#but i might not do it out of fear or out of desperation for a better life and hope of re-creating myself

[lets-try-some-writing]

Forbidden Sight

With the threat of the Fallen forcing Bumblebee to act and Megatron long since out of the picture, he is left with no choice but to seek out the aid of the divine. Unfortunately, meeting the divine is not all it is cracked up to be, and sometimes the price is not worth the sacrifice.

(Please note: This is LONG and there is body horror going on so do be aware.)

“No, I am not going down there again.” Ratchet clutched his dented arm possessively, his optics flaring in fear of all things. Bumblebee stilled as the Doctor’s plating flared, his servo doing a terrible job covering obvious digit shaped imprints. What could have possibly caused such damage?

“Ratchet, you are the only one who knows the way. You went with Optimus when he-” Ratchet cut him off with a look of pure terror and grief that ran so deep it was clear to see in his body, field, and expression. Bumblebee couldn’t help but stare in shock as the Doctor shook his helm frantically.

“No. No. I will give you the path I mapped, but I will never go down there. Not again.” Something had shaken him to the core. Ratchet was never like this, at least not around anyone who could see or hear what he was dealing with.

Bumblebee took a moment to meet the gazes of his team. They were worried. They looked to him for guidance. None of them said a word, but Windblade’s dipped wings and Strongarm’s nervous twitching told him everything he needed to know.

None were looking forward to the journey ahead, even in light of its necessity.

“Ratchet…” He trailed off as everyone fell silent. Guilt radiated in Ratchet’s field, but he did not budge. He wouldn’t be guiding them, no matter how much Bumblebee pleaded.

In order to defeat the Fallen, they needed information that no living mech, save for perhaps Megatron, possessed. With Megatron lost to the stars, Soundwave stuck in the shadowzone, and other possible sources similarly scattered or deceased, there really was only one choice. It was a faint hope, but Optimus had made the journey to Primus’s core long ago in search of both an end to the war and a way to restore their world. There were none left alive who knew the exact details of what went on that cycle, but Ratchet and a small cohort had journeyed with Orion Pax and they knew that when he emerged, he was greater than he was before.

Orion Pax gained knowledge on that dark cycle. Bumblebee’s hope was that he could do the same.

Optimus was gone, dead, and given to the Well. There was no one else except Ratchet, who might have had the faintest idea as to how to get to Primus’s core safely. And yet he was shaking, terrified to the point of being unable to move, regardless of how badly his field flared with the desire to flee. Something had happened, and that fact did not give Bumblebee any confidence.

“I… I will wait for you here. But Bumblebee, you must listen to me.” Ratchet released his death grip on his damaged arm, leaving it free for all to see. Sideswipe cursed softly somewhere behind him, but Bumblebee could only stare at the damage in horror.

Deep, dark, and dangerous dents that turned into tears ran across Ratchet’s arm. Rust and dried energon bordered the wound, nonlethal, but a testament to something powerful down in the depths. There were four clear imprints, huge and imposing digit marks—dug into metal that for all intents and purposes, appeared delicate now. If Bumblebee looked closely, he could see a fifth imprint running along the underside of Ratchet’s arm.

Ratchet had been grabbed by something. And whatever that horror was, it had destroyed the long maintained stoicism of a mech that had never so much as flinched in the face of danger, save for the sake of another.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t even try to damage him. He will not hesitate to leave a far greater mark.” Ratchet’s entire being spoke of desperation. His plea rang with true terror, not unlike the horror that had been evident in his voice when the Unmaker woke. Still, this was deeper, more… personal.

“I understand.” Bumblebee didn’t bother trying to convince Ratchet to come. He was dead set on remaining, and based on his reaction, it was a miracle he wasn’t already high tailing it all the way back to Iacon.

“Here are the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and mapped paths I recorded.” Ratchet sent a message over a private link, a file quickly blaring red across Bumblebee’s vision. He accepted it easily and shared the information with his team.

“Be careful. You won’t like what you see.” Ratchet stepped away, his gaze turning anywhere except the giant hole in the ground leading down to the core of their planet. Bumblebee nodded and gestured for his team to follow. There was no more time to waste and he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on Ratchet’s warning.

Bumblebee half expected to have to rock climb down the Well in order to get to his target, but according to Ratchet’s map, there was a path for him to follow. It did take him and Drift arguing over the thing for half a groon before they found the entrance, but once the journey began, any mirth evaporated in an instant.

“I don’t like this…” Strongarm muttered, breaking the silence for only a moment before it became suffocating once more. She shivered, and not even Sideswipe was willing to talk as they delved into the depths. Bumblebee did his best to lead confidently, but the road was long and there were things that shifted in the dark the deeper they went. The entire area felt oddly… holy, but only in the vaguest sense.

Controlled seemed like a better word. The path was controlled. Everything was methodical, placed with purpose, even if Bumblebee was unable to parse it out. Drift and Windblade made a few awed comments off and on, but as the light dimmed and the tunnels became more cavernous, his team refused to speak. Bumblebee couldn’t blame them, especially not when there were pedeprints in the dust from mecha who traveled with Optimus Prime millennia ago.

This place carried too much history to be disrupted for longer than absolutely required.

“We are almost to the core. Stay together, and don’t touch anything. This is a place for Primes and Primes alone.” Bumblebee shivered instinctually as his internal map alerted him to the fact that they were close. It was hard to keep track of the time so deep beneath the surface, but he assumed they had been on the move for around a cycle. He expected the trip to take longer. Wasn’t Primus at the very core of their world?

The tunnels made no sense. They hurt to think about.

“Sweet Primus…” Sideswipe cursed, but it was lost in the void as they stepped through a final arch, quickly finding themselves basked in the light of their maker, or at least, his core. Bumblebee had to pause and look on in both awe and a degree of existential dread as cogs larger than life turned in a rhythmic manner, adhering to laws and designs long forgotten by any living being save for the one who ordered their continued functioning.

A thin pathway led closer to the core, one large enough for a mech or two depending on frame type. A few stray Predacon corpses long rusted littered the ground, dark energon leaking from their battered frames. They were lifeless, but they were a reminder of the battle hard fought and won.

“Everyone, keep a ways behind me. If something goes wrong, one of you needs to get out of here and regroup with Ratchet and my old teammates.” He held out an arm, not thinking too deeply on the motion as he cautiously moved forward. He could sense his team moving slowly a few dozen feet behind him, watching him like techno-hawks as he followed the curved pathway toward where he assumed he could address the slumbering god of Cybertron, or at least attempt to commune with the Primes of old.

Everything seemed to pulse and hum around him as he walked. And yet, there was no noise. Not a sound, not a creak, not even his own pedesteps as the light of Primus washed over him in waves. He might have been imagining it, but everything about the area felt intelligent, even alive. If mythology was to be believed, then his senses would be correct. However, it only served to unsettle him as he noted the marks of small pedes moving forward and far larger pedes heading toward the entrance.

How long had it been since the soil was disturbed? Were these Optimus’s marks? Or had someone else made the journey down to Primus to cry out to their absent god? He didn’t think so. The marks matched Optimus’s specs. That thought bothered him, although he could not pinpoint why. The dust should have moved. Something should have changed. Despite that, the echoes of a darker time remained engraved in the very path he walked.

He stepped cautiously, his optics drawn to a series of cables and connectors hanging down from where Primus’s core reached an accessible level. He momentarily wondered if Optimus’s body was stuck amongst those of the Predacons, or caught in wires beneath the thin path he carefully tread. Was the body of his leader hanging limply, forgotten by all but the void that embraced him?

Bumblebee wished that were the case. By Primus he wished that were the case when he finally ascended, following the path as close as it came to Primus’s core.

He wanted to purge as he set optics upon the tattered mess that hung from countless wires and cables. There was no denying who it was. No other mech bore red and blue so proudly or carried a relic of a forgotten age within his spark chamber. He was thinner now, seriously emaciated with rust and dried gore of all kinds spattered across his frame at various intervals. His plating hung off him at odd angles, some pieces even missing altogether. His left finial was broken and the optic on the same side was damaged to the point of almost appearing crushed.

The connectors attached to him dug beneath armor and protoform alike, bloating his frame in strange, unusual places. Blue tinted ooze dripped from unnatural wounds, falling down into the void beneath. The cables seemed to slither into him, creeping into every seam and strut, pulsing with the waves of Primus’s light. The Matrix glowed in time with it all, seemingly content even as its bearer hung lifelessly.

“Optimus, I’m so sorry.” His digits shook, and it took all his willpower to not turn away and purge as he stared at what remained of his mentor, his leader, and the only fatherly character he had ever known. The Prime was not honored in death, not like this. His body hung up like some sort of twisted trophy.

It wasn’t right. Optimus deserved better than this.

“I wish I could bury you properly, but this will have to do.” He stepped forward, doing his best to not look at the deep gashes along Optimus’s back where his jetpack had once been. He could see cables slithering there, sliding deep and along Optimus’s spine. He fought the urge to gag as he readied himself to act.

He would take the Matrix out of Optimus’s chassis and use it to find a way to commune with the Primes of old. His leader’s body would then be cut free, and he could rest without being strung up like a tormented attempt at taxidermy. It was the least he could do. After everything, Optimus should be allowed to pass without being held up in a grim state of disrepair.

“I wish you weren’t like this… I wish things were different.” He found himself murmuring softly as his digits barely brushed against the relic. However, his movement seemed to stir it, and Bumblebee leapt back with a yelp as the Matrix became encased in arcs of electricity. Optimus’s body convulsed, the cables holding it up twitching and shifting as the body was lifted higher, away from Bumblebee’s reach.

“Bee!” Sideswipe was the first to move forward, with the rest of the team following behind him. Bumblebee wished he could curse and ward them all off as what remained of his leader contorted in horrible ways. The legs squirmed, kicking at nothing, as power rippled through the living corpse. The arms tensed up, digits twitching madly as the body’s optics began to flare without rhyme or reason.

His spark flared in its chamber, terrified as the corpse gave another unfortunate spasm, a deafening crack echoing amidst the eerie silence. The entire chamber seemed to lurch in a spiritual way before the lights all dimmed, Primus’s very core lowering in intensity. Nothing happened for a klik, and Bumblebee was half tempted to try and reach out again as the body fell still. Maybe it was just… lingering processor function acting up. Perhaps the Matrix was trying to awaken a host that had long since gone offline. There were always possibilities-

“Bumblebee.” The garbled designation in that oh-so-familiar voice shook him, freezing Bumblebee in place as the corpse’s helm raised. The lone functional optic blazed bright enough to blind a mech as it settled on Bumblebee and his team. There was no way Optimus was alive. He couldn’t be. That… the thing hanging from wire and cables was a corpse. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.

“You have come to seek wisdom.” The corpse shuddered, its staticky voice steadying with every glyph uttered. Its helm tilted, the lone functional optic cycling in on Bumblebee in what could have been interest if it weren’t for the fact that there was no spark to power the frame that continued to defy reality.

“You come for my knowledge, that which has been lost to you, dear children.” The cables holding the corpse shifted, growing as more came down from the void. They slithered and writhed beneath the corpse’s plating, allowing the body to lower closer, almost to the point of being within touching distance. The blazing optic that illuminated the entire chamber flickered off and on, its gaze seemingly so glued to Bumblebee that it felt like fire on his plating. Yet, at the same time, it seemed the corpse was looking right through him, not seeing so much as observing.

“Little Orion came to me long ago. He too sought out my guidance.” The living corpse shifted, its arms moving in haphazard, jagged movements. Its digits twitched, seemingly trying to gesture and grasp at nonexistent objects. It hurt to watch as ooze leaked from between cracks, forced out by movement that should not have been possible. A few of the cables loosened, allowing the corpse to move a degree. It leaned forward, its tattered frame straining as its derma failed to match the syllables of the glyphs being uttered.

It was sickening. Bumblebee wanted to retch and flee, but his very spark lurched in his chassis, frozen before the entity that wore his father figure’s frame like a suit. There was no escape. Not for him, not for his terrified team.

“What will you give for that which you seek?” The corpse’s neck cracked and energon so old that it was little more than a tank churning goo dripped from torn ligaments and connectors. The corpse remained focused on him, a smile beginning to form on its face, cracking the delicate facial plating that once gave Optimus his classical reputation.

It reached out. Its arms gestured to Bumblebee as the light of Primus’s core pulsed behind it, shadowing it while also making it impossible to look away. It was a mockery of all Optimus was, and Bumblebee couldn’t help the rage that began to pool in his spark alongside the dread.

“What will you offer when my Champion gave me everything?” The Matrix flared, power arcing off it as the entity spoke. The corpse’s helm tilted a little too far to be possible for a normal mech, almost shifting a full ninety degrees. It grinned, its arms pulled close to itself as viscera and torn cables seeped out from between cracks in the corpse’s armor.

This thing was not Optimus. It merely wore his frame and mimicked his voice. Bumblebee’s desire to flee quickly found itself overshadowed by grim determination. Whatever the entity was, it could not be allowed to continue desecrating the frame of his leader and father.

“Who are you?” A slight tremor entered his voice as he spoke. His team huddled close to each other, stepping back from Bumblebee as the thing descended lower, its smile wide enough to tear through facial plating with ease. Bumblebee could see molar derma showing through the gashes that formed as the thing pushed Optimus’s body beyond its limits.

“I am the one below, he who formed your sparks from fire and starlight.” The entity’s smile softened, although it did nothing to take away from the rotted scent that emanated from the corpse. Rusted metal, stagnant energon, and the rancid smell of corroding internal fluids long since left to rot. That one optic blazed with renewed fury as Primus’s core brightened for a moment, joining the entity, the god as it, he spoke.

“I ask you again, what will you offer? How much are you willing to give for victory?” The cables slithered ever deeper into battered protoform, puppeting limbs as the god of all Cybertronians hung within the confines of Optimus’s corpse. Bumblebee’s digits shook as the being known as Primus continued to stare through the optic of his father.

This was so very wrong. What use would a god have for a mortal frame? Why would Primus do this to his chosen? Why would he demand sacrifices when already they had given all they could?

“I… I will give whatever is required.” He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever was to come as Primus continued to stare, uncaring, unnatural, and yet so very loving all at once. His team’s fields flared in horror, and distantly he was aware of Windblade and Drift dropping to their knees in submission, be it out of fear or reverent respect. Strongarm and Sideswipe continued to step away, terrified as more cables wrapped around Optimus’s frame, supporting it so that the god could pilot it more freely.

“How noble of you. Optimus tended to you well. I can sense his touch, feel his influence all throughout your very being.” The corpse moved, the cables dragging it through the chamber as it did a slow circle around Bumblebee and his team. The god kept a safe distance away, remaining half submerged in shadow at any given moment as the spotlight that was Optimus’s optic continued to illuminate Bumblebee and those with him.

“I was right to let him keep you.” The voice echoed from all around and yet nowhere at once. Primus hung directly above Bumblebee for a moment, the corpse of Optimus Prime dripping fluids that made him want to gag. He resisted the urge, trying with all his might to not show how frightened he was as the god returned to his former position in front of the core, seemingly content.

“What does that mean?” The implications of the god’s words were startling to say the least. He spoke as though he controlled Optimus as easily as he did now, moving his body and commanding his voice. Would Optimus have left him if Primus had not ordained the Prime’s acquisition of Bumblebee after the destruction of his home city? Did Optimus have no free will? Or was the god toying with him just as Unicron had all those years ago?

“Nothing to you. It is of no consequence.” The god continued to smile in that sickly way that was only found on corpses where the mortician simply couldn’t manage to make the expression look natural. Optimus’s other finial snapped and fell into the void below as Primus contorted Optimus’s frame again, forcing it to jerkingly return to a somewhat comfortable position resting within the wires.

It didn’t look comfortable at all, not with wires and cables threatening to burst from every line and seam. If Optimus were alive, Bumblebee had no doubt that he would be in agony. He sincerely hoped his father figure wasn’t still functioning, trapped by some divine will within his frame as it twisted and shifted in ways it wasn’t meant to.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you let him rest?” Anger returned in full force as Bumblebee shook. Why did the monster that called himself a god have to do this to his chosen? Had Optimus not served enough?

He got his answer as the god paused, and then laughed.

It was a deep guttural and almost pained sound, one that bordered on a wheeze and the buzz of radio static all at once. Fluid must have been gathering in Optimus’s vocalizer all throughout his time rotting in the Well. The laughter merely emphasized that fact.

“Sweet child, have you no optics to see? Look upon this form, see that which it is and what it represents.” The god haphazardly threw Optimus’s arms open in a mock mimicry of an embrace. Primus smiled even wider, shattering further pieces of Optimus’s face as he forced it to match his design. He must have seen himself as benevolent and holy. He did not seem to understand the sheer horror of a god speaking through the deceased and rotted frame of a Prime.

“That means nothing to me.” Bumblebee stood defiantly, his door wings locked in place as he forced his hydraulics to stiffen. He refused to shake, to show weakness in front of an entity that bordered on maliciousness at every moment.

“A pity. No others have ever matched this one, my dear Optimus.” Primus spoke and almost lovingly forced Optimus’s arms to wrap around himself. The god tenderly caressed the Matrix, lovingly looking down upon it with what would have been an adoring expression if not for the rust that crept along the corpse’s face.

He looked so serene, and strangely enough, even holy. In Bumblebee’s mind, what he saw before him was a true depiction of their god. A rotting power of the old world who in turn chose new champions to pilot, corrode, and ultimately make just like him. Broken, and so very divine.

“So strong, so dutiful, so very faithful.” A look of pure joy spread on the corpse’s face. A piece of Optimus’s shoulder plating broke away and fell into the darkness. Primus did not react as he forced the arms of the corpse to stretch beyond their limits, as if to embrace the god’s chosen Prime with even more adoration.

“Always obedient and kind. He was, he is perfect. A true beacon for all my wayward creations.” The frame shuddered, almost like a clockwork engine as it let off steam. Energon long unused began to sizzle as the spotlight that was the god’s borrowed optic again returned to Bumblebee.

His team shook behind him. Sideswipe and Strongarm had long since fallen, their plating rattling as they unknowingly found themselves bowing. Bumblebee refused to budge. He clenched his servos into fists, unwilling to show the god before him just how frightened he was. Primus could destroy him in an instant, he was sure of it.

“How could I relinquish such perfection? He gives himself to me so very freely. Total submission, true supplication. Much unlike others who have come before and after him.” Again, the corpse moved forward, coming closer and closer to Bumblebee until it hung only a little ways off. He could almost touch his father’s broken face if he so desired.

But what truly set him off was not the proximity of the living corpse. Rather, it was the red and white paint that had been transferred onto the left servo of Primus’s borrowed vessel.

“You, did you-?” Realization dawned on him like a lighting strike. The corpse merely tilted its helm with its ever present smile.

“You think of the doctor, my Champion’s dearest friend. Yes, the damage was done by this borrowed servo. He dared to try and take what belongs to me and me alone.” Primus clenched the corpse’s fist, cables bulging within the limb in question as they were forcefully bloated with energon to facilitate movement. Bumblebee bit his lower derma as images of Ratchet’s terror and possible experience conjured in his processor. This thing had hurt him, that much was clear.

“He might have been a fine vessel once. But he is too tainted, no longer pure. Wise perhaps, and dutiful indeed. But he would never heed my call.” Primus reached up to cup his, or rather Optimus’s face. Weathered servos touched scuffed and dirty facial plates with all the delicateness one would give a porcelain doll. Bumblebee wanted to recoil in horror as the implications hit him. No mech should be subject to whatever in the name of the Thirteen this was.

“Optimus… my beloved Optimus. His faith has been a delight after so many ages of silence.” Primus maneuvered his borrowed servos down, brushing up against thin and frail armor plates. The singular functional optic Primus had to use trailed every movement, watching those servos which he controlled as they caressed the body the god inhabited. It was disturbing to watch. It almost looked like some sort of convoluted assault with how pleased the god looked as he forced Optimus’s body to examine itself.

“He gave himself to me willingly. Anything to win his little war. He called himself a sacrifice, but I have named him my Chosen.” The body shivered in what looked to be pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the gag that he let out at the sight. The corpse merely continued to grin as it forced Optimus’s body to embrace itself, prompting a series of cables to burst and oozing energon to slide from new wounds.

“He obeyed my every command, listening to my whispers and calls for my brother’s return to slumber. He was so dutiful that he chose me over all others, even the likes of you.” The god laughed again, a sweet chortle that did not match Optimus in any capacity. Then, as if that weren’t enough, its helm tilted again, this time even further than before. Something snapped as Primus forced the corpse to comply with his wishes, ensuring the rotted frame’s helm all but swiveled into an impossible one hundred and eighty degree angle.

Anger swelled in his spark at the mere idea of Optimus throwing everything away for some dying deity. It wasn’t like him. Optimus was a Prime for the people. He would never cast away everything just for… some god who hardly cared. But what truly shook Bumblebee were the tears that began to fall from the singular functioning optic Optimus’s body still possessed. The tears were discolored due to rust and other contaminants, but they were real, and he highly doubted it was Primus who ordered Optimus’s coolant stores to empty themselves.

“He gave himself back to me entirely, and yet as he fell, he thought of you.” Bumblebee took a step back as Primus’s tone turned sharper, edging on something akin to agitation if not hatred. The god rattled, his borrowed frame shaking as the smile fell away.

“You and your fellow companions, his little playthings meant to guide and serve.” The god’s helm swiveled back into proper position, another unsettled crack echoing as something or other broke in Optimus’s battered frame.

“Be quiet. You don’t know him.” Bumblebee shot back, wrath, anguish, and everything else he had been doing his best to bottle up swelling to the surface of his mind and spark. Primus didn’t know slag. He had not been there as their people died off during the great war. He had not so much as offered one vague prophecy through his Prime throughout all the time Optimus carried the Matrix. He had no right to speak on the behalf of a mech who gave everything for their world.

“But don’t I?” Primus’s tone was sweet like freshly purified energex, but he did not smile.

“I know his spark. I lived within him throughout your entire war. His thoughts were mine to glean and his affections mine to allow or deny.” The corpse was moved, again shifting away from its lighted position and into shadow. Bumblebee couldn’t see it as Primus maneuvered through the dark, silence reigning for a long klik. The urge to activate his weapons was almost suffocating as he scanned the darkness, desperately trying to pinpoint the lurking threat.

His team didn’t so much as twitch as they remained in various states of terrified worship. Their optics flicked around, following Bumblebee’s lead as they too tried to track the threat. Not a spark spoke, not when the core of their world pulsed so calmly, serenely even. There was no acknowledgement of the body that hung in living chains, lurking in the dark and almost certainly observing.

“Do you miss him? Does this voice make you wish he were here?” The corpse called out, this time without any undertone of Primus’s interference. It sounded almost exactly like Optimus, and it came from all around. He had to fight back the instinctual urge to cry as the familiar gruff softness reached his audials.

It wasn’t Optimus. That wasn’t his father. Optimus Prime was dead and a god was making a mockery of him.

“Come. Come greet him.” He turned around, facing the way he came to try and determine where the voice was coming from. But when he returned to his previous position, the corpse was a mere few feet away, far closer than ever before. He let out an undignified scream as the corpse leaned in, its arms outstretched.

How had it moved so fast?

“You must come closer. He cannot hear you so far away.” The tone of the thing was sing-songy, but Bumblebee shook his helm rapidly in primal terror. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t HIM. The thing that smiled and watched him with one wide and far too bright optic was not his leader. The mech he wished he openly called father would have never done this. Optimus would have never beckoned him like some sort of… creature.

He stepped back, his bravery falling in the face of true fear. His venting hitched and he prepared to run as the corpse tilted its helm again, a snarl forming on its features for the first time since it began to speak.

“Why do you flee from me? Am I not your maker?” The thing lurched forward, its movements so stiff and unnatural the Bumblebee scrambled back just in time to dodge its attempts to grab him. The god seethed and Bumblebee’s team quickly floundered in their attempts to get to their pedes as a wrathful field pressed against them from all sides.

“Come here.” Primus looked enraged. His borrowed face contorted into anger so rarely seen on Optimus in life that to Bumblebee it looked like the mech he once called his leader was possessed by the Unmaker himself. The god looked a klik away from forcing his borrowed frame into combat before he stuttered, power arcing off him until at last, he stilled.

“You… must… run.” The voice of the corpse whirled to life once more, but unlike the clear sound that Primus produced despite the state of his borrowed frame, this sound was pained. It came in a wheeze that gurgled and croaked, finally matching the tears that stained the corpse’s face.

“Leave. Go before he can take you.” The body looked up, and the movement was smooth, evidently practiced. The optic that settled on Bumblebee was not nearly as bright. Rather, it was dim and flickering, sickly in the purest sense. It was a light that should not have been there with how badly the frame it was emanating from was damaged.

Bumblebee’s processor scrambled for an answer, but the conclusion was obvious. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that his leader was at peace, if only in spark. But seeing the desperate expression on Optimus’s face… he knew who it was that spoke to him, and he wanted to kick, scream, and cry all at once as the body spasmed and control returned to the god of their world.

“How dare you.” The corpse bore no expression now. Only the words came out with a thick vile venom that stung just to listen to. The ground began to shake as Primus’s core pulsed rapidly, wires convulsing and ancient gears stalling for nanokliks at a time.

“How dare you taint him.” The voice rose in volume, no longer sounding like Optimus at all. A maelstrom of sound and sensation assaulted him from every conceivable angle as voices that were few and yet singular at the same time all converged on him. Energon and thick viscous fluid exploded out of Optimus’s throat as Primus’s speech shattered more and more of its components.

“He belongs to me.” The corpse stiffened, its singular optic blazing so brightly that smoke rose from places, prompting more tears to fall. But instead of smiting him as Bumblebee expected, the god instead fell still once more, his borrowed optic flickering as something seemed to change.

“He is innocent. Merely a child.” Optimus, the real Optimus spoke out in the gloom. His words were slow and agonizing, grating just to listen to. But Bumblebee found himself crying all the same as his leader began to plead, desperation evident in every glyph he uttered.

“I serve. I serve willingly.” He sounded like he was in agony.

“Glory to the one below. He who slumbers and gives us life.” Prayers flowed from his torn derma, regardless of the absolute torment he was likely enduring. Optimus held his servos in a loose symbol of the Primacy, his gaze unsteady as he spoke.

“Praise be to His holy station. His will is our demand.” He did not look up, but his stuttered venting spoke of life forced to continue operating regardless of its viability. Bumblebee couldn’t find the strength to wipe away his tears, not when his Prime pleaded for his very existence.

“There is no greater purpose than to offer Him our loyalty. For He is the truth where lies fester.” The prayers continued for kliks. There was no pause between them, nor did Optimus look up even once. Eventually, the prayers changed and strange glyphs that made no sense began to emerge in something akin to a babble. Bumblebee couldn’t tell if Optimus was too pained to continue or if something deeper was happening, but ultimately, the shaking stopped and everything returned to its previous state.

“What will you give to achieve victory?” The question was repeated and Bumblebee was not given time to move before the corpse swept down, grabbing his face with one monstrous servo so tightly that he could feel his jaw creaking. That lone optic all but blinded him as the god held him in place, all but lifting him off the ground as Primus demanded his answer.

“Would you give me your spark?” The servo that was not holding him still wandered to Bumblebee’s chassis, sweeping over his plating in a seemingly fond manner. He wanted to curl in on himself in shame, horror, and something that had long since evolved beyond terror. However, he was helpless to stop the god as he ran his borrowed digits along transformation seams, his expression hopeful as if he expected Bumblebee to open for him.

“If not yours, would you give me theirs?” Seeing his lack of reaction, Primus looked over his shoulder, down at Bumblebee’s team. He flailed, but the death grip the god had on his face was all but unbearable. Fear ran so deeply in his spark he couldn’t find a way to produce words. Linguistic codes were gone, far out of reach as he stared, meeting Primus’s gaze properly for the first time.

He saw his team reflected for a moment in that lone optic as it flickered and struggled to remain online. They were terrified, but similarly frozen. They were at the mercy of their god, and they had no say in the matter once he decided what to do.

“I am not a cruel maker. I am willing to make deals.” Digits reached up, dirty from energon, rust, and years of contamination. They brushed his derma, tracing around his optics and facial features like a lover would. He wheezed, tears falling from his optics with greater ferocity than ever as the god watched him with that strange apathy and love all balled together into a disgusting mix that left him wishing it could all be over.

Primus continued to touch him for a long few moments, a hum bubbling in his borrowed throat. Bumblebee sobbed softly all the while. This wasn’t right. Optimus was his father. All of this was wrong on a fundamental level. He only wanted information, a way to save their people. Why this? Why did it have to be like this?

“Ah… it seems the debt has been paid by another.” Suddenly, without warming, Primus let go of his face. Bumblebee fell to his knees gasping in sheer relief as the corpse pulled back, slowly returning to its original position.

“There shall be no sacrifice from you this cycle.” It spoke soothingly, as if nothing at all had happened during their interaction. Primus smiled in that divine manner that should have been comforting but only served to remind Bumblebee that this entity was a god more than capable of violence.

“You shall have your victory, when the time is right.” Weathered arms stretched out as the corpse performed a mock bow, at least as much as it could with the way it was bound.

“I will lend him to you for a time, at least until the threat is removed.” It straightened, more cables coming from the walls of the chamber to connect to Optimus’s battered frame. Bumblebee continued to shakily vent, observing in silence as the god pulled his puppet back, far out of reach.

“Go now. Tell the doctor and prepare yourselves.” Optimus’s arms were crossed over his chassis, an almost respectful position if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage inflicted all over him from Primus’s attempts at controlling a mortal frame. Optimus’s lone optic flickered and glanced around for a moment before Primus uttered a final statement that haunted Bumblebee throughout his return journey.

“I know he was too afraid to stand before his god once again.”

Huh.

So what if he was?

Bumblebee couldn’t say he blamed Ratchet for much of anything anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if getting Megatron would have been the easier decision. At least the warlord wouldn’t condemn his spark to the void if he failed to show proper respect. At worst, he would be disemboweled. And quite frankly, compared to Primus’s little attempts at touch, he would prefer that any cycle of the vorn.

“I told you not to touch him.” Ratchet’s first comment was simple, but without any malice. Bumblebee all but collapsed into his arms, the aching marks on his face clear to see.

Ratchet didn’t comment after that.

No one did.

What happened that cycle was never spoken about, at least not in public. Bumblebee did his best to forget, especially when Primus seemed to keep up his end of his supposed… deal.

Optimus came back, pristine and shiny as if he’d never been dead to begin with. He showed no signs of distress or the vaguest recollection of events down in the Well. He played it all off as if he had been peacefully deceased and promptly returned to existence at the drop of a hat. But after everything, Bumblebee now knew the faint look in his optics, the shadow that followed him wherever he went.

Primus was watching. There was no escape from the god of Cybertronians and his precious Champion.

Over and over again Bumblebee found himself haunted, hearing the words replay again and again in his mind whenever Optimus’s optics met his.

”The debt has been paid by another.”

By the Thirteen. Just what had Optimus given to ensure no others suffered as he did?

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers robots in disguise #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #sideswipe #strongarm #windblade #drift #primus #the matrix of leadership #robogore #religious imagery #body horror #yupppppppp here yall go #another brain worm that went nuts

[dark-and-kawaii]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Found & Lost ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Zevlor x Tav/Reader ♡ Haarlep x Tav/Reader

Two Separate Stories

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: After searching everywhere for your lost Zevlor, when you finally locate him, you can't help but wonder if it might already be too late… ♡ Saying goodbye to Haarlep was always difficult, especially knowing the inevitable punishment that awaited the incubus.

⋆˙⟡♡ Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Zevlor

Your heart throbbed violently against your ribcage, a frantic drumming as you looked up at the unconscious tiefling, imprisoned within that grim capsule. The mind flayer’s colony, with its ghastly luminescence, threw haunting shadows over Zevlor’s face, each one a silent testament to the torments that plagued his slumber. The sorrow was palpable; it leaked from the creases of his furrowed brow and seeped into your mind…

You could hear it, the hellriders anguish, as his mind drifts into the past… How he failed his city, his people… The self-deprecating thoughts that gnawed at his soul. Tears welled in your eyes, a reflection of the wounds that marred his spirit.

Your hands, trembling with urgency and fear, danced over the reflection of the pod, desperate to reclaim him from the jaws of this horrid place. As you sought out a way to release him, you scanned the area until your fingers finally latched onto salvation, a trigger, and with a passionate yank, the pod began its reluctant consent and opened.

You quickly darted back, your heart in your throat as you reached out, catching Zevlor as he began to tumble forward, his body heavy against yours causing your bodies to collapse together in an embrace dictated by gravity and desperation.

“Zevlor! Z-evlor!” Your voice was so fragile, a tremor in the stillness, as you cradled him close, your palms pressing against his chest, “Please, come back to me! Zevlor!”

He was like a ragdoll in your arms, his breaths shallow echoes of life. All you could do was enveloped him in your arms, your voice splintering under the weight of your emotions, “You're not alone, Zevlor. Please, you're still cherished I promise... Your past doesn’t define you…” You could feel your tears begin to cascade down your cheeks and descend onto him… “Open your eyes for me… Please…”

His chest rose and fell against yours- the heat of his body seared through the cold reality of your surroundings, and for a moment, the shadows of the colony faded away. There, in the cradle of your arms, lay the soul you were determined to shield, to love, the valiant soul that had always put others before himself. A tender smile flickered across your lips as you remembered your first meeting with the commander, the kindness he showed by offering his only bedroll to you, a stranger then, yet he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

All you could do was whisper words of comfort, of hope, into the stillness of the colony, willing him to return to you once more, “Please, Zevlor,” your fingers combing through his small ponytail, “Don't leave me alone in this darkness. You are loved, you are needed. Wake up, please… I-I cannot face this world without you."

Haarlep

Haarlep, enslaved to Raphael's whims, was but a plaything to the cambion. A treasure of flesh and spirit, used and discarded at his whim. Yet to you, Haarlep was the epitome of a good dream, a lost lover found.

As you made your way into the boudoir, there they lay, the very personification of carnal lust and perversity, draped across the bed, their gaze lost in the red expanse of Avernus's skies. Your presence went unnoticed until your fingers trailed a tender path down their spine, a gesture of softness in a realm otherwise devoid of such kindness.

The trail of your nails along their tail roused them. A soft moan, tinged with delight, a hallmark of beings of their simple nature, escaped Haarlep’s lips. It was only when you playfully spun the slender end of their tail that the incubus’s gaze met yours.

You both moved together in a dance as old as time, an ebb and flow of power and submission, a silent conversation spoken in gasps and caresses. You both found solace in each other's embrace, a temporary shelter from the chaos of both your realities.

When it was time to stir from your slumber, your body tangled with Haarlep’s, the harsh reality pierced through the sweetness of your shared illusion. Tears unwittingly streamed down your face, signaling the sorrow of your inevitable separation. With a lover's tender touch, Haarlep brushed away your grief, lifting their finger to their lips to savor the saltiness of your sadness. Even amid their playful demeanor, their eyes mirrored the agony they habitually masked.

“I don't want to leave you again,” you uttered, your heart sinking as your thumb lingered upon the evidence of Raphael's cruelty on Haarlep's wounded lip. A solitary tear, precious and rare, traced a path down your cheek, a tear from the champion of Baldur's Gate.

Haarlep sealed your parting with a kiss with unspoken farewells, “Fly off now, little dove,” their voice a cheerful melody to veil the sorrow within. You were so delicious in every sense. Your body, your soul, your touch, everything about you made Haarlep feel full and alive… If only they could keep you to themself, to have you wrapped around them for all eternity.

The mark on your neck left by Raphael from before was enough to allow the incubus to set you free each time. With a flick of their hand, Haarlep urged you away, despite wishing to keep you… It was a silent command to flee before Raphael’s return. Their smile, bittersweet. It was the face of one who knew too well the cost of this so called thing “love” in a place where it had no right to flourish… Haarlep laughs at such a thought as they stare into your eyes.

With a heart heavy as the chains that bound Haarlep to this place, you left. The House of Hope waned from view as you emerged into the dawning light of a new day in Fearun. A day devoid of the promise of hope for the demon you left behind, entwined in the sheets of a bed that offered no true rest.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #haarlep #baldurs gate #tav #haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #Zevlor #zevlor bg3 #zevlor x tav #zevlor x reader

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hi there!! Can I req a Matthias x reader where the reader is very nice yet shy, and Matthias fell for their kindness but is afraid to confess cause he might lose them(who's the first and only person to show him genuine care)?

(But he's also bad at hiding his feelings)

Or maybe a scenario where he has a difficult time sleeping and finds himself impulsively knocking on your door— regretful of his actions but he can't back out now that you're standing in front of the open door, curious from the unexpected visit.

He's a new char so I hardly find any fics about him and I'm desperate💔 you can change the scenario!! I'm really just desperate uehdhsishd(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

hi anon i LOVED these ideas! i tried to combine both of them into one, i hope it satisfies what you wanted!! ♡

falling slowly 🪡

Matthias isn’t one to act on impulse.

He’ll let his thoughts fester aimlessly inside him, hoping the darker among them someday fizzle out. He’ll watch precious chances fly past him, fearing the consequences of a risk taken too rashly. A missed opportunity is better than another tragedy. A guarded mind is better than a broken heart. But some restless nights drive him to desperation, and tonight that leads him to you.

He stands outside your bedroom door, arms stiff against his sides. He’s passed by this room countless times before, as the two of you occasionally walk each other back to your rooms. But never has he come here on his own, never without explicit permission.

He gingerly raises his hand, letting it hover above your doorframe. All of a sudden, he loses his words. What would he say? I can’t sleep, I need you to check for monsters under my bed? I need you to stay with me until I fall asleep? I need you to tuck me in? What a baby. He can already picture the look you’d send him: a smile that’s trying too hard to be polite, a shabby effort at concealing the judgment within. You wouldn’t turn him down directly, even though he knows you’d want to. Kindhearted people love to dance in circles before saying anything that might offend. He’s all too familiar with this game. Normally, your kindness is something he loves about you, but all he can do now is curse it under his breath. If only you were crueler to him, like most people are, then he wouldn’t have let his hopes inflate his head. He would’ve known never to even consider stopping by your room. He would’ve known to avoid this situation altogether.

His fingers close into a fist, and it’s then he realizes he’s quivering slightly. Louis wouldn’t have a problem in this scenario. That thought piques Matthias most. His “factory defect” has locked him in place yet again, and all he can do is swallow down the reminder of his incompetence. It’s just a door, for God’s sake.

He flexes his fingers one last time, glancing around as if worried someone might catch him. Then he strikes his fist. It’s a clumsy motion, rattling your door on its hinges, and his heart leaps to his throat. A courteous knock would have three raps or so, not the jarring thud! he made — nobody in their right mind would imagine that’s a welcome visitor, right? Especially not at this snake’s pit of a manor. He prays desperately for you to ignore that ever happened. In your position, he’d pretend to be asleep, maybe double-check that the door is properly locked. Surely you’d do the same.

Surely...?

“It’s open!” greets your voice from inside, entirely unconcerned.

Matthias holds his breath. Why are you leaving your door unlocked at this hour? But he tucks that thought away while he stares down at the doorknob. This is it — he’s trapped. If he turns around now, you’ll be left with unresolved fears of someone lurking around your room at night. Nothing could entice him to do that to you. And if you ever found out it was him? It’d be too late for apologies, and definitely not forgiveness. Right, so he has to answer.

Slowly, he cracks it open a fraction, afraid of peering anywhere but the ground.

“You can come in,” you urge. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. Footsteps shuffle around inside, then the door fully swings open. “Oh, hi Matthias! What’s up?”

He only meets your face briefly, at your bright and curious eyes, before his gaze flicks back downward.

“Uh… sorry to bother you, I just…” He awkwardly grasps at his elbows, struggling to string together his intentions. “…I need you.”

. . . . .

There it is. His secret is out. He didn’t mean to let it slip, but that single phrase had been bouncing endlessly around his mind, as if they were the only words he knew. It’s the one thing he can confidently admit: he needs you. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. In fact, he’s certain you don’t. Nobody in their right mind would. That’s why he never ventured to say these words before. So when you respond to him with patient silence, as if waiting for him to continue, the entirety of his body freezes over. Maybe only a few seconds pass in reality, but that’s more than enough time for Matthias to fill the gaps. It’s a no — he knows it’s a no.

Your head tips slightly. “Sure, what do you need?”

The whirlwind in his mind slows to a halt. He remembers how he used to cough up excuses on the spot when trying to avoid you—sometimes you’d invite him for a meal or game of cards together, and he had convinced himself those were pity invites so he tended to reject them upfront. It stings less to avoid someone altogether than to endure feeling ‘tolerated’ instead of ‘wanted.’ But now he’s wracking his brain for an excuse to stay.

“I—I just wanted to see you.” It’s not a lie, but for some reason it feels like one.

“Me?” A look of surprise flashes on your face, warmth blooming across your chest. That might be the most forward thing you’ve ever heard from him. Stepping closer, you reach for his forearm, peering up into his face to better examine his strained features. Your free hand reaches up to brush aside the limp strands of hair shrouding his face. “Did something happen? It’s almost midnight—I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just so unexpected…”

The strength falls from Matthias’ shoulders. Out of relief, maybe. Or maybe it’s to brace himself for one last leap of faith.

“Can I stay with you…?” His voice is barely audible. You search his lone eye, staring back at you in its perfect hollowness. At some point, that blank stare has become a comforting sight for you. Your hand trails from his arm to spread across his shoulder. He remains motionless.

“Okay,” you say, softly. “Always.”

As you move to wrap both arms around his neck, you notice his body tense, and his brows furrow, subtly, in a clear attempt not to let you notice. The strain on his face catches you off-guard.

“Wh-What? What’s wrong?” Immediately, you pull back to search his expression.

“N-No, nothing—keep going.”

This time, it’s Matthias who draws you close. His arms weave their way around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His face burrows into your shoulder, and it’s then you understand the weight of his visit, of his need for you. All you can do is lift a tender hand to ruffle his hair, feeling his pounding heart ease in your arms.

#matthias' self sabotage saga continues #i adore this guy #identity v #idv x reader #matthias czernin #matthias czernin x reader #idv imagines #identity v x reader #idv puppeteer #puppeteer x reader

[raineandsky]

#112

Villainy is at an all time low. It’s practically non-existent, and with it, the villains.

Heroes have tried hunting them down. Searched every corner of the city, every abandoned building, every dark alleyway. Something’s going on.

The agency is humming with nervous energy. Something’s happening. This is on purpose. The villains are in hiding because they’re planning something big. Where are they all? We have to stop them. They have to be somewhere.

The villains are gone for so long, the agency strung so high, the place practically explodes when a pair of heroes happen across one on their usual jaunt around the city.

The hero is in the midst of buying a coffee when they come through the doors with bright smiles and cheers of victory. The villain flails between them, screaming bloody murder, as other heroes crowd around with questions and praises. You found one? Where were they? What’s going on? Have they said anything? This is a good sign. Good job, guys. The start of the end.

The heroes continue through with their prize, others following them like a cape of praise and cheers, and the hero gets a chance to glance at the villain. A familiar face. One of the ones the hero saw frequently in the field, one they’re well acquainted with. Of course.

The superhero throws them into an interrogation room not even fifteen minutes later. The hero’s coffee is still half-full. Might as well play the optimist, considering the situation.

One of the same heroes as before brings the villain in. The villain is, to put it lightly, rabid. The hero can see the scratches on the other hero’s arms, though he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still too busy basking in everyone’s praise to care.

“Be careful,” he says cheerfully as he wrestles the villain into the chair opposite. “This one goes for the eyes.”

The villain’s never done that to the hero on the streets. Something’s going on, they can agree with that, but something’s changed.

The other hero steps back with a grin as the villain snaps at him, teeth bared like an animal, and with a quick thumbs up to the hero he turns on his heel and leaves them alone with the villain.

Rage is not an emotion the villain has ever expressed outwardly. Anger, sure, but not quite this raw. They yank their hands desperately to try and free themselves, the chair they were put in already tipped over. The table jolts with the force, and the hero’s half-full coffee tips over and onto the floor.

The hero can only think to watch. They’re not going to get anything out of them like this. They’ll wait for the villain for them to tire themself out.

After ten long minutes, it’s clear that isn't an option. Where are they getting all this energy from? They’ve been in the agency before, back when they were amateur enough to get caught, and they were never this frantic. They sat quietly, answered the questions the hero threw at them, and casually broke themself out that same night.

“[Villain]—”

“Let go of me!”

The villain’s breath is haggard, their arms shaking with the effort, but they haven’t stopped. The hero’s confusion is turning into worry incredibly fast.

“[Villain],” they try, carefully, tentatively. “Where is everyone?”

The villain’s eyes snap up to them like they’re seeing them for the first time. The first thing the hero notices is that it’s not rage in their face—it’s terror.

The hero holds their hands out pacifically. “You’re okay,” they continue. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The fear gets quickly masked by a layer of hatred. “Let go of me.”

The words come out calmer, quieter—seething. The villain looks like they’d break the hero in half given the opportunity. “Let go of me,” they repeat—and then, a little softer, “you have to.”

The hero’s heart pulls. A hint. Something to go off.

“Why would I do that?”

The villain’s pulling has slowed, their entire body leaning back against their cuffs. They sag slightly, exhausted, their eyes dropped to the table. “You have to.”

Less helpful a second time. The hero gets to their feet, glancing at the mirror to the side of the room. “I’m going to take them back,” they tell it, to the superhero inevitably on the other side. “We’re not getting anything out of them today.”

“No!” The villain cringes away when the hero reaches for them like they’re coming at them with a knife, and they almost throw themself back to their frenzy. “Don’t touch me!”

The villain kicks a foot out and misses, thankfully, as the hero cautiously edges into their space. The hero reaches forwards to detach the villain’s cuffs from the table, and as if the action makes something crack, the villain lets out a grief-stricken sob.

The hero steps back before they can stop themself, alarmed. The villain turns their face away with another choke of a cry, pushing themself as far away from the hero as the table will allow. “Let go of me,” they say again, but it’s not angry anymore. It sounds defeated. Scared.

The hero moves past them and they lurch back like they're contagious, watching nervously as the hero carefully sets the chair back upright. “Sit down,” the hero says gently.

They nudge the chair towards the villain. The villain stares at it for a moment, letting the first streaks of tears paint their face, before they give in and sit. The single motion is laboured, tired—how long have they been fighting back for?

“If you tell me what’s going on,” the hero prompts carefully, “we might be able to think about letting you go.”

“N– No, I have to go now. Before it’s too late.” Another hint, another step in the right direction. The hero glances at the mirror.

“That isn’t an option, [Villain], you know that.” The hero settles back in their own chair. “If you tell us what’s happening, though, we might be able to help you.”

The villain shakes their head shortly. “I can’t,” they mumble, and it comes out entirely heartbroken.

“Well,” the hero starts slowly, “let’s start with what you can tell us.”

The villain hesitates, but after a moment they nod, slight, barely perceivable. The hero nods too—a step in the right direction. The first hint in the giant puzzle that is everything.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #it feels like agesssss since i wrote something this long #and i missed it!!! feel like im stretchin me legs after a long time #and yes i posted something p long a lil while back. i wrote that after this lmao

[moonxytcn]

Hii could you write a gluff/comfort billie x fem reader who is from europe (non english speaking/ dutch speaking but idk if you know dutch so its not that important) and they speak english but have a very obvious accent and is insecure abt it and struggles with pronounciation and like finding the right words and it gets really frustrating for reader? I know this is a very long request and if you don't like write things like this then dont feel bad or anything also i love your writing so much! <3

having an accent sucks

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Summary – reader is insecure about her accent when speaking English.

warnings – fluffy, more cute content.

word count – 851.

a/n – hello, I hope this is what you wanted when you requested it, thank you very much for that by the way. and this comment about my writing made my heart warm, thank you anon <3

English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

This gif isn't mine, I found it on Google

–––

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the room where you were getting ready with Billie, you felt your anxiety growing with each passing second. In a few minutes, you would be heading out to meet Billie's friends, and it would be the first time you'd meet them. You couldn't help but feel nervous. You and Billie had been together for 5 months, having met her parents in the first 3 months of the relationship.

The reason for your nervousness? Simple, you were Dutch, and despite being in the United States for a while, it seemed like your accent had decided to stick with you, and it was very evident when you spoke. This had become an insecurity of yours since with the added accent, you ended up having difficulties with English pronunciation, stumbling over words and always desperately searching for the right one.

Finishing fixing your hair, all your mind could think about was whether Billie's friends would understand you, and if you would embarrass yourself with your awkward pronunciation. There were so many 'what ifs' running through your mind that you had to stop for a moment and catch your breath. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you began to unconsciously murmur words in English to practice pronunciation and avoid embarrassment, trying to imagine how it would sound to someone who had heard English all their life, fearing the judgment that could come, whether verbal or not.

Billie paused for a moment upon hearing a murmur coming from her girl beside her, glancing briefly at her through the mirror and seeing what she already imagined was happening. She always knew that you struggled a bit more than others to learn and speak English. And although she knew you didn't like how you sounded when you spoke, she always found your escaping accent absolutely adorable. She remembers it was the first thing that caught her attention when she heard you ordering coffee in line, she knows very well that's when she fell in love with you, it might as well be love at first sight, if you believe in that.

"Babe." Billie called softly, wrapping her arms around you from behind, looking at you through the mirror.

"Yes?" You answered softly, knowing you were caught and already knowing she knows what you were doing.

"You know you don't need to worry, right? They're my friends, they would never make fun of you if they know what's best for them. And even if they did, I'd be by your side and protect you. Always." She says, looking into your eyes with those beautiful ocean blue eyes.

"I know, I just— you know how diff-diff neuken!" You speak, already getting frustrated because you can't pronounce it right again. (neuken - fuck)

"Difficult?" Billie says softly, leaving a light kiss on your neck, you just nod, playing with her fingers that are on your belly. "I know. Believe me. But all I see whenever I hear you speak is how perfect your voice is and your accent just makes you more unique. Love, your accent is the cutest thing ever, I'm serious. Okay?" She says.

You nod, letting a small smile escape. "I think I'm ready to go. Just, promise me you'll stay by my side, always."

"I promise, darling. Always. You don't even need to ask me that." She says turning you and giving you a chaste and soft kiss on your soft lips.

–––

Arriving at the restaurant where Billie arranged to meet her friends, she parks the car and turns to you in the seat and grabs your hand giving it a squeeze to let you know she's here. "Ready?" She asks. You nod and take a deep breath seeing her get out and come to your side to open the door for you. Getting out you go straight into her arms and give her a tight hug, she hugs you with equal force knowing you need it.

"It will be alright, love. I love you." Billie says breaking from the hug and looking into your eyes holding your face with a softness that only she has.

"I love you, so much." You say giving a peck on her lips.

Entering the restaurant you soon find the table where her friends are. Approaching they soon see you. "Hey guys, this is my girlfriend Y/n." She introduces you.

"Hey everyone." You say already noticing your accent is very visible.

–––

Opening the door to the house together with Billie you can't wipe off the huge smile that's plastered on your face. When the door closes you jump into her arms and shower Billie with kisses while the last one becomes a slow and full of love, happiness and affection.

"I'm so happy! I didn't mess up any words today, did you see?" You say excitedly to her. While she can only look at you with adoration in her eyes, mirroring your smile and watching you ramble on about how good the night was, how much you liked her friends, and how happy you were for not messing up anything today.

"I'm proud of you, love." She says softly to you. Stopping your rambling upon hearing this, you look at her for a moment feeling tears of happiness wanting to spill. Closing the distance between you, you hope she understands everything you want to say to her at this moment.

"I love you Billie. God I love you so much, you're an angel in my life." You say softly against her lips, not wanting to separate yet you just grab her like a koala. And she understanding, takes you to the bedroom where she lies on the bed and hugs you as tightly as she can, whispering praises in your ear and saying how proud she is, and happy for you.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x you #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #celebrity imagine #wlw #gxg

[glindaselphie]

so I’ve seen the film abigail twice now and spoiler alert throughout but it’s so cool to me that abigail, the baby vampire who is the monster of the story, isn’t actually the real villain bc a some of the people she is trying to kill were pretty fucked up morally too.

like first and foremost, they were all willing to kidnap what they thought was this innocent little 12 year old kid purely for money. joey is the only one that shows any kind of remorse and hesitation about it when she sees that abigail appears to be a kid. and while in some cases they might have been desperate for that money, it’s established that sammy is literally rich so definitely is not. so she’s kidnapping a child purely for fun.

and then there’s that they were planning on torturing her when again they thought she was just a normal kid. true, they were scared bc dean had just been brutally murdered, but that’s still a fucked up thing to try to do to what you think is a child. frank was the one that suggested it and peter put himself up for doing it.

and then there’s the symbolism of frank not only becoming a vampire just the same as abigail and attacking her in the same manner, but also trying to kill joey too. all because she was the last one there and he enjoyed the power trip.

it’s a story about how fear, money and power can bring out a monster in us and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

#abigail #abigail 2024 #horror #melissa barrera #alisha weir #laur.txt

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

ASH! There is no one like you. Your art is so BOLD and creative and genuinely awe-inspiring. I admire all the slutty, slutty things you make Ed and Stede get up to, while also making them look so pretty and colorful. So glad we have you in this fandom. 💕

I seriously don't have words 😭😭😭😭 have some memes instead 😭😭😭💖🧡💚💙💜💖

Thank you so much marianne!!! 😭💖💜💙💚💛🧡❤️💖😭

#honestly this ask might have broken me a little #i have an unhealthy amount of imposer syndrome #and a general anxiety of shyness around my mutuals and any kind of audience #I'm desperate to make things and share them and i love more than anything hearing people love the things i make as much as i do #I've been in fandom spaces for a really long time #(bitch is old) #and ive never been uplifted like i have by the ofmd fandom 💜💜💜 #I've had my work stolen or traced in previous fandoms #bullied or harassed or made to feel pathetic #and more often than that I've been kinda on my own in a little corner making stuff and easy to ignore/forget #i have a lot of fear about being unwanted or discarded or upsetting people #i just love to draw and get my little rainbow brainworms out into my art #and i love sharing them #and for so long that really was enough #it truly was #but after OFMD? after this crew? after this space of warmth and excitement and growth and queer joy?? #finding connections and making friends and clowning with you and drawing prompts and making memes and being in big bangs and zines?! #getting to illustrate fics and have my art inspire fics?? making friends with my mutuals who write and draw and make beautiful gifs?! #this has been the most fun ive ever had on the internet #and im so grateful #and overwhelmed #and thankful #and just everything altogether all at once #thank you so much

[akkivee]

naughty busters drama track: youthful riot summary

i’m not good enough to give a line by line tl of the track but i tried to make it as comprehensive as i could without it. you can listen to it here but if you can buy dawn of divisions vol 3, please do!!!! cdjapan has it in stock still!!!!

———

the drama track opens up with the end of otome’s coup speech and ichiro watching the televised event.

otome: instead of foolish, warmongering men, women will be the ones to give the world a fresh start!!

ichiro: whoever just became our leader better be powerful because nothing is going to change for us.

time passes, and ichiro’s just gotten done with his tasks of the day. he figures he might as well go home when he hears footsteps approaching.

kuukou: found ya, ichiro!!

ichiro: oh kuukou!! what’s up??

kuukou asks him if he’s seen the news and upon ichiro’s confirmation, he tells him he should know what these are and tosses him a mic. ichiro’s surprised, and kuukou explains as soon as he saw the power the mics had from the televised coup, he knew he had to give it a try and signed them both up for their mics. it’s then ichiro recalls that these are the hypnosis mics and kuukou demands they give them a whirl, to which ichiro agrees to do tho he sounds a startled by the sudden activity.

kuukou gives a self-introductory rap but when the blow lands on ichiro, ichiro comments it’s a little underwhelming and kuukou wonders how to get the output of power he’s seen. kuukou tells ichiro he’s up next and ichiro delivers his own introductory rap that similarly feels weak. ichiro speculates rapping skill may have an impact on their power so kuukou suggest they better get to practicing then!! agreeing, ichiro says that they need to get good with the mics as fast as they can because this will be the newest weapon everyone will get their hands on. kuukou sees his point and says and they need to stay ahead of the game, which is exactly what ichiro was thinking so they better get on it he exclaims!!!

—————————

we flash forward and training is done. kuukou suddenly started chuckling to himself and ichiro asks him what’s he laughing at. kuukou’s feeling good about how hard their rap training was, ichiro’s lyrics were strong and just about knocked him unconscious!!! ichiro asks if getting knocked out was really something to laugh about and kuukou tells him something along the lines of, “one should buy a lot of hardships.” well, ichiro does see benefits of their training and kuukou tells him soon they’ll both be knocking fools out together, to which cracks ichiro up a little.

ichiro suddenly gets a phone call. he answers the phone and after a brief conversation, states that he’ll be there shortly. kuukou asks him where he’s going and ichiro replies he’s been called in by mozuku.

kuukou: ah the corrupt priest huh…. guess that’s where we’re headed to next.

ichiro: it’s not like you have to follow me.

kuukou: stuuuupid. ain’t this something about your job?? what kinda partner would i be if i left you to do all the work alone?? so let’s go man.

and as kuukou walks away, ichiro pauses and quietly laughs to himself before following after kuukou.

—————————

the next scene, ichiro walks in mozuku’s office, followed shortly by kuukou.

mozuku is pleasantly surprised to see kuukou, as it’s been awhile, and asks if he’s here because he’s missed him. kuukou lets him know he’s the last person he wants to see. laughingly, mozuku says he’s so cold to him.

ichiro steers the conversation back to why mozuku asked him to come in. mozuku tells him he’s requiring a bodyguard service. for himself?? no, for a man who goes by the name osaragi, an investor known for evading taxes. kuukou asks if that’s the kind of guy that they’re guarding and mozuku confirms.

mozuku: do you remember tomabechi zakuro?

tomabechi zakuro, leader of the group Extortion, was the man who terrorised unami and her sister from dhbat manga chapter 12

apparently his right hand man, teshigawara, is after him. ichiro’s familiar with him, he’s the one who stepped up to take over the group after they helped put tomabechi in jail. kuukou asks why he’s after him and apparently he took off with all their money made in their name and left behind a wake of territorial disputes as well.

kuukou scoffs, that’s boring as shit.

mozuku: boring as it may be, i will be paying handsomely.

mozuku again tells ichiro to bodyguard this man and he’ll be sure to provide extra reinforcements.

grimly, ichiro accepts the job.

—————————

we next cut to our boys arriving at their rendezvous point, a business by the name of ‘Lounge.’

kuukou: tf kinda shop is ‘Lounge?’

ichiro: i’m not too sure either, but apparently you buy drinks and get to talk to women.

kuukou: *gives the most exasperated sigh* people really spend their money on this?? that’s so stupid.

ichiro comments to never mind what people spend their money on and they enter the shop.

once inside, they find a man laughing uproariously. ichiro hesitantly asks if he’s osaragi and introduces themselves as his bodyguards mozuku assigned to him. osaragi grumbles at the fact they’re just a bunch of kids and wonders if they’re capable at all. ichiro audibly reels in some anger and affirms that they can. well, as long as they don’t fck up, the money is his and osaragi commands them to stand off to the side so they don’t kill his drinking vibe.

they step away and kuukou swears at osaragi under his breath, calling him a pig. ichiro feels that and let’s kuukou know it’s fine if he’s not up to it and can go home. kuukou again chides ichiro, saying a partner is supposed to always stand by his side. besides, he’s looking forward to beating up some small fries.

kuukou: so i’m not leaving

ichiro: *chuckles* well, i’m glad you have my back, aibou-san

kuukou: *softly laughs* that’s right, just leave it to me!!

the moment is ruined when osaragi beckons them over like they’re his pets. very disgruntled, the two approach osaragi, who asks them if they drink tequila. kuukou firmly tells him he does not. osaragi insists tho, they can drink and do whatever they want to the women here, since they all owe him money. osaragi passes kuukou a glass imploringly, but kuukou, in a fit of anger, takes the glass, repeats he’s not drinking and makes to make a mess—

but ichiro stops him.

osaragi sneers at them, and ichiro declines for them, saying they’re here to bodyguard him, not to play around. osasari groans that they’re so uptight and sends them back to their spot since they’re making his drinks taste bad.

kuukou is ready beat the stuffing out of a pig.

ichiro quickly tells kuukou to calm down, they just gotta put up with him for the night. not mollified but putting it aside, kuukou brings up how those girls are under his command due to their debt to him. ichiro’s concerned about them too, but they can’t make any moves that might put their situation at risk. the girls need to be the ones to ask for help. kuukou concedes with a sigh, saying that’s a rather adult way to look at it. ichiro denies this; he’s only able to come to that conclusion because of his experience in this line of work.

if something goes wrong and he’s blamed for it, ichiro would feel like crap. kuukou hums in thought.

the doors suddenly burst open and a man demands to know where osaragi is. osaragi is in a panic and yells at ichiro and kuukou to protect him. they step up, itching for a fight and to their surprise, it’s teshigawara. they asked what happened to the men stationed outside and teshigawara and his men laugh, saying they made for some good punching bags. ichiro doesn’t understand how they took out so many of them and teshigawara reveals his hand:

he has a hypnosis mic.

so that’s what it was, ichiro muses, and their men hadn’t picked up mics yet. teshigawara is confident they have the upper hand here and tells them no amount of grovelling will save them if they get in their way. is that a threat, ichiro asks but it’s the opposite really. teshigawara feels thankful to them for getting him to the top of extortion, so he’s offering them a way out.

kuukou chuckles and asks ichiro what he’d like to do and ichiro answers they’ll make their own way out.

they take out their mics, much to teshigawara’s surprise, and spit bars about climbing to the top as a diss to teshigawara hand me down position.

their rap sends them flying!!!!

both ichiro and kuukou taunt their fallen enemies and it’s then osaragi shows himself, surprised the brats completed the job but pleased. kuukou scoffs at him and ichiro, job complete, excuses them from them scene.

but osaragi stops them from leaving, and demands they stay on as his bodyguards. he thinks they’re very well suited for this kind of work and offers to pay three times as much as mozuku’s offer. ichiro refuses and makes to leave again, but osaragi instantly knocks the price up to ten times the amount!!!! and offers up the number one hostess of the joint!!!! and they can have their pick of any of women he has under his control, repeating they can do whatever they want with them.

kuukou walks up to the lady osaragi is presenting to them, and tells her,

kuukou: hey miss. if you always hold your tongue, then nobody will ever understand what you need.

hostess: …………..please help me.

kuukou huffs, satisfied.

kuukou: ya hear that, ichiro-san??

ichiro: loud and clear. osaragi-san?

osaragi: so we have a deal??

ichiro punches the living daylights out of him. no they do not.

kuukou teases him, like whatever happened to not interfering where they aren’t welcome?? ichiro quips back that times change which draws out kuukou’s gremlin laugh, oh is that so??

ichiro lets out a deep sigh and says it’s time to go home.

as they set out, it strikes kuukou that they should make a team name for themselves.

ichiro: is it really that important??

kuukou: stuuuupid of course it is!!!! it gives proof that it existed.

ichiro: *pouty* well in that case, go ahead.

kuukou: but what would be a good team name……?? well, since ichiro’s suuuch a rebel, why don’t we go with “naughty monks”?

ichiro: that has nothing to do with me at all???

kuukou: you don’t think so?? then how about—

—————————

the scene changes for the final time and a man is on the run. he very quickly runs into a dead end tho, and, exhausted, turns to reckon with his fate.

kuukou: *laughs* i gotta admit you’ve got some big balls to be acting up in our territory!!!!

man: who……. who the fck are you guys?????

ichiro: we’re ‘naughty busters’, asshole!!!!

#this is vee speaking #share it with your friends tell them a mediocre summary has dropped #get it out to as many people as possible so they can laugh at the inaccuracies and roast me for trying #and get so petty about it they make their own tl and we finally get this track tled #i literally dgaf at this point i am desperate LOL #i tried to line by line tl conversations i felt were important to ichiro and kuukou but never trust me and my basic ass japanese lmao #but it’s full of these little moments of their ideologies shifting and adjusting to each other AND I THINK ITS FASCINATING #LIKE THE WHOLE SCENE OF ICHIRO KINDA UNWILLING TO HELP THESE WOMEN OUT OF THEIR SITUATION IN FEAR HE MIGHT MAKE THINGS WORSE #AND KUUKOU LATER ON PRESENTING HIMSELF AS THAT FIRST STEP TO GETTING WHATEVER HELP IS NEEDED IS AMAZING POETRY #ICHIRO CYNICISM SUBTLY CHALLENGING THE WAY KUUKOU ACTS WHENEVER ICHIROS IN THE LEAD #BUT ICHIRO FINDS WAYS TO DO GOOD AND FEEL GOOD WHENEVER KUUKOU TAKES CHARGE ITS REALLY GOOD #and pls listen to the track lol if you just read thru it and thought it was kinda gay then you won’t be prepared for how gay it sounds lmao #naughty busters

[cinnamon-phrog]

Can I please have some comfort right now, if that's okay? People are watching me.

#i'm being impersonated and harassed #every day people in my past still try to find me. and i'm scared #not of what they might find. i have nothing to hide. but it's the constant fear of being watched and never being free #i'll never be free from the people who hurt me because they'll always find me somehow #i shouldn't be feeling so awful but at the same time. #i pour myself out to help others yet in return i get 'oh it doesn't bother me' and 'i've had it worse'. as if i doubt that for a second. #but please. not everyone has the same amount of emotional endurance. my patience has worn completely thin. #people i've known on here to be the most disgusting scum of the earth who no matter how many times i block them still show up in my inbox. #people from my old school still think they can get to me. a person who lied to me still wastes their time watching me #someone who i cared about the most probably still watches on and it's breaking me. #it always has been but i'm the sensible one. i'm not allowed to do this. i shouldn't be writing this but i'm getting desperate #i've taken deep breaths. i've drank water. i've done everything plus things i should not have to ease it off. #maybe the reason why i love puppets and artificial characters because i'm always used like one. like i'm a toy to break or put away #stupid analogy everyone has made for themselves but i'm done trying to be a good writer. the composer. #i want to feel without being judged but of course that's impossible. it's fine when it's strangers but relentless stalkers? it's wrecking m #it has been for ages but i was scared to say because i'm used to apathy and false promises. #i keep forgetting things and hurting myself. i'm getting scared.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#i spend so mad god damn time bitching on this website. its bc i dont talk to ppl. whens the last time i had a non functional conversation? #uuuuhhh last weekend or maybe the weekend before that? so like i gotta complain somewhere. so if i stop complaining u can assume i made #friends lmao. ugh. its just. im worried. im worried abt how this semester is gonna go. how this phd program is gonna go #bc i spent the last 2 years destroying myself. realized ive gotta stop doing that. haven't figured out how to stop and now im gonna triple #the amount of pressure im under while trying to do things in a more healthy way. its just like. it objectively doesnt seem like a formula #for good things to happen. im more worried for how catastrophic its gonna b on my brain than i am abt the things i think most ppl would b #concerned abt. like im not worried abt planning and executing a project or teaching beyond fear of the unknown #its like. ive done these things before. theyre difficult but u make due and tackle the problems. but when it comes to: how to maintain a #healthy school/life balance? i dont even kno where to start with that. i just dont bc when u have a learning disability things just take #more time but like how much time is too much? where does it end? i dont kno how to manage it and i dont wanna hate my project by the end #of this. i want to b excited and not paralyzed bc im afraid i cant change my behavior and its gonna kill me #and im worried bc im meeting with my advisor for the 1st time since march before i agreed to join thr lab and have i prepared for this #project which is almost complete unrelated to what i did in my last lab? no bc ive been managing data and im still not done managing data #bc i cant focus bc i collected that data in a way that was actively self destructive. and i mean i kno itll b fine. thr guy seems nice i #just hate that im showing up devoid of enthusiasm bc its all been drowned out by the fear. and thats also gonna make teaching a problem #bc its hard to b excited abt things when there's a hole in your chest and ur desperate for someone to tell u how to fix it. but idk helping #ppl does usually make me feel better so maybe itll b a good thing. forgot how much i feel like im dying when i sit in meetings and #classroom tho lol. god its been 2yrs since i was a student. classes feel like such bullshit now. and yet if i dont get all As i might die #my students better b good. i have the 1st lab section bc thr lead ta couldnt do that time. so im the trial lab and i start fucking Monday #who tf does labs the 1st week of class? ugh. also its an intro bio so like 2/3 of thr class r freshman. lil bby 18yos and some r non bio #majors. and ive been warned that sometimes there r problems with ppl who don't believe in evolution and cause problems. pls let my classes #b good. im not that worried. its just gonna b annoying as fuck. im not good at being authoritative #ugh. i should b reading papers so i dont look like too much of an idiot tomorrow. itll b fine im just an anxious freak. a lil over a week #until i can try to find a therapist. probably seek medication bc i dont kno how else to stop this bullshit. annoying. i grew up with a dad #who gets anxious abt the idea of taking too much medication when he tskes a single ibuprofen. in this household we feel pain and then we #die miserable. this is all his fault. we have the same brain.im just a lil more irradidic than him #its so funny i say that bc im like the least irradic person ever. i do the same things every god damn day. im just irradic in terms of #sometimes i feel like my brain is on fire and im a cry bby lol #whatever. enough bitching. ive got papers to read. or maybe ill just go to bed and read them tomorrow 🙄 #unrelated

[mainfaggot]

hi oomfs. I have a question for those of u who know what it's like to be really like. very. suicidal ... what has stopped u from dying thus far?

#for context if u dont already read my depressing ass text posts: i have suicidal thoughts pretty often and two (2) times i have seriously #planned to off myself . but im still here mainly bc the first time i was treated for severe depression and an*rexia and got a bit of hope #and the second time. well thats now actually #I've been contemplating dying in the summer for the past couple months and it sounds insane bc well. it is death right #and thats pretty final #but i might not do it out of fear or out of desperation for a better life and hope of re-creating myself #idk i just want to know how people who understand this in some capacity think #so yeah. do tell me on anon or in the comments if u feel comfortable #z.post #ed ment

[gailynovelry]

Having Toybox thoughts rn, don't mind me if I post the actor's core character beliefs on main;

Kelly believes that he is a bad person, no matter what anyone says.

Vio believes that he is a bad person, despite what everyone else says.

Sable believes that they are a bad person, because of what they think everyone must be saying.

Pumpkin believes that she is a bad person because of the things he has done.

Redd believe that they are a bad person because of the things she has been unable to do.

Sapphire believes that she is a bad person, and justifies it because this is a dog-eat-dog world here.

Aure is unable to think of himself as a bad person in any capacity, or his entire worldview will fall apart.

Ivory believes that she has proof that everyone is a bad person, and that the proof also applies to herself.

Furthermore, for the Playwright and the Doll (player character);

The Playwright believes that humanity's nature is so base as to make everyone a bad person, and that they are simply proving this true through the time loop.

The Doll believes that humanity's nature is not inherently evil, and that the conceit of the timeloop forces everyone involved to carry out bad actions, as influenced by the beliefs that they already have.

#something something metaphor for being coerced into unethical choices by the systems we are all trapped in #gods these guys are so fucked up i love them all #now to leave this WIP simmering on the backburner for at least five months while i focus on Heralds of Rhimn do doo doot do doo #adding these tags here with and edit BUT ALSO #its fun seeing how two characters might relate to each other in the context of these core beliefs #Kelly + Aure is so toxic because Kelly challenge's Aure's view of himself while Aure confirms Kelly's suspicions on his own badness #Sable + Aure meanwhile is so soft because Aure includes Sable in the “can't be wrong” thing and Sable desperately need somebody to tell 'em #that they are not as bad as they fear #Sapphire + Ivory enable each other under certain circumstances because Ivory's 'proof' feeds directly into Saph's worldview #and they are happy to embrace the other in spite (or because?) the other can be a bad person #Pumpkin + Redd has Pumpkin tends to view Redd pretty favorably (or at least not negatively) *because* Redd is prone to inaction #Kelly + Redd is tragic because Redd justifies Kelly's actions with “I didn't stop him” and Kelly *agrees* to an extent #Saph + Redd can get toxic if Saph takes Redd's passiveness as a desire to be protected while she takes the lead (not always wrong) #(sometimes applies to Ivory/Saph too) #Saph + Vio involves a lot of disdain from Saph because she straight-up does not believe the “good ol' himbo angel of a man” rep Vio has #Aure + Vio gets REALLY funky in the loops where Sable is out of the picture #I COULD GO ON #but i will end it there hgkdhgdgh

[cloverstellar]

i feel regret i didnt phrase things right

i sent the first anon but i didn't mean it in the way it was taken. i just meant how you posted that response to the one person who had given an opinion in your posts comments was really harsh. i'm sorry if i started something, you are entitled to your opinions on ships i just thought it was really mean considering your large following and people tend to attack others over nothing 😞

i went about it in the wrong way and i apologize

im not sure if you’re referencing to the ask about feeling the need to hide your opinion because of something I said, but the reason my reaction was originally ‘harsh’ was because I really don’t think that shipping between anyone with the same adoptive parent is okay. It felt wrong and it respectively caught me off guard and I felt slightly uncomfortable. in my reblog back from them after a meme of mine i made about it I kept my wording very clear and straightforward.

the reply with the meme was a joke and not meant be taken as something on the air of offensive. however, I am also entitled to how I react and respond on my own behalf on my own blog and that should not influence how you feel about your own opinions. I don’t think I was being very harsh; for the most part I mostly just, after getting over my shock, explained my reaction and opinion and left it at that before the asks and DMs started flooding me.

personally I don’t think I was very harsh in the beginning, more just in disbelief trying understand their opinion and back my own in a moment of very passionately opinionated shock and disagreement. I don’t know if your ask is what started the whole argument in my inbox or if it was something else but if you feel like my negative reaction to an opinion you have is not okay because of my follower count, you probably should not stay on my blog.

I’ve had issues in the past with anons speaking for me and putting words in my mouth and I do hope it doesn’t happen again and I have spoken up about it but I do not control how other people react for me. I am a tumblr blogger, not an influencer. No need to apologize; like you said, your opinion is your opinion, but I am also allowed to my own reactions on a subject I might disagree with.

#rose asks #I don’t control my followers. I could make one small remark about anything and that can trigger anyone to respond as anything. #I do not support the sending of anon hate but I also do not control my followers. #anonymous #discourse #i desperately hope nobody sent out hate in my name but I can’t stop them if they do no matter how I might have reacted to a situation. #I’ve had things escalate from a joke post- at this point I Ii wouldn’t be able to say anything without the risk #which is frankly just not fair to me or anyone I want to interact or have a civil conversation with #my fingers hurt #if nobody can disagree with anyone online for fear of receiving hate Rhein that’s just a very one sided world- #Where you have to agree with everyone on everything which does not sound enjoyable

[shisurus]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

[coryosbaby]

we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong

ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !

Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?

Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up

notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry

When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.

A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.

As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.

Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.

Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.

It’s just a matter of how far.

—

Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.

Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.

“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.

“Yes.”

An honest answer. He must trust you.

You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.

“I killed someone.”

He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.

“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”

He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.

“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”

Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.

“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”

He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.

“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.

You speak to him in a much lower tone now.

“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”

Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.

“And what would that be?”

Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.

“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”

And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.

“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.

“… the floor?”

He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.

No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.

And then it hits you.

Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.

And for some reason, that makes you want him more.

“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”

His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.

“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”

“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”

He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.

“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.

“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”

His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.

“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”

He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.

“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”

He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.

“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”

He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.

“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.

“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”

He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.

“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”

He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.

“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”

He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.

You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.

“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”

He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.

And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.

You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.

But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.

He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.

“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”

He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.

“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”

You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.

You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.

“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“

“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”

And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.

“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”

You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.

“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”

He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.

“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”

And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.

“Did I do good?” He asks.

You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.

“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”

He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.

“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.

“The tile was cold enough.”

#coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coriolanus snow x fem! reader #Coriolanus snow smut #sub! Coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow fanfic #Tom blyth #tbosas #the ballad of songs and snakes #the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic #thg #thg fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #Coriolanus snow tbosas

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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