under any circumstances to let go. Maybe his laugh turned to a fond smile from above, finding pleasure in how his jest resulted in such an act of youthful care, not minding in the slightest that it had been counterproductive in the best ways.
“Thank you, James. I had an amazing night.”
He grinned ear to ear, awkwardly shuffling closer to her silhouette.
“Same here, doll.”
And just like that, she had crumbled like a coffee cake, another warm and itchy wave silking up her neck. Past the neckline of the uncomfortable dress she wore because she knew Bucky loved it (even though he would no longer love it and would insist she never wear it again if his ears heard any words of upset at the garment fall past her lips).
It traveled right past her best pearls with the rhinestone right in the center that she had made sure to wear because James had once told her that they made her eyes sparkle, that sly son of a gun.
The twinkle truly had been there solely because of him on that day and most others, but she would allow him to believe what he wanted to believe until the end of time, if it kept that boyish smile cemented on his pretty face.
But as it eventually always would, his smile began to falter, shifting into a slight pout, then into a full on frown as soon as her eyes had become visibly misty.
Bucky reached a hand forward snatching the cap from her head. She huffed, and he rolled his eyes as he placed it back on his head. 
“I’ll be needing this tomorrow, sorry, sweetheart.”
They both laughed for a moment, the memories of the night still fresh in their young minds.
“I’m going to miss you, James.”
Her chin suddenly quivered, her nose ran, and her thoughts were racing at the speed of light.
She couldn’t lose him. No, not yet, she wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t ever be ready. She hadn't even begun to express to him how much she loved him, let alone that she couldn’t bear to live a day without him (as the information was quite new to her as well). So how in God’s name was she supposed to ship him off to war, just like that, practically a sitting duck for those bastard nazis to poke and prod at all they want?
“I’ll miss you more, darlin’. More than you know.”
They both made an attempt at watery smiles that ended up looking more like two painful grimaces, which was more of a reflection of their current moods than the aforementioned. His eyes pleaded with her to say something, anything. One of her quick witted facts, maybe a scolding perhaps, for having such a negative attitude in the current predicament.
Not able to stare at his collapsing facade any longer, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. She quickly reciprocated, placing a strong hand on her waist.
There was a longing look in her eyes as the gears of her brain turned, carefully formulating what she wanted to say.
“Marry me.”
Well, formulating is a strong word.
He laughed at the notion, the sound ringing out and echoing off the small porch. But the whimsical tune soon halted when he realized he was the only one making it.
“Doll, are you serious?”
“Never been more serious about anything in my life, James.” She moved her hands to take his, holding them up to her chest and shaking them as she spoke with a supplicate glance. He said her nickname in a careful manner, trying to articulate a response, muttering something about not having a ring, how their families (Becca included) would be furious they missed the wedding. But she was having none of it.
“Well I’m sure given the circumstances, they’d understand, and if they don’t then oh well. And quite frankly, as for the ring, I could care less, James, make a ring out of paper and slap it on my finger, it's all the same to me. We can go to the court tomorrow morning before I see you off-”
She moved her head down to where Bucky was gazing, tilting it back up with her pointer finger.
“Let me marry you, dammit.”
They laughed for a second, both of them this time, although her’s was much more convincing.
“But why now?”
She paused again, the only sound to be heard was the soft chirping of the crickets hidden in the grass.
“Because I know you're far too much of a gentleman to leave me widowed, James Barnes.”
He pressed soft kisses on her knuckles, meeting her eyes.
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Oh, only every day.”
He rolled his eyes and smiled, pulling her in by the waist. He connected their lips, and felt her smile into the kiss. He also happened to feel a hand creeping up to where his hat rested on the crown of his head, but the feeling wasn’t prolonged.
She snatched it off his shiny locks with a devilish grin, a sparkle in her eye shining like the North star Bucky soon would be gazing upon at night to direct him through the dark nights.
“You should keep that on for forever, you know. Looks better on you, anyway.”
She raised a messy eyebrow, the corner of her bright red mouth turning into a smirk.
“Oh really, is that so?”
Bucky hummed and nodded, kissing her nose and watching in delight as it crinkled up and a high pitched giggle escaped from her lips. Then it was quiet for some time, the only thing able to be heard was the droplets of rainwater sliding off the roof and plopping on the floor as her and James stood in contemplation.
“I’ll marry you, doll.”
She smiled at him warmly, leaning into his larger frame completely, the scratchy green fabric of his uniform flush against her cheek.
“I know.”
He barked a loud laugh, and she felt it through the fabric covering his chest, savouring the feeling.
“You know? Well how did you know?”
She only sighed, moving to open her rickety front door, which the whole neighborhood probably knew judging by the squeak that echoed from it.
“Because, just as I said before. You’re a gentleman. You’d never turn down a proposal in public, especially not from me.”
Bucky’s face contorted, and the gears of his head turned as he made an honest effort at understanding how they were in public.
“But, we’re not?”
She shook her head, stepping into her home and then turning to face him straight on.
“Technically, we were on the patio, which is in the yard, which is in the neighborhood, which is in public. Now, if I were to propose to you right now with you-”
She tugged his arm, forcing him into the building. 
“-also in my home, you would have every right to say no.”
She looked up, scanning his features. Admiring his cheekbones, his lips, and his sharp jaw. But most prevalently, she found herself absolutely enchanted by his eyes, as she always was.
“But I won’t.”
“But you won’t.”
She smiled, the look on her face resembling that of a fox smirking at her prey. She waltzed to the door, closing it softly.
“So,” she began, taking hold of Bucky’s hands.
“Tomorrow morning it is, then?”
“I think it is.”
“Whatever shall we do in the meantime?” She questioned, both of them having ideas that were entirely the same.
“I think I might have an inkling of an idea.”
She huffed, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“You and your ideas, James. Always ‘thinking’ of something new.”
He only hummed in agreement, nuzzling his forehead against hers, before moving down to her ear.
“I’d like to believe I act on those ideas. Would you agree?”
You can most likely guess her answer.
-
The next morning was a mixture of great sorrow and great joy all at once. Sure, they had to get up at the crack of dawn on what would be Bucky’s last chance to sleep in for a very long time, and sure, the minister had given them very strange looks, but it had been done.
And to the newly wed Mr and Mrs. Barnes, it was worth it completely.
But nearly as soon as the exciting event had ended, she was standing on the slimy pebbles of Brooklyn's Pier 57, doing her best to not lose her footing on the wet stones. She had given James one final goodbye kiss, before watching him board the Dominion Monarch to be shipped off to England.
The large vessel departed, and for once, she allowed a few tears to slip down her blushed cheeks, her smeared mascara coming with it, just as she knew it would. The bitter droplets were warm, a juxtaposition to the feeling in the pit of her stomach formed by the voice nagging at her that Bucky would never see her again. That her wedding day would be the last time she would ever see her husband. It was a possible reality she never wanted to have to face.
And after so long, she decided she was tired of waiting. So she made a call.
“Hello? Is this Agent Margaret Carter?”
-
December 25th, 1943
Bucky Barnes was not opposed to the idea of Y/n joining the army. He was appalled.
So when on the crisp morning of December 25th, it was quite a surprise when he opened what he had presumed to be a letter wishing him a Merry Christmas from his wife, and rather receiving some interesting news.
He had been laying his backside against a tree, the scratchy bark feeling rather uncomfortable. He smiled, smiled at the news of his wife going to war, not that he knew, when Steve handed him the parchment, taking another sip of some watered down joe from an aluminum cup, before excitedly ripping into it like a little boy.
“I wanted to save it for today,” Steve had told him, his chest puffed out in pride for keeping the secret for so long.
Bucky initially had found it humorous and exciting, why wouldn’t he have? But his mood soon changed after reading just a few lines in.
“James, my love,
I hope this message finds you and the rest of the boys in good health, tell them I wish them all a happy Christmas, as well. There really isn’t a simple way to put this, and I hope it doesn’t put a damper on your holiday spirit, but I’ve been tired of sitting around, so I’ve spoken to Steve’s friend, Agent Carter. I now have enlisted in the SSR as Agent Barnes.”
The paper clenched in his fist, his eyes screwing shut. He didn’t even bother reading the rest before standing up and walking over to Steve, a fiery look set in his eyes. Steve soon caught on to his anger, standing up and parting his lips as he neared.
“Steve, did you know?”
Steve, a horrible liar, shrugged, furrowing his brows. “About what? Buck, what's wrong?”
“Don’t lie to me, Rogers! Did you know about her enlisting?”
At that, it went silent in the forest aside from the rustling of the branches, and the chirps of early rising blackbirds. 
The rest of the Commandos turned, eyes wide, shoulders hunched. Steve gestured for them to calm down and return to normal with a dramatic sweep of his arms, with most of them complying, but not without a few snarky comments from Dum Dum and Gabe protesting the treatment.
“Listen, I tried to stop her-”
“Well apparently, you did a horrible job. God, Agent Barnes. That’s what she'll be known as now. We'll have the whole bunch! Sarge and Agent, wow, we are gonna be one decorated family, ain’t that right, Steve?”
Bucky was ranting and rambling now, spewing angry nonsense at Steve as if that would change a thing. Steve felt a pang of guilt, hanging his head and biting his knuckle.
“Buck, is it a problem that she’ll be an Agent?”
Bucky paused, his nostrils flaring and his eyes slanting.
“Of course it’s a problem, Steve! If they put her in the field, God knows what’ll happen! What if I have to see that name on a plaque some day, huh? In a museum, in some memorial for fallen agents.” His arm put emphasis on every word he shouted, and his voice had grown raspy, tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.
Steve sat his exasperated friend down, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. It distressed Steve to see Bucky this upset, after all he had done for him over the years. So if he could try to make him feel even the slightest bit relieved, he would in any way he had to.
“Bucky?”
He looked up, his eyes red and nose puffy.
“Think about how you're feeling right now. The fear, the hurt, the anxiety, all of it.”
“Steve, I don’t get how this is going to help me-”
“Just trust me.”
Bucky nodded, slumping over again.
“That’s how she feels. That’s how she felt when the war was announced, how she felt when you submitted your draft, how she felt when you were called away, Hell, how she feels every second of every hour that you’re not with her.”
“Still not helping.”
“Shut up, jerk.” They laughed, Steve elbowing him in his shoulder. The sound echoed through the lush green of the space, the tension noticeably thinner.
“The point is, the pain that this all has caused for everyone is inevitable, inescapable. So learn from it, and savour it. In the long run, we’ll be okay, Buck. I promise you that.”
James bit his bottom lip, puncturing the chapped skin, the blood pounding in his head making it hard to process what Steve had said. But what he did manage to gather, was that they would be okay.
-
February 11th, 1944
“Peggy, I’m nervous.”
“What? Are you kidding? You must be kidding, you’re ridiculous.”
Peggy gave the girl a dirty look from where she stood behind her in front of the only full length mirror at the base, looking as she straightened out her skirt and touched up her “victory” colored lip.
“I’m not kidding, Peg. What if he’s mad?”
The other agent only laughed, briefly touching her on the shoulder before walking around her to where a map of the Hydra bases they had been tracking were laid out. Peggy fiddled with one of the flags for a moment, speaking to a soldier nearby. She impatiently tapped her crimson nails on the board, the sound driving her friend insane. Peggy then began to speak, not even looking up from where she stood, bent over as she examined something else.
“Darling, the only thing Barnes will be mad about by now, is not seeing you for so long. If he was angry before, he’s long forgotten about it, I assure you that.”
She nodded (even though nobody except a nosy recruit had witnessed it).
“You know what, I think you’re right. Thanks, Peg.”
Margaret half smiled, “mmhm” ing, but keeping her head down. She did, however, lift it up when she heard the other woman’s heels clicking in the opposite direction.
“Excuse me?” Peggy remarked, brows raised and her arms crossed.
Agent Barnes turned, her painted lips beckoning Peggy to go on in a most humorous manner.
“We aren’t done here! Get over here and help me mark this up, I’m nearly finished.”
She rolled her eyes, to which Peggy only rushed her more.
By the time they were done (spoiler, she was not almost finished) several hours had passed, and the camp was now lit only by the lanterns and the moon in the obsidian sky.
The stars were visibly bright that night, twinkling like small diamonds without the restriction of smoke from busy factories and the blockage of the ever so fascinating skyscrapers.
Mr and Mrs. Barnes both were watching the stars that night, smiling at the thought of the other doing the same.
Yes, even Bucky, smiling at the thought of his wife despite his neck developing a crick from having laid on the knapsack in the back of the truck for so long. A lovestruck glance was still plastered on his face as he stared up, the road bumpy underneath the wheels of the vehicle. His body would jolt as a cause from this every once in a while, but he paid it no mind, the soft smile staying put.
Steve watched Bucky’s facial expressions, a grin coming across his own features.
“You thinkin’ about her?”
Steve looked up to the sky.
“Always am.”
-
“I know you want to wait up for him, but I promise as soon as I get word of if he’s here, I’ll wake you. You need rest.”
The agent only smiled, her eyes staying trained on the stars above. “I’ll come to bed soon, Peg. I swear.”
But Margaret knew her friend all too well, so she simply bid her goodnight and shook her head.
She whispered, though her friend was too far away to hear her, laying on her backside and tucking her arms behind her head on the damp grass.
“Goodnight, Peggy.”
She had fallen asleep on the green that night, the stars wooing her into a slumber with thoughts of her beloved. She was only awoken when she felt the ground rumble beneath her, and heard the loud whirring of a hummer engine. She sat up, pressing her hands in the wet soil. She squinted and was barely able to make out two tall men jumping out from the back of the car. 
She was initially unsure of who it was, but a shield being reflected on by the pale moonlight, and a hearty laugh soon confirmed her suspicions. She gasped and only to herself muttered Bucky’s name, picking herself up off the ground, running as fast as her feet could take her. 
“James! James!”
He turned his head from where he was talking to Colonel Phillips, immediately recognizing the voice as his wife’s. By the time he had noticed, she was already to him, so all he could do was welcome her with open arms. Literally.
She jumped into his arms, planting kisses all over his face. He laughed and laughed, Steve, and the Colonel, too, cracking a smile at the two’s reunion. She pulled away momentarily, looking over his dirty face. She ran her fingertips over the scratches and gashes, still having a hard time believing that after all this time, even under all the grime and blood and sweat, it was truly him. 
“Sarge, it’s been awhile.” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Same to you, Mrs. Barnes. Too long.” He commented, leaning forward and burying himself in her neck, allowing her to cradle him. He inhaled her perfume, taking the scent to memory for when he would inevitably have to go away once again, leaving her behind.
(So he thought.)
“That would be Agent Barnes to you.”
Bucky saluted, nodding and throwing a wink in her direction, before leaning in and planting a firm kiss to her lips that now only had remnants of red left around the edges from when she had applied it earlier on in the day. Their voices were now reduced to raspy whispers, both of them completely out of breath.
“Well either way, I’ve missed you greatly, Agent Barnes.”
“I’m glad we feel the same way.”
The two of them also felt extremely tired, leaving them to fall asleep that night packed side by side on a small cot in the corner of Steve’s tent. The brown sheets were horribly scratchy, and they had to mainly rely on each others bodies for heat. But despite this, all felt well, as if this new normal was finally worth it. 
-
In the morning, Steve had wanted to let the pair sleep in as long as humanly possible. The sun rising was one thing the great Captain America couldn't prevent, though. So as yellow light began to stream through the barely there material of their temporary home, the Barnes’ were given a somewhat pleasant awakening. 
Birds sang, bugs hummed, and the loud voices of Steve and Bucky’s soldiers could be heard, along with Steve occasionally hushing them if they came too close to their tent, still trying to preserve their well deserved rest. 
The thought made her smile, eyes slowly coming to an open. Bucky’s hand grew tighter on her waist, running circles on the silky fabric by her hip. Hers delicately made its way to brush messy brown locks from James’ closed eyes, the feeling comparable to a feather tickling the bridge of his nose. 
He scrunched it, blinking a few times, before commiting the view of waking up to the face of his wife for the first time to his memory, locked away to where Hydra would hopefully never take it. 
“Good morning, Agent Barnes.”
She shook her head, snuggling further into his chest and stretching her arms. “Mmmhm, not right now.” He placed a confused hand on her back, tracing a line up and down.“I thought it was only Agent Barnes?”
“Not in bed, James.”She looked up, smiling ear to ear. “Right now, I’m your wife, and only your wife.”
It was quiet in the tent, then. But always the one to break the silence, Bucky began to speak, his morning voice so incredibly low that it sent a shiver down her spine. 
“I mean, being my wife is a job in itself.”
They laughed, she shook her head and whacked his chest.
“Right you are.”
She stood up out of bed, shifting her hair to one shoulder with her hand. The glass on the face of her small watch reflected onto the walls, painting a rainbow stripe of light above Bucky’s head. She moved about, her babydoll pink colored slip moving along with her, almost as a toga would flow behind a goddess in the wind. James watched in amazement from his position propped up on his elbows, complete and total awe evident in his heart eyes for his wife. 
God, how he loved to say that, and hear it roll off of his tongue. Just to think it, even.
His wife.
He truly was a lucky man. And as she felt holes being stared into her back, she turned and giggled at Bucky’s antics.
“Now, I know your mother taught a gentleman such as yourself that ogling at women is rude, hmm?” She questioned, throwing the discarded slip at Bucky’s peeping eyes, then pulling on her uniform and beginning to fix her hair and makeup. Fingers moved quickly and expertly as she went about, her red nails almost appearing to move so quickly they were blurring.
He scoffed, forcing his nimble fingers through his knotted hair that could have been comparable to the nest that the very birds that played a hand in awakening them had resided in.
“Even if that woman is my very beautiful wife who I haven’t seen since I went away for war?”
He looked up, eyes bluer than Bing Cosby’s. (Sure, she had only seen them in the magazines, but hey, they seemed quite nice.) She finished putting on her lipstick, walking over and placing a hand under his chin. He looked up in a dreamy haze, basically begging for her lips to be placed on his.
She rolled her eyes and placed a long and sweet kiss upon his plump lips, restoring some of the color that sleep had stolen from them. She giggled at the lipstick left on his ivory skin, wetting her thumb and smudging it in a poor attempt to remove it. He cocked his head like some sort of puppy, slimming his eyes in an amused confusion.
“I guess that’s an exception.”
She leaned forward, leaving a short peck on his forehead, before ruffling his hair and making her way out of the tent. She briefly stopped hanging onto the post that acted as a door of sorts.
“Also, brush your teeth and hair, James. You stink.”
They smiled goofily at each other and she bit her lip, bidding him goodbye. And with that, she was off.
It was later in the day, now, and Bucky, Steve, and the rest of the commandos were in with the Colonel, discussing an upcoming mission. Peggy and Agent Barnes were decoding some of the Hydra messages the commandos had gathered on their previous mission in their general vicinity at the same time.
The paper was yellowed and stiff under her fingers, her eyes could barely stay focused on the multiple symbols in front of her, practically jumping off the page, vibrating at a high frequency.
She briefly closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to free her mind of the distraction that was her husband and honorary little (not so much now physically, but still) brother planning what sounded like an incredibly dangerous mission.
It was like a buzzing in her ear, the mention of capturing one of Hydra’s most valued scientists, and risking their lives in the process. And of course, he often did do just that, risking his life.
But call it wife's intuition, (Is that a thing? She isn’t sure) but she had a horrible feeling about it in the pit of her stomach. Something was telling her she should hug him a little tighter, kiss him a little harder, that kind of thing. And perhaps it could be discarded as the paranoia that had spread through many spouses as the war had started up, in fact, she wished it was.
Too lost in her own thoughts, it took Bucky’s hand on her shoulder to wake her from her trance. He began to quietly and cautiously speak her name in his position.
She turned, jumping ever so slightly. 
“Doll, you alright? Colonel was calling your name, you seemed real out of it.” He placed a hand on her forehead, then to her cheek, checking for any signs of a possible fever.
She didn’t reply to his concerns, only setting her hand utop his, leaning into him and closing her eyes. She opened them only moments later to see James squinting, his glance serious. He was quiet as he spoke, hesitating slightly. He muttered her name, trying to meet her eyes. He looked to see what was wrong, analyzing her, so badly wanting to fix whatever hurt there was lingering in her heart.
They stayed in that position for a while, the rest of the office seemingly standing still. She was the first to remove her hand, Bucky’s following suite.
“There’s a mission, in the Alps. Colonel wants you to come with the commandos and I, Peggy’s to stay here and work coms. He said something ‘bout needing someone who can sneak into places they shouldn’t be.” He chuckled, the sound bringing slight reassurance to her worrying mind.
“I’ll brief you tonight.”
She nodded, looking to her feet and whispering a quiet “okay”. They exchanged I love you’s, and then all that was heard was the faint clicking of James’ boots as he left her standing.
-
March 2nd, 1945
It was downright freezing in the Swiss forest.
And It would have been unbearable, if it weren’t for the fact she had Bucky to keep her warm, the man acting as a living furnace despite the frigid temperatures. The trek to do recom on the train they were intercepting was treacherous, feet ached, fingers were frosted, and the group spent much of their time (minus Steve, he had done enough of that when he was a sickly 90 pound asmatic) complaining to Mrs. Barnes, much to her dismay.
Usually, she would tell them off with a shake of her head or a slap to the arm, discarding their whines are nonsense.
In return for putting up with said nonsense, the commandos took her under their wing, so to say.
They never treated her differently than the rest of the group (or else she would have probably made her displeasure known, which both James and Steven warned them heavily against). Sharing the scotch, poking fun. In fact, if it weren’t for the nature of their escapade, she would have gone as far to say that she was having fun.
The only exception to this treatment was if she had to change, oftentimes borrowing a henley of Bucky’s or a pair of his trousers, the extra fabric heating her up quite nicely. Bucky would stand in front of whatever tree trunk she was hiding behind, watching to make sure no wandering eyes made any shameful attempts to catch a glimpse.
But overall, they worked well together, and were beginning to grow into a family, not that any of them would admit it.
“Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“What’re the chances this goes horribly wrong?”
He looked to his right to meet her eyes, wrapping an arm around his wife. They both turned back to the landscape of mountains, which were ironically quite beautiful. They were greeted with howling wind biting their noses and cheeks, causing her to let out a yelp, turning her head and tucking into Bucky’s arm briefly. He smiled and stroked the top of her messily tied back hair, allowing her to momentarily find comfort within his hold for what they didn't know would be the last time.
“With me? Nah, We’ll be alright. Zero to none.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled at his cocky behavior as she always would, his smirk settling her nerves.
“Yeah.” She exhaled. “We’ll be alright.”
-
March 4th, 1945
The brick remains of the pub were dimly lit by the lone street lamp standing bravely on the cobblestone, illuminating the puffy faces of the two sitting inside. Steve, stone cold sober, and Agent Barnes, drunk and with tears streaming down her flushed skin. The dust had barely settled; it could still be felt, burning her nostrils.
She heard heels, a telltale sign that Peggy had arrived, sorting through the rubble.
She had approached calmly, observing the situation. Steve muttered something about not being able to get drunk, earning some heartfelt speech from the other agent and a proclamation of a newfound fire for justice in Steve. But Peggy’s sorrowful glance soon became unreadable, then transitioning into one of anger and sympathy, however that was possible.
She tried calling the surviving Barnes’ name, voice stern. She snatched the bottle from her friends hand, noticing she had downed the whole thing.
She began some winded spiel, none of it processing, only a faint buzz in one ear out the other.
“I know you’re hurting, but James would have wanted you to pick yourself up, an-”
“He lied. You know that? The bastard lied.”
She wiped a singular tear from her left eye, staring blankly at the ring that still managed to shine even then, in what was close to total darkness in every sense.
“He said that we would be alright. That him and I would be okay. And then he went and you know what he did, Peg? He died.”
Steve looked up, and stood, walking to where she was across from him. 
He gently tugged her up and wordlessly pulled her into a hug.
She was stiff as a board at first but slowly melted into it, realizing that it felt nice to be cared for by him like she did all those years ago, the favor being returned when she most needed it.
“We’ll fix this, I promise.”
She closed her eyes tighter, digging her nails into his shoulders.
“I know.”
-
May 26th, 1945
“Steve, I’m not leaving you!”
“Go, grab the parachute and go, I’ll send your coordinates to Peggy! Both of us don’t have to die.”
“Steve, it’s alright.”
He met her eyes, water pooling in both of their orbs.
“I’ll be with him.” She forced a smile, taking hold of one of Steve’s gloved hands.
“It’s not too late for you to go, Stevie. I’ll put her in the water. If you wait any longer you won’t make it.”
The time was passing, they could hear the uncomfortable sloshing of the Arctic water below them, coming closer and closer. Jagged ice taunted them, glistening faintly in the light.
“Please, don’t do this to Peg.”
Steve had made his decision, as had she.
“See you on the other side, Barnes.”
The sound was difficult to decipher at the command center, static intercepting the voices of the pair as they bargained with death. But it was clear enough in order for everyone to realize what was happening.
Heads were bowed, tears fell, and even the Colonel allowed a salty drop to roll down his weathered cheek.
Steve and Peggy conversed, while Barnes sat next to Steve, closing her eyes. She was content. She was finally going home.
“I’d hate to step on your-”
Then, the line went dead.
“See ya, Rogers.”
-
2011
“This guy is still alive!”
“And the girl?”
The other man only shook his head.
-
2013
Skye dragged her finger along the etchings on the gray stone, mentally reading the names of fallen soldiers and agents.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.'s history can be traced on walls like this.”
Then she came upon something peculiar. Her finger lingered momentarily, the name on the plaque bringing back memories of when she was a young girl in school, learning about James Buchanan Barnes, one of two Howling Commandos to have died in the line of duty. The other, she couldn’t quite seem to remember.
“Huh. Bucky Barnes.” She looked a moment longer, reading the script underneath James’ name. 
“There was another Barnes?”
She turned to Agent Ward who was standing behind her, arms crossed and chin down.
“Yeah. They were married. Some say she put that plane in the water on purpose. That she could have left, but wanted to see him again after he died.
Puts it in perspective- What we do.”
-
2014
The lights in the exhibit were bright, too bright. Faces were plastered everywhere, familiar faces. The soldier felt lost without his handler, no direction whatsoever as he aimlessly wandered.
Aimlessly wandering, what a foreign concept. Not running from an enemy, or sneaking around, a shadow. Free to do whatever he pleases.
He saw his own reflection on a glass panel, information of who he supposedly was written next to it, about when he was born, when he had died. Videos playing on repeat of him and Steve nearby caught his attention, leading him to slowly make his way towards the shiny screen. He saw himself laugh, smiling with whoever this Steve guy was.
Then the screen switched to him and a girl.
In a slight contrast, the girl was the one laughing this time, her smile igniting something within the soldier, overwhelming him with a flurry of emotion and realization.
He panicked, turning to his left, only to see her again, standing next to him in a large mural. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
A voice began to speak, clouding his senses even more.
It spoke about Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers, how they were “inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”
It continued, and his confusion grew even further. It mentioned a girl who had what he learned to be his last name.
Not a mother, or a sister, but a wife.
“They became the only Howling Commandos to give their lives in service of their country."
Her name rang in his head, over and over again. He was married, he had a wife.
Had.
He walked up to where her clothes were displayed under her portrait, reaching a tentative hand out and feeling the fabric, rough from time. He could remember doing that before, but the fabric was silkier, then. It was different as a whole. It was pink satin, and the wearer was his wife, he now could see.
He was in a tent, laying on a scratchy cot, the girl laying with him, in his arms.
“Right now, I’m your wife, and only your wife.” Her smile and laugh were heavenly, her voice like honey. Her touch was smooth and left a tingle in its wake, bringing peace to his bustling mind.
Then he was suddenly back in the museum, hand still planted firmly on the hem of the shirt.
“Excuse me? Sir? You can’t be touching that.”
The soldier turned, facing the scrawny worker. His glasses were too large, hair too short, and pants 2 sizes too big. He gulped, doing a double take from the mural of James Barnes (who last time he checked a history book, had his remains somewhere buried under piles of ice and snow in the mountains of the Alps) and the man in front of him, who matched the recently trending image his coworker showed him of the Winter Soldier, the assassin who had over two dozen kills under his belt.
And if this were a mission, the soldier would have killed the man, executed him without second thought.
But now, he had free will. He had a choice.
So he chose to mutter a low “sorry” under his breath, pulling his baseball cap further over his brow and exiting the facility as quickly as possible.
The worker quit that night.
-
2016
A feed began to play on the tiny screen that Tony, Steve, and Bucky were crowded around, no video, just black with a thin line, moving in accordance with the audio. The sound was choppy, like it had been modified.
Zemo’s beady eyes slanted, a cold smile growing on his bearded face.
“I’ll be with him.”
“What the hell is this?” James yelled the question aimed towards both Zemo and himself.
But Steve knew exactly what it was, knew that voice, knew the feeling of the cold water enveloping him as he did his best to keep her warm in her final moments, a final favor for both Bucky and his wife.
“It’s not too late for you to go, Stevie. I’ll put her in the water. If you wait any longer you won’t make it.”
It was quiet, the line stopped moving. 
“See you on the other side, Barnes.”
“See ya, Rogers.”
The audio cut out.
“It’s her.” Bucky’s metal fist audibly clenched, his eyes darkening.
“You let her die, Steve.”
“Buck-”
“You killed her! I had a wife, and you let her die!”
Steve backed up, instinctively raising the shield from Bucky once more.
“That was her choice, Bucky.”
He was calm. Too calm.
“I don’t give a damn what her choice was, you should’ve pushed her out of that damn plane if you had to.”
“She wouldn’t have survived that fall, Buck, even with a parachute, she probably would have drowned, or gotten hypothermia or-”
“You don’t know that!”
Bucky rushed forward, anger infiltrating every fibre of his being. He threw a punch with his metal arm, a loud clang ringing out as it collided with the vibranium shield.
-
2024
“We’ll meet again
Don’t know where, don’t know when
But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”
The room was pitch black aside from the blinking light on the record player, letting Bucky know that power was still running through the wires of the machine, keeping the same song spinning, over, and over, and over again.
The same one that’s been playing for the past 2 months. Over, and over, and over again.
The door creaked, sending a stream of light cascading across Bucky’s ridden features from his place where he was sat staring blankly at her tags laying in his flesh hand. He had started wearing them when she insisted, just in case anything were to happen to her, she wanted him to have a physical reminder of her. He had refused to give her his own, not wanting to admit anything might go wrong to where she would need them.
What a joke.
Zola had recovered them from around his neck, later to be stored away and then found by Steve in 2015 during a Hydra base invasion. He had immediately recognized the name pressed onto the material, and assumed someone who was an undercover agent snagged them during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., never thinking anything more of it.
“This isn’t healthy, man.” Sam spoke softly from the door, his hand never leaving the doorknob.
“When we got snapped away, I didn’t mind it.”
Sam opened the door even more, sliding in the slim crack, closing it behind him.
Bucky’s glance never faltered.
“I thought that maybe, I’d finally see her again. And, I know it was selfish-” He laughed dryly, meeting Sam’s warm eyes.
“But she wasn’t there. When I died, she wasn’t there.”
Sam’s arms were crossed, now, and he was unsure of how to proceed with the fragile shell of a man in front of him.
“Then everyone came back 5 years later, she still wasn’t there.” He chuckled once more, feeling over her name on the plates, tossing the chain over his head. It was quiet, the record stopped.
“And this sounds crazy, but I got to thinking, that she must still be alive-”
“You know she’s gone, Bucky.”
James stood up, walking over to Sam, a terrifying blaze set in his eyes. He was frantic, hands moving about the air, neck straining.
“She’s not, Hydra has her! I’m certain, just like they had me. What else would explain her not being there?”
“You’re in denial,”
“No, I’m not! She’s waiting for me! She’s waiting for me to come find her, Sam!” He yelled, every word louder than the last.
And Sam Wilson had enough. 
“Alright, that’s it.” He grabbed James by the wrist, taking his chances.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting some sense into you.”
More yelling and fighting ensued, all the way to the car, Bucky only ceasing his behavior upon realizing where they were heading. He was silent, then.
Getting out of the vehicle, they stepped onto freshly wet soil, green patches fading to a burnt orange, the rain a poor attempt at revival. They could hear their own footsteps all the way to their final destination, turmoil settling in.
“Why’d you take me here, Sam?”
It had started raining, the cold droplets making his hair stick to his forehead, and his tears invisible.
Mere inches before him sat two headstones, both fairly worn. The first, reading “Cap. Steven Grant Rogers, a true American hero. Loving brother, friend, and son.”
The second? Her.
Most of the words all blended together, it was clear Steve’s was the only one that had any regular visitors, willing to clean off any dirt or grime, or occasionally bring flowers (always red roses for Cap, as for his wife, he hoped that when it did happen, it was her favorites, lilies. He doubted it was, though). 
The only words that managed to stick out, at least to him, were “Barnes” and “loving wife”. He inhaled, capturing the scent of fresh rain and roses, grounding him. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, giving a light squeeze.
“I’m sorry I had to do that, but she’s gone, you know?”
He nodded, squatting down in an awkward position.
“Can I have a minute?”
Sam nodded, turning to go.
“‘Course, I’ll be in the car.”
Bucky waited until he could no longer see the outline of the shorter man, before taking the tags off from where they rested around his neck, positioning them utop the marble slab. He gathered a few weeds, messily shoving them into the vase, dirt and stray blades of grass falling all over the place. He tried to brush it off, only creating a sludge-like watery mixture.
He leaned forward, taking hold of the hard stone.
“I’m coming for you, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll find you.”
“Bucky?” Sam yelled from the car, confused at the extended amount of time his friend was taking.
James turned, yelling over his shoulder, “Coming!”
-
Once Bucky got back to the car, Sam reached over and patted his back, starting the engine.
“You think you’re gonna be okay?”
James only smiled, looking out behind him to where they all said was her final resting place, excitement for the future running through his veins.
“Yeah.” He said, sitting further back into the seat, closing his eyes. 
“I’ll be alright.”
·。·☆·。·。
hi!
disclaimer: (skip if u dont care) so i’ve had personal expiriences w alcoholism, and my pov has changed so much on the disease and as well as how to handle it w more empathy, and i just hope that is conveyed. my hope w my work is never to upset or offend anyone, and i hope u enjoyed. if u have a prob w anything, shoot me a message or ask to chat :)
go drink water, eat protein (if u can!) and take an electronics break. i love u, 
xx hj
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kilhara · 3 years
Text
The Flight of the Shu'ulathoi
When the Combine infiltrated the Shu'ulathoi homeworld, at first the grubs didn't know what was happening. It was a silent and deadly invasion. By the time they understood what was going on, it was too late for most, and very few were left that weren't infected by the Combine's reverse-engineered thought parasite. To save the last remnants of their vast telepathic culture, some of these grubs thrust themselves into deep trances, indefinite hibernations, not truly awake and thinking, but asleep and dreaming, so that one day, however millenia it takes, maybe they might be saved. The Combine thought parasite doesn't work if if the brain isn't conscious to carry out the corrupted thoughts. These sleeping grubs were rejected as hosts for the parasite, left to rot in their underground burrows, deemed too much trouble to counteract their powerful trances.
Even fewer managed to metamorphosise into adults, taking flight into the cosmos, most likely with natural abilities of teleportation or higher dimensional travel. Like many other species fleeing the Combine, these Shu ended up at the dimensional bottleneck that is Xen. Others might have found different worlds, or they all travelled together, the only free group of survivors... who knows. Years passed with them getting settled on Xen and adapting to all these new alien dangers and threats. It was a gruelling process. Eventually, they came across human survey team members from Black Mesa and noticed how different these beings were from the Xen fauna. Curious, they sent out scouts to follow them back to where they came from, careful to keep hidden from sight, leading them to discover Earth. Shu are locked into the form they take as adults, and since they hatched back on their planet, none of them are human in appearance. They couldn't exactly come down and have a nice chat looking like they do, nor without possession of either the concept or physical means of speaking language. They waited and watched the humans, studying these experiments at Black Mesa and learning of ways they could use our technologies to their advantage. Years passed as they schemed for revenge, desperate to free their home planet and put an end to the Universal Union.
They came up with a plan.
Xen was currently under the rule of the Nihilanth, who had enslaved the Vortigaunts; an ever-present threat to them. The Shu had their sights on seizing Xen as their own, so that they didn't have to live in fear under the Nihilanth anymore. With his death, they saw that he could be used as a pawn to enable their goals, and free the Vortigaunts. The Shu didn't have the means on their own, but by hijacking our technology, they devised a way to draw the Combine into this dimension. Earth was set up as a convenient battleground right next door, so they could keep their own retreat separate. Humanity would be used as a scapegoat for their plans if the Combine ever noticed something fishy.
They bred. How many eggs were laid is anyone's guess. Armed with knowledge from their human observations, they taught the grubs how to assimilate... how to cause trouble, and more importantly, how to get out of it. In the end, only the most-promising grub was chosen to hatch and bear the enormous responsibility of carrying out their plan. Only the strongest and smartest would do. The one who would adapt and survive against all odds.
The G-Man.
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drazzilder · 3 years
Text
A Hellish Encounter
Br Drazzilder
Chapter 17: Anniversary
Another R18/NSFW chapter!
It is now Enji’s 42nd birthday and 2 years since you two met. There are ups and downs but everything seems to heading in a good direction. It was funny the first time the children saw Enji come home with his glasses on, they always thought he was too vain to get a pair. Altogether, he is working hard with his children to make sure he isn’t going down the wrong road again. Of course, there are some times where he would go too far or push too much. Luckily, you are there to be a moderator between the children and Enji: listening to both sides and figuring out the best solution. Hina could leave is she wanted to, Shoto is 11 now, but she stays because she has grown attached to this strange family. You yourself have grown quite a bit as well. So far you have managed to keep the demonic power inside of you from getting worse and you’re a full hero by yourself. You still work at Enji’s agency but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today to celebrate your first-year anniversary together, you’re taking a Shinkansen up north. It’s your first time on a train and Zaheer couldn’t be happier that you’re not just wasting energy teleporting there. Enji didn’t tell you where you were going but you’re hoping it is somewhere where you can be alone. It’s really hard not to cuddle on the train because of all the people around but you both manage. How you kept the fact you’re dating a secret for this long still amazes you because every moment you are alone together, you’re all over each other.
“Come on, tell me where we are going.”
“For the last time, it won’t be a surprise if I do. If you want to know that bad then why don’t you use your mental powers on me.”
“Zaheer won’t let me!” You complain.
“You need permission to use his quirks?”
“(Y/N) are not exactly fully fused. That is why we have been together this long. It’s more like I live inside of a chamber of him. I can give and take as I please but in order not to overwhelm the boy, I limit it.”
“You really do care for him, don’t you?”
“He is the best host I have had.”
“Zaheer, you sound like a parasite!” You laugh.
A woman’s voice comes over the intercom: “Last stop, Hakodate.”
“Looks like we are here, just a quick taxi ride to our destination.”
It only takes about half an hour driving through winding mountain roads to get to your destination. As you come to an opening in the forest, you see a very traditional looking building with many smaller ones dotted on the mountain side. The smell of sulfur in the air tells you where you are.
“An onsen! I have always wanted to go to one.”
“I know, that’s why I found a special one. There is a suite here that has its own private onsen, that way we can be alone.” He says as he lowers his eye lids.
“Enji….” You’re about to kiss him but you hear someone coming.
“Mr. Todoroki, what a pleasure to have to finally visit our Onsen. What brings you here?”
“I think you know why. I know I can trust you with a secret.”
“Of course, my sister told me a few things about you two. I would never want to betray her trust or put your hero status in danger. Your room is ready for you, follow me.”
As you follow the man up an outside staircase, you look at Enji with a puzzling face.
“He is Sanji’s brother, Yoshio. She was the one who arranged all of this. I knew that if were to go together anywhere else we would draw attention to ourselves.
“Oh, that’s a relief.”
All of you make it to the door and Yoshio shows you the main room and onsen, describing all of the qualities of the water. You can tell he really cares about this place judging by how he goes into great detail about everything. After he departs, you two are alone. The room looks similar to Enji’s home but there is a much larger bed. As you lay down to nap from the long journey, Enji crawls next to you.
“You know, after sleeping in a bed this size, we are going to be spoiled and need to get a bigger one when we get back.”
“I think I can arrange that.” He smiles.
“After a quick nap, want to go for a nice soak?”
“That sounds wonderful.” He says as he kisses you.
After a quick rest, you get ready for the onsen and head to the private pool. You’re used to Enji’s hot baths but this water is something different. The water feels so soothing on your scarred skin. As you lean against Enji, he slowly caresses your body as you both enjoy the warm water.
“I’m so glad I waited to go to an onsen until I meet you. It’s so nice to enjoy it with someone else, especially you Enji.”
“I have been to a few before but I have to agree, it’s so much better being with someone you love.”
“I didn’t say love.” You smile.
“You didn’t have to.” As he rests his chin on your head.
You both just enjoy the sounds of running water and the forest when about 20 minutes pass. Afterwards you both get dressed in traditional yukatas and relax. It’s a little while before room service is brought in.
“I see you both enjoyed the waters; they truly are some of the best in all of Japan. I brought your dinner myself; normally a Geisha would serve you but I felt this is more discrete.”
“Thank you, Yoshio, I’ll be sure to leave a glowing review in my next interview.”
“Thank you, Mr. Todoroki.”
After enjoying some of the local cuisine, you are both left alone in the room. At this point, Enji is looking at you with a familiar smirk on his face while lying on his back.
“You know, it is my birthday today but I haven’t seen a birthday present yet.” Enji says with a smirk.
“Well, I think I have an idea of what you might want.” You say as you begin climbing on top of him.
“But it is also our anniversary and I wanted to do something special for you.”
“Oh? And what might that be?” At this point, you’re completely on his chest, only inches away from his face.
“I think it’s your turn to be top.”
At the sound of those words, your brain begins to completely implode. You have always been bottom with Enji up until now, and the fact he is offering is making you scream internally. Your mind starts racing of all of the things you could do but you feel a sharp pain on your forehead.
“Pay attention, boy!”
“Ouch, really Enji! Why are you always flicking my head?”
“Well, if you didn’t get lost in your mind so much I wouldn’t have to.”
“Yea but a simple name call or gentle touch would do.”
“Sorry, let me make it up to you.” His eye lids lower as he closes in on your lips. He uses his large hand on the back of your head to bring you down to him, not forcefully but enough to make you move. You begin making out. The taste of the smoked fish and Sake is overwhelming as you enter his mouth with your tongue. You use your one hand to slip under the fabric of his yukata and begin to play with his chest until you find what you were looking for. His breath stiffens as you gently twist and play with his nipple.
“You like that, Enji?”
“Mmmmm…. My little flame is always finding what buttons to press.”
You begin to kiss him, going down his face and neck. You keep going until you taste fabric.
“Let’s take these off, shall we?”
You both quickly undress and are back on the bed as you continue where you left off. Going down to his chest, you begin to kiss those giant pecs of his, landing each kiss with care. You run your hands over his chest, feeling the hair underneath brush against your skin. You tickle one of his nipples with your tongue, flicking it a few times before giving it a good suck. You even use your teeth to gently nibble on both, making sure not to be too rough. This makes Enji moan with pleasure as you continue your assault of kisses down his body. His abs are steaming hot as you’re about to reach your goal. Taking his fully erect cock in your hand, you slowly take your tongue up and down its length, taunting him. You begin to kiss his tip and slowly start taking its length down your throat. Even though you have done a few times before with Enji, you still can’t take its full length so you take his sac in your hand and tug slightly to increase the pleasure. At this point, Enji is clenching the sheets in his hands and his moans are becoming more verbal.
“Fucking hell (Y/N), I don’t know how much more I can take!”
You the go down as far as you can and tickle the base of his cock with your tongue which is enough to send Enji into oblivion has he ejaculates down your throat. You do your best so take it all but it was too much and some leaks from your lips. After his cock is drained, you get up to find Enji red in the face with pleasure.
“Damn! I didn’t know my little flame was so eager today.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t want to wait any longer for my turn.”
You take your cock in your hand and begin pumping, already slick with pre, taunting the man. Going down again, this time much lower as you spread Enji’s cheeks apart. Slowly you press your tongue to his rim and you make slow circle. After a few moments, you prod his back door and the big guy begins to moan again. You take your time to make sure it’s slick enough with your spit. You get up and see Enji looking at you, almost waiting for something.
“Think you can take it without preparing your ass?”
“Just fuck me already!” He says looking impatient.
Taking one hand to your cock, the other hand grabs Enji’s waist. With a demonic smile, you slowly begin to press yourself into Enji. He is tight, of course he is, you are his first after all. The muscles are pulsing and pushing, trying to stop your assault but you press on. By now his breathing begins to hasten as you continue to invade his hole. About halfway in, the man has tears and sweat running down his face.
“Enji?”
“Just….give me a minute….”
You take his hand to give him some comfort. He must be going through a lot of pain because he is gripping you hard but you know it will eventually turn to pleasure, it just takes time. After a few minutes, his breathing goes back to something more normal and you get a groan to let you know to continue. After a little more time, Enji manages to take all of you. You still give him a little time to adjust but you’re growing impatient. You slowly pull yourself out and quickly slam back in as your skin slaps against his. “FUCK!” Is all the man has to say as you begin pounding his ass. You then take his legs in your arms and hold them up as you begin to pick up pace. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t notice that Enji has taken to pumping his own cock in an effort to relieve some pain. The pace of both of you begins to speed up as steam and musk fills the room. Moans and groans turn to yells and shouts as you both get lost in the moment.
“Enji….”
“Go ahead, little flame.”
You both release at the same moment. You send ropes of semen deep into Enji as he shots a load all over his upper body. After a few moments, once your cocks stop pulsing, you slowly pull out. This made Enji twitch a little but you find a way to apologize for the pain. You climb over him and begin lapping up his semen. Taking your time, you lick all over his body, slowly enjoying every inch. Once you get to his face, you begin kissing him again.
“We should probably clean up. Did my little flame have a good anniversary?”
“I really did…” you sigh with pleasure.
Enji then picks you up and takes you to the bathroom. You clean each other up in the shower along with a few more kisses. After drying off, you make it to bed to just lay with each other.
“Enji, I love you.” You say looking into those blue eyes of his.
“I love you too (Y/N).” He says as he kisses your forehead.
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