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#by moni
batwomandaily · 1 year
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Ryan Wilder -> The Flash 9x04
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captainsimagines · 1 year
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pretty woman, this is me trying || finale
Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader
Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers
Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls
(14/14)
Mini-Series
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Warnings: explicit language; reference to past SA; heartfelt confessions
Word Count: 2,000+
Author’s Note: Now, to be honest, I really hoped to make these chapters longer. But I wanted to published on Christmas Day and I haven’t had time to write all month. I truly hope I wrapped up this story well, and who knows? It could have epilogue next year or next month. I love you all. xxMoni
~
     The day after Christmas was no better. Three times you had dressed and undressed, debating whether to leave your apartment and go speak with Bucky. You were both overthinking this and you were both in the wrong. Bucky shouldn’t have kept treating you like a flaky friend or kept his initial indecision a secret, and you shouldn’t have stormed away without hearing him out first.
You needed to see him. But your body wouldn’t let you get in your car and take matters into your own hands.
You flopped face-down onto your bed, releasing one long groan. When your lungs ached with the need for air, you sucked in a breath and repeated the process. Groaning until your throat was sore. You rolled over, instantly regretting it. You had washed your sheets, but not the pillowcases.
That heavenly mixture of snow and Starry Night. No swirling irises to accompany it, though.
“Do you want to come back the day after Christmas and show me how to jump?”
He chuckled, “It’s a date.”
You snapped up, replaying the words in your head.
Rockefeller Center, ice skating, the date.
Would Bucky remember? Would he even go?
You had to try. You missed Bucky, you missed Axel, you missed who you were when Bucky was with you. You missed the feeling of companionship. Of choosing who to spend that time with.
You didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Lainey would have kicked your ass all the way to Rockefeller by now, you bet.
After throwing on your winter jacket and boots, you sprinted out your front door, tripping only twice. Then turned back to your apartment, grabbed Bucky’s present, and repeated the tiring process of putting the key in the lock.
Stopping at Lainey’s old door, with absolutely no regard to whoever occupied it now, you declared, “I’m going to win him back. Because I love him, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
~
    “Are you sure she’ll be here?” Steve asked as he opened the car door for Bucky. Rockefeller Center looked to be even more crowded than the last time he had come. It was like a cruel joke, making the search for you that much harder.
“She was the one who suggested it,” Bucky explained. “And if what you said is true, she’s not mad at me.”
“Oh, she was mad. Maybe not with you entirely, but she was mad.”
Bucky scowled at his friend, though he was grateful to have a second pair of eyes aiding him. Bucky was grasping at straws. Either you remembered that you had suggested this date and had the same idea as him, or you forgot and he was here when he should be at your apartment.
Or—the worse option—you had remembered and chosen not to come.
Bucky hadn’t really thought about what he would do if that was the case. He was a big boy, and although it would hurt him to bits, he would have to survive. Your time teaching him how to receive touch again would not be wasted. He promised himself that.
“You take one side and I take the other?” Steve suggested, adjusting the baseball cap. “Or do you want to stick together?”
“We can cover more ground separated,” Bucky replied. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”
Steve studied him for a moment, then took his word. “Text me when you find her.”
Bucky nodded, watching as Steve blended into the crowd.
Step one: Pass through this chaos.
Taking a deep breath, Bucky prepared his mind. None of these people were out to get him and self-defense was not necessary. Most people were here with their family and friends, not plotting the end of the world with his metal fist in mind. He clutched your gift as he held it in his jacket pocket, then moved.
Bucky pushed through the crowd, apologizing for shoving people too hard and smacking his shoulders against them. Most people moved out of his way, allowing him some air. He searched every visible face, every occupied bench, every person exiting from the buildings. He guessed you would be near the ice rink considering that’s where the date was going to take place, but he still focused everywhere.
Someone’s shoulder brushed across his shoulder blades, paralyzing him for a moment. It was a quick touch, one that was over before he could truly dwell in it. His body told him to run back to the car, to find refuge in his mountain of blankets. That behind his apartment door is where he would be truly safe.
Though his body craved that comfortable feeling of safety, his idea of safety was no longer the loneliness found behind a closed door. His safety was encased in your touch, in your bedsheets, in your presence.
So he continued to push and shove through the crowd, counting his breaths and picturing your face. This was for you. It would always be for you.
His heart stopped as he took in your face for the first time since you walked away from him. You had painted your lips red and thrown on the same cardigan and jacket that had been hanging on the hook beside your front door for the entire month now. You caught his line of sight, freezing in place.
He pushed through the last of the crowd, stopping a few feet from you. You had your hands in your jacket pockets, but you were still shaking in your boots. Bucky wanted nothing more than to run to you and provide you some warmth, but there were words that needed to be said. Things that needed to be addressed.
“If you want to leave me, I will fight you.”
Your eyes widened a fraction at his unexpected declaration.
“When Stark told me to find a date, I refused because I physically could not swallow that reality. I said no, but I had no choice.”
He continued quickly when your face fell. “But I told Stark that I trusted his judgment. He gave me an out, but I had already met you. You were loud, and inappropriate, and reminded me of me from when I was young.”
“Bucky—”
“A part of my innocence was stolen from me long ago. And as much as it kills me, I know I’ll never get it back. I didn’t deserve to have it ripped from me. I deserved happiness, and a home to return to, and soft hands and soup and a little corner store to call my own. But life fucked me over, and I got none of that. I got tortured, and wiped, and… assaulted, in a thousand ways. And for the longest time, I thought they stole the whole of me. I thought there was no hope. That there were no soft touches left in the world. But you… You make me want to try again. You make me believe that people can still be good in this world. Because you’re good, and you’re good to me, and I love you. I love you more than hot chocolate, more than biscuits, more than the Santa Clause movies. I love you. And I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment you threw your arms up and introduced yourself. I’ve wanted you since our first picnic. I’ve wanted you since the first touch. I want you, I love you, and I just pray that you want me, too. That you love me, too.”
Multiple tears dripped from your eyes and down your cheeks. And when Bucky reached up, he found his cheeks were wet as well.
“I don’t expect you to quit your job or be solely mine. But I find myself running under your sweet nothings and I don’t want to abandon that feeling just yet. So I declare, the day after Christmas and surrounded by strangers, that I choose you too. I am scared of the world, and what they think of me, but I am not scared of you.”
“Bucky.”
Bucky sucked in a wobbly breath and pulled the bracelet from his pocket. It was handmade, green, and had a little L carved into the stone.
L for Lainey.
You stopped in front of him, turning the bracelet over in your fingers. Then you let him put it on your wrist. You cupped his cheeks with your surprisingly warm hands. Bucky whimpered sweetly, chasing the heat.
“I think you are courage incarnate, Bucky Barnes. Believe it or not, but you make me want to be strong. I have been lonely for so long and you showed me that friendship was still a real thing. I thought I had lost it forever, doomed to be stuck in a world that did not appreciate me.”
Bucky laid his forehead against yours, nearly hiccuping as your words pierced through his burning heart.
“I am yours. Only yours. And I’m sorry for being in my head too often.”
You pulled out a pair of fancy, leather gloves in his size, blushing. “It’s not as sentimental as the bracelet, but—”
He pressed a deep kiss to your mouth, holding you close. His chest warmed against yours instantly. His knees only needed to bend slightly to reach your lips. Your pinkies curled perfectly around each other.
How had he not noticed this before?
“Take me home,” he whispered, using his thumbs to wipe your tears away.
You nodded against him. Then, you giggled uncontrollably, melting against him.
“What?”
“Don’t forget Steve.”
Bucky shot a surprised look down at you. “How did you—”
“I know what his eyes feel like boring into my back by now.”
Sure enough, Bucky glanced up to see Steve watching your exchange with a genuine smile on his face.
~
     “Do you trust me?”
Steve huffed, his knuckles turning redder as his grip tightened against the railing. When Bucky had mentioned that Steve had always wanted to come to Rockefeller Center with him in the 1930s, you had assumed Steve knew how to ice skate. You didn’t expect a trembling Captain America scared to find his balance and refusing to let go of the support.
“I trust you, but if I fall then you’re going down with me by default.”
“Fair. Now let go of the railing,” you ordered, holding out your hand for him to take. You hadn’t told him you were a beginner ice skater yourself. But you figured, since Tony rented out the rink for private use for the next six hours, it was the perfect time to test this out.
Steve murmured a curse under his breath before reaching out his left hand. His right still held onto the railing, so he began stretching and involuntarily splitting his legs. “Help! Help!”
“Let go!” you laughed, taking his extended hand in your own. He slunk back together rather comically, wobbling as he gripped both your hands. “Now close your eyes and skate!”
“Wha—Why should I close my eyes?”
“It’s the only way to truly trust yourself!” you lied, sounding creepily authentic. You pushed off, taking him with you. He argued twice more before finally shutting his eyes, allowing you to lead him anywhere.
“There we go! You got it! Keep those eyes closed!”
He thankfully listened, unaware of where you were leading him. You would think his super soldier hearing would alert him of a new pair of skates on the ice, but his anxiety probably clouded his thoughts.
With a quick nod, you expertly exchanged Steve’s hands into Bucky’s.
Skating away but still at a close enough distance, you called out, “You can open your eyes now!”
Steve nearly tumbled, but his expression was one of pure elation. Uncontrollable, joyous laughter spilled from his mouth.
“Buck!”
Bucky only smiled, tugging Steve closer. Hand in hand, flesh on flesh, they skated the perimeter together. Not once did Bucky drop Steve’s hand.
It may have only been a battle won for Bucky, but this was an entire war won for Steve Rogers.
He was touching his best friend again. If it wasn’t for you, for Bucky’s determination and strength, it wouldn’t have been possible.
You skated to the railing and watched the childish men for the next hour, wiping away tears whenever they dropped from your eyes. Lifting your hands up, you snapped an imaginary picture. To save for later. To think about whenever you thought something was impossible.
Then you snapped another, a real one using your phone, for safekeeping.
~
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mxwhore · 2 months
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so right now a whole ass chunk of chile is burning down and it is really Fucking Bad. it hit and spreaded so fast im like. 90%!!!!! of the jardín botánico de viña del mar burned down in one night. four in ground workers died. i am absolutely heartbroken for them and the treasure in biodiversity gone. and thats just 4 out of +100? lives lost in this chaos, that is still ongoing.
because of this, i will be splitting my patreon income evenly between care for gaza and techo chile, for the foreseable future. donate if can you can! it would really make a difference
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queerbuck · 6 months
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SETTING MYSELF ON FIRE 🥴😵‍💫
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michaelsheens · 8 months
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I'm gonna get the humans out of here and then I'm coming back. I won't leave you on your own.
GOOD OMENS - 2.06 Every Day (for queerbuck)
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zephyrine-gale · 7 months
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day 5 of drawing one dan heng dan feng a day until he comes out
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littleyungelita · 3 months
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ah shit its june hhhhh
i'm gonna go and set up a 20% off sale for all the queer prints in the shop hang on hang on
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konigbabe · 9 months
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PERISH
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.
event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
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November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."
"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.
It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.
That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.
"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."
"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."
His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.
"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.
32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.
"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."
Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.
As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.
Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.
"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."
Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.
Yet, the energy lingers.
Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —
A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.
As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.
The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.
— it was a decoy.
Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.
Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.
During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.
It all feels confusing.
"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.
October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM
"What’s the worst that can happen?"
Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.
The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.
"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.
"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.
Life is good.
You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.
Yeah. In the end, life was good.
2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.
Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.
A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.
The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.
He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.
Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.
Of you.
Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.
You’re gone.
And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.
Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.
One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.
Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.
"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.
Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.
"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.
"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."
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alwaysserving · 20 days
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More...
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philonob · 7 months
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Yearly Moni posting
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batwomandaily · 1 year
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“ I. AM. VENGEANCE”
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captainsimagines · 1 year
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pretty woman, this is me trying || one
Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader
Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers
Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls
(1/14)
Mini-Series / AO3 Link
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Warnings: PTSD themes; past sexual abuse (Hydra); strong language; panic attacks; nightmares
Word Count: 2,950+
Author’s Note: A holiday fanfic! You know I couldn’t leave you all hanging! I’m excited for this one. I know it deals with a lot more heavy situations, but I wanted to write something angsty/romantic. PLUS, I wrote this in 3 days so I’m sorry if it’s bad lol
I hope I do you justice. Love you all. xxMoni
~
     Bucky Barnes did not like to be touched.
He did not shake hands, he did not hug, he did not do well with even the slightest brush of someone’s body. The faintest of touches froze him. Paralyzed in the faint sensation. Memories of harsh hands and machines, demented laughter and sedated foreplay, echoed through his mind.
The only person he allowed to touch him when necessary was Steve, and even then Bucky had to remind himself that it was his best friend. The size of Steve’s body was not a danger. The command of his voice was for safety only, and not to order him to strip. The friendly claps on the back were meant to ease Bucky into the world, not to bend him over from behind.
Sometimes he believed he was getting better. Mornings were beautiful, food tasted great, and everyone greeted him with a smile. On those special days, Bucky's heart filled with hope. Hope he could sit in close proximity to someone else, hope he could travel outside the compound and not rely on his super soldier skills, hope he could get out of his head for one second.
But when someone entered a room too loudly, or when he was forced to physically fight an enemy—those special days crumbled to ash, now cruel illusions that sent Bucky on a downward spiral. A spiral Steve usually had to coax him out of with gentle words, words that scarily resembled begging.
So Bucky has given up on trying to fit in. On trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. On trying to feel human again.
And fuck all that bullshit about being human was to feel pain.
Pain was not a good emotion, and it was mean to give it relevance to the human condition.
It wasn’t an emotion every human had to suffer in order to be considered living. It was an emotion that was cruel and unforgiving and completely, completely exhausting.
If Bucky Barnes had to live his life without touch again, then so be it. If he had to step out of a room to calm his nerves with the repetition of his tapping fingers, then so be it. He did not want to feel trapped, or abused, or ridiculed ever again. He did not believe in soft touches or love making anymore.
First, the war stole his boyhood.
Then the Swiss Alps stole his life.
And Hydra stole his dignity.
His time with Hydra had been documented to horrible extremes. Extremes Bucky was certain were going to be plastered on media outlets and history books. But he had discovered one night, while on a solo-mission to the compound’s lounge, that those theories were unlikely.
Because he had found Tony Stark and Natalia Romanov scouring every database and paper trail about his torture… and completely destroying it. With help from Jarvis, Bucky’s recorded nightmares were erased. Washed out. Encrypted, set on fire, and utterly gone.
Neither Tony or Natalia ever spoke to him of it. He assumed Stark was simply avoiding an awkward conversation, and that he didn’t exactly do good with such rough topics. Natalia did write down the number of her therapist for him.
He threw the piece of paper away.
And on nights like these, he really wished he hadn’t.
Bucky curled up in his thin bedsheets and clutched them close, willing his body to stop sweating. He tried to touch his knees to his chest but he was too large. If he could feel pressure there, then he could fall asleep. If there was added pressure to his back, then the sleep would be immaculate.
He turned and piled the pillows high, setting them behind his back. The coldness of the cotton seeped into his skin, instantly relaxing him. He clutched a throw pillow to his chest and pressed it down, counting by even numbers.
Pressure, a sequence, and breathing.
He could tell by the bright white light shining through his curtains that it was still night. No light that bright could be anything but the moon. That was a reassuring constant for him.
“Shall I ring for Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes?” Jarvis whispered over the speakers in Bucky’s room.
Jarvis’s random voice didn’t scare Bucky anymore. At first, it had caused Bucky to spring into a full blown panic attack. But as time went on and Jarvis continued to speak with him randomly, at odd times, Bucky’s body got used to it. Expected it.
“No, Jarvis. I’m good.”
Jarvis hummed, pausing a little before saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”
Bucky didn’t respond. He never took Jarvis up on that offer anyway.
He curled further into his mound of sheets and pillows and shut his eyes, forcing himself into a dreamless sleep.
He succeeded in sleeping, but relived memories twice over in the dark.
~
    “Twenty bucks says you don’t ask her,” Steve declared, pulling his wallet from his coat.
Wanda giggled from behind the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into her impossibly large mug. Pietro saddled up beside her, stealing the mug for himself.
Sam clicked his tongue. “Bet. I’ll do it today after dinner.”
Steve scoffs, “Fuck off. Another twenty says you won’t have the balls to ask until next week.”
Bucky snickered as he looked between his two friends. He sat with his left leg bent so he could rest his chin on his knee, comfortable enough to be casual this morning. He sipped at his hot chocolate, grateful Wanda gave him one of the festive mugs. It was December 1st, after all.
“After dinner,” Sam promised, slapping his own twenty onto the dining table.
Wanda leaned forward and snatched the money for herself. “I’ll keep this bet safe for the time being.”
“You think she’ll say yes?” Bucky asked, overly curious.
Sam asking Natasha to the annual Avengers Christmas ball? Yeah, right.
Sam puffed out his chest, his smile wide. “I’ll bet more money, Barnes. That’s how confident I am.”
Steve rolled his eyes. He finally picked up his fork and dug into his eggs. With his mouth full, he said, “If you think you know Romanoff, you don’t.”
It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like I said, Cap. I’m confident about this.”
“Well, I think that’s a good attitude to have,” Pietro commented, sitting down beside Steve with own full plate of eggs and bacon. “And when it all crashes and fails, we get to be the ones to tell you ‘I told you so!’”
Sam flung a piece of bacon across the table, cursing Pietro’s name.
Bucky watched it all unfold, feeling both inside and outside the circle at once. He was a part of the conversation, but he still felt benched. His body would lurch forward on its own accord and try to join in—maybe to thump Pietro on the back of the head, slap Steve on the back, grab a mug of coffee from Wanda’s delicate hands.
It was funny, really. Being afraid of Wanda’s hands because of his own history and not because of the power she held within them.
He was both included, and not. There, and nowhere. Inside his head but forcing himself to step out of it. Dissociating for too long until the conversation was on another topic entirely.
Jarvis’s voice snapped them from their play fighting. “Sergeant Barnes, Sir has asked me to tell you that he would like your opinion on something.”
Bucky grumbled, drinking from his hot chocolate. “What does he want?”
“Oh, that’s the wonder of standing up and finding out for yourself, isn’t it, Sergeant Barnes?”
Sam howled, nearly choking on his last piece of bacon. “Jarvis really is Stark’s creation. Jesus fucking Christ.”
Bucky sighed, having been left with no choice. He placed his half-drunk mug in the sink and waved goodbye to everyone, trying hard not to stomp to Stark’s lab.
~
    Stark was under a massive machine with six arms and blue lasers when Bucky walked into the lab later that afternoon. He had ignored Jarvis’s constant badgering and decided to visit the lab after his morning run. Only after it Bucky was certain he wouldn’t physically fight Stark if what he had to say was idiotic.
“My one and only!”
Bucky rolled his eyes and sat at the farthest chair from the monster machine. “You called?”
“And you diddle-daddled.”
To this, Bucky actually laughs. Sometimes Stark got on his nerves, other times he was a breath of fresh, realist air.
Stark climbed out from underneath the metal monstrosity, wiping oil from his hands. Bucky waited patiently as Stark finally sat, cracking his neck three times before speaking.
“So… The Christmas Ball.”
“Uh huh.”
Stark adjusted his seating, slowly lowering himself in his rolly-chair. Bucky watched him become shorter, awkwardly staring at him and the walls simultaneously. Whatever Stark wanted to talk to him about, it was becoming less interesting to Bucky.
“Pepper has informed me that there is going to be an auction. A, donate thousands of dollars to take me out on a date, type thing.”
Bucky grimaced. “Isn’t that prostitution?”
“No, it’s escorting. Prostitution is the other honorable profession.”
Bucky hummed.
Stark wiped a stressed hand down his face, curling his lips as he continued speaking. “Pepper has also informed me that only Thor is being auctioned for real. Meaning, everyone else isn't actually on the roster. Their dates are going to be the highest bidder regardless of what anyone bids that night.”
Bucky frowned, stumped. “So, we’re denying money from actual bidders and rigging this thing?”
“No. Private donors have already given their fair share of money. We’ve flown past our goal for the evening.”
“Then why have the Ball in the first place?”
“Appearances, photo ops, meeting new people—You name it.”
So Steve and Sam were going to be “sold” to their highest bidder, who will also happen to be their dates for that evening. That nice coffee shop girl Steve has been dating for the past six months was already invited…
That meant she was bidding whatever amount she needed to, regardless of the price, for a date with Steve. Money that was already donated before the damn Ball even started.
Bucky looked to the white, marble floor for answers. But all he saw was his distorted reflection, staring back at him with creeping realization.
“What… What about me?”
Stark sighed, shrugging his shoulders empathetically. “I tried everything, Barnes. But the higher-ups forced us to include you, too.”
Bucky was going to throw up. That ball of nausea that often stuck to the back of his throat was crawling upward, scratching his tongue, begging to be let free. To spill all over this damned marble floor.
He whimpered silently, turning his face to his metal shoulder. His hair covered his anguished expression, but it was pointless to assume Stark hadn’t noticed. Bucky’s neck was already redder than the original color itself.
“Barnes, listen to me.” Bucky tried to follow the direction of Stark’s voice. When he blinked, his vision seemed to get blurrier. “Breathe. Tap those fingers. You remember you got fingers, right?”
Bucky counted to three, then began to tap his index and thumb together. He relished in the feel of his skin, in the lifted edges of his fingerprints, of his filed fingernails. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. The chair didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore. The walls stopped stretching and his ears stopped ringing.
The remnants of his panic attack settled in his chest, pulsing uncomfortably. But he could finally open his eyes long enough and not feel like passing out.
“Good, good. Now if you would just let me finish.”
Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, easily amused by Stark’s sarcasm. It was a surprise how quickly the two fell into step after Bucky moved into the compound, seeking each other out for random answers and opinions. Steve had questioned it, but accepted that if Bucky was alright with it, he wouldn’t budge.
“I spoke with Pepper. You have two options: Let me find you a date who I promise will not leak anything to the press, touch you without permission, or annoy you until you feel like swallowing a bullet.”
Bucky blinked at him, eyebrows scrunching. Stark getting him a date? Bucky didn’t want to date any of Stark’s past flings or strangers he might pull off the streets. The rational part of his brain understands that this person will be vetted and practically stalked, but it’s the irrational side that’s telling him this person might just hurt him. They could convince the world they’re the most innocent thing ever, but when he’s alone with them that mask could easily fall off and reveal eight tentacles and a flaming skull.
“Or,” Stark enunciates, standing from his incredibly low chair. He blew a fast raspberry before saying, “You and Sam attend together, or you and Natasha.”
Okay, that seemed like the better option. He trusts both Sam and Natalia, trusts them to keep their hands to themselves and protect him. Yeah, that was obviously the better choice—
But Sam wanted to ask Natalia. Sam has been wanting to ask her a million things before the Ball was ever a reality. His friend had all this insane amount of exhilarating excitement when he even thought about the red head.
Bucky couldn’t take that away from him. Even if his own comfort was the victim in this situation.
“This… person. Will they be an escort?”
Stark’s eyes widened momentarily before he steadied himself. “Yes, and maybe no. They’ll be the person I believe can be most trusted. Are you okay with the possibility of taking a hooker to the Ball?”
Bucky grunted, “Don’t use that word.”
“It’s the 21st century, Barnes. Hooker means prostitute, prostitute means sex worker, and sex worker has a positive connotation nowadays.”
“Just say escort.”
Stark grumbled beneath his breath, turning to a nearby computer and typing something into the search bar. “Jarvis, make sure this web search is wiped from the center of the earth after I’m done with it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tony.” Stark knew that when Bucky used his first name, it was a call to turn around and look him in the eye. So that’s exactly what Stark did. “A sex worker expects sex, don’t they? I’m not giving them that, so how can you expect me to be fine with it?”
Stark tapped his fingers against random keys, deep in thought. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding offensive. Jarvis, help me out. How do I say, ‘You don’t have to fuck the person, you can just pay them,’ kindly?”
“We will be searching for people who have voluntarily enrolled in sex work, Sergeant Barnes. Any meeting you set up with them is consensual. And the beauty of consensual sex work is, without a doubt, the freedom of choice. So think about it like this, Sergeant Barnes: They will not touch you if you do not ask. You are investing time, and they will accept the money without a kiss exchanged if that is what you wanted.”
A companion?
Bucky had only ever had Steve and Sam after he returned to the compound. Only ever hung out with them outside in the real world, too. A random person entering the compound and pretending to be his date seemed a little extreme, no? Like he couldn’t make friends of his own.
But wasn’t that the real reason behind all this? Bucky didn’t have many contacts or love interests to take to this damn Christmas Ball so he was being punished for it. Forced to interact with a stranger and the stranger forced to interact with him.
“I can do a proper search of these websites with Jarvis’s and Hill’s help and get back to you in the morning, okay? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“I only have to meet them tomorrow and that’s it?”
Stark wobbled a flat hand in the air. “Kind of. Spend one day with them and tell me if you think you can last a whole night with them as your date. I don’t want you to be paired with someone I thought was great but you find repulsive.”
Okay, that was somewhat considerate. But a whole day? At best, Bucky will last a few hours before wanting to run under a hill.
“Okay,” he surrendered.
Stark sighed, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Barnes. It’s just… Maybe it’s not the ideal way, but meeting new people isn’t always a bad thing, you know?”
“Oh?” Bucky replied sarcastically.
“Oh. You think I didn’t suffer the same thing? People I knew since birth betrayed me. I’ve got trust issues too, my man.”
“We’re not comparing sad little tales, Stark.”
“Find it in your ice cold heart to be compassionate, Barnes.”
Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “So, tomorrow then?”
Stark nodded. “I’ll do my best to find you a hot piece of ass.”
“Stark!”
“Sorry! I joke. I kid. I jest.”
Bucky watched Stark toy with his experiments for ten minutes more before bidding him a good rest of his day.
Maybe a companion wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have someone to talk to after all. Text, get coffee with, watch movies with. He could do all those things with Steve and Sam but they were busy. Busy with work, busy with life, busy with everything Bucky avoided for good reason.
And even though his body is physically repulsed by the idea of being in close proximity with an absolute stranger, perhaps someone who was forced to be nice to him wasn’t exactly a lousy idea.
Maybe it was necessary.
~
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surra-de-bunda · 10 months
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TLC's Gold Record Celebration Party for the single "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" photographed by Al Pereira (April 1992).
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queerbuck · 4 months
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my real spotify wrapped
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monigeko · 30 days
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As someone who used to post about the QSMP a fair amount, that just recently got reintroduced to the fandom and was going to start posting more about it. The situation with Wilbur is devastating, Shelby deserves the world and to know that someone with such a female heavy audience and preached about being such a safe space would do this is truly disappointing.
Support victims, regardless of Wilbur’s previous involvement in media, and the positives of his content my support for him officially ends here and I suggest others do the same. I stayed neutral until a statement was made, and the statement he released was both self centered, and spent more time trying to protect his career than truly holding any accountability for his actions.
I loved Wilbur, and I loved his content. My partner and I met through a mutual love for a lot of his work, but there are times when even extreme attachments and hyperfixations have a limit. If you’re a fan of Wilbur, I understand that it’s hard, but support for him will not be welcome on my page.
I did not make a statement at the time since I wasn’t tuned in until recently but the same goes for Forever. Any previous posts about them will stay up, for purely archive and QSMP lore purposes but neither him nor Wilbur have a place in my media consumption anymore.
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