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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Resistance I

A Dystopian AU. Please don’t ask how much there’s gonna be. I’m not sure. But I might add more characters/readers if there’s interest.

Warnings: Violence, dark elements, tags to be added as we progress, tags will not be exhaustive so be wary.

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: I always love feedback in any form so don’t be shy. Thank you for reading and for all your support. 💗

Inspire by the LEWK.

“I don’t understand,” Sparrow whispers, “they should’ve signaled by now.”

You put your finger to your lips, urging patience as a slat of moonlight shines down your face. She frowns, the way she does when she has something to say. Hound moves quietly around her, placing a hand on your shoulder. He taps in code. ‘Five and we go.’

You nod and hold up five fingers, showing them to the others; Cardinal and Fido gesture from the door. You shift and hook the strap of your rifle around your shoulder, sidling away from the silver beam. You feel along your hip, the long hunting knife sheathed in thick leather against your cargo pants, layered over wool leggings.

A sudden screaming tears through the air, followed by a distant hiss as blue light flashes in the night, fizzling out before you can make it to the window.

“Shit,” you breathe and hold up a fist, shaking it. Evacuate.

Rifles click and clatter, fabric rustles, and boots scrape and scuff. You turn and follow the line of bodies into the hallways, an explosion shaking the foundation as the walls shed clouds of dust. You pull the bandana over your face as you cough.

“You know the exit plan,” you holler as you turn and point your rifle down the hall, “Hound, take lead.”

You walk backwards as you listen to the scuffle of your squad behind you, moving with them as you keep the barrel aimed. You step over errant debris and keep your eyes squinted against the plaster that laces the air dryly. There’s gunfire below.

“Breach!” Hound hollers back and you point through the closest doorway.

“Rope, repel,” you order as you stand back, waiting for the other to stream in ahead of you. Cardinal takes watch with you at the doorway.

You cover each end of the hall, back to back with a view of the room in your peripheral. The frame of the window scrapes as Hound and Fido work quickly to secure the ground and get the rope knotted. Sparrow’s first out, Hound whistles as he swings his leg out and follows.

“Lynx, Cardinal,” he rasps before he disappears below the ledge.

“Up here!” Voice come from the stairs and you ready yourself to fire.

“Card, you go fir–”

A rattle of gun fire surprises you and sends Cardinals weight into your back. You swear as he nearly crushes you and his body slumps down beside you. You dodge into the room before the next peel of bullets can rip through you. You turn back and stare at your comrades corpse, the warm streak of blood seeping down to your scalp.

You waste no time as you spin and cross the room. You grab onto the rope as you shoulder your rifle and turn to reverse through the window. You hear the boots crushing through the scraps. You don’t have time.

You swing the rifle around and put the butt to your shoulder. First shot, hit. Second, third, hit, hit. As they regroup, you hurry to the window frame and toss your gun through. No time. You hurl yourself through, gloves burning down the rope as you descend into the air, catching at the bottom with a nasty jerk in your shoulders.

You look around and scramble to grab your rifle. Your squad is gone. That’s the plan. Trouble means run. Rendezvous at the checkpoint. You keep your gun before you, barrel across your torso as you set off into a trot. Another shout.

You dive behind the brick, a wisp tickling your cheek as you narrowly avoid a shot. Fuck. They’re close. Headlights shine in your direction as you hear an engine. And well stocked. You carry on toward the rear of the building.

Shit, shit, shit, more headlights there.

You stop and look around. Up the metal ladder, into the next building. Take them for a chase. You’ve done it before. Screw it, it’s your only option. You sling the strap of the rifle across your chest and jump to grab the bottom rung. You grunt as you raise yourself up with only your arms. As you bend your knee to get a foothold, your other ankle is grabbed from below.

You kick and your accoster in the shoulder. They don’t release you. You try again and the jolt you with a startling force from the ladder. You fall with an unrestrained cry and land on your back. You wheeze as it knocks the air out of you.

You roll and grasp at your chest and throat as you try to force a breath out. The shadow bends over you, unclasping the strap of your rifle before kicking it away. Fucker.

You heave in a painful gasp and reach for your belt. You unsheathe the long hunting knife and slash at the figure’s obscured leg. The distant shine of the headlights aids your aim but you miss as they sidestep your attempt. Your next attempt is kicked out of your hand before the thick tread lands on your chest, pinning you to the frozen asphalt.

A bright glow sparks from down the alley, illuminating the silhouette of the man’s long black jacket.

“Sir?” The call comes from behind him.

“I’ve got it handled,” he says as he reaches under his coat. He bends, leaning his weight on his foot as he pulls out a small flashlight and flicks it on. The light blinds you for a moment before your vision clears, “look at you, doll.”

You blink as you stare up at the man, the rings of light illuminating his sharp features. You know him by sight. Bucky Barnes, Consul of the East Sector, one third of the Triumvirate. A cog in the machine you swore to break.

He clicks his tongue, the noise deepening the dimple in his stubbled cheek, “Lynx the Mynx. We meet at last.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #resistance #au #dystopian au #drabble #drabble series #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #avengers #captain america

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darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Resistance Masterlist

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail. (Dystopian AU, Bucky Barnes)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #marvel #au #dystopian au #series #drabble #captain america #avengers #winter soldier

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youandtom2 · 2 years

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An Avenger's Revenge (dark!Peter Parker)

PROLOGUE // SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Spider-Man was just one of the mighty, powerful Gods that rule the Earth. A night of death, betrayal, war and defeat turns him into a myth, a memory to be forgotten about by the other Greedy Gods that share this planet. Without his generosity, the world takes a turn for the worse and the people are desperate for a solution. With a rebellion on the horizon, it may be your only chance to rise up against the Greedy Gods and restore Spider-Man's legacy.

Themes: dystopian, futuristic, smut, angst, death!, dark concepts**, a tad bit fluff :) **T/W: will be specified per chapter - none in this one

a/n: ahhhhh here she is! my precious! hope you like :)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There was two reasons why the deities came to Earth centuries ago. It would be hard to believe that there would be a reason at all, but alas, at the naivety of the human race, there were two. The first reason, and the most important one of them all, was the sheer abundance of untouched infinity stones buried deep beneath the surface; a currency that the deities yearn for. Rare and precious, infinity stones are a source of power to those who are strong enough to yield it and in a place where such strength doesn’t exist, not many deities considered Earth to be rich with natural, authentic infinity stones. It was mistakenly overlooked for years. However, on the night of a full moon centuries ago, a God stumbled upon the small planet and with such a find, word broke loose. All of a sudden, they all came swarming until Earth was held hostage, under the deities’ command with humans forced to feed their greed…which explains reason number two. The second pertains to the humans’ ignorance of the true value and use of the infinity stones because after all, what human could stand a chance in a race amongst the gods? Submissive and overpowered, the humans have been subjected to the deities' biddings, getting weaker and weaker while they grow stronger and richer. Reduced to nothing but servants, soldiers, miners and maids, it was a giant step backwards in societal evolution.

Centuries on, people living now can’t imagine a world without the deities’ rule. They call themselves the Avengers now. A poor choice in name you always thought but the reasoning derives from their promise to protect the Earth if anything, or anyone, were to attack Earth to steal their precious infinity stones. A false pretence to hide their greediness, the very greediness that demanded statues of them to be erected, eight columned temples built in their honour and at least one day every year to celebrate the anniversary of their arrival. It’s all very grand and ceremonious, but their opulence doesn’t stop there, oh no. Of course, a God is only deserving of a palace to live in, built by the subjects that serve them. They emanate such holiness that many claim that to look at the very spectacle can be overwhelming, that the impenetrable black iron gates stand to symbolise their power and it’s for that reason alone that deities remain absolute in their reign.

You work for one directly. The first God to step foot on Earth and the leader to all deities who arrived thereafter, Iron Man. Staff know him better as Tony Stark.

With the early morning sun casting an orange glow on the iron palace, you exit your bed chamber, climb the same 3 flights of stairs you see every morning and wander through the white and golden halls with your heels clicking against the marble flooring, dressed in your maids uniform. Reaching the main floor, you meet Ginny, another maid.

“How is he this morning?” You ask, walking alongside her as you both start the long journey to the dining hall.

“He’s quickly deteriorating. His doctor said it could be any day now. I wonder how it happens.”

“How ‘what’ happens?”

“The death of an Avenger. No one has ever seen how an Avenger dies. They’ve been here for centuries and none of them have ever popped their clogs.”

You snicker loudly, your smile quickly fading as you near the footmen standing by the door. Once out of sight, you whisper back to her. “‘Popped their clogs’, you make it sound like they die like any other human does.”

“Well I don’t know, maybe they do. I can’t imagine death is any more dignified for deities than it is for human’s.”

“Whatever, I don’t really care how it happens, we know now that it’s inevitable at this point. What I’m more concerned about is what happens after he dies, you know? We have seven other Avengers in this world, all just as greedy as each other and you know Tony was top dog, his death is going to mean a breach of peace.”

This has been a concern of yours since you first heard of Tony’s ailment. Questions fill your mind one by one and the more time ticks on towards Tony’s death, the more they are beginning to scare you. Your entire life’s purpose has evolved around your servitude to Tony Stark, Iron Man, the first deity to claim this planet, so without him, what good is a maid without her master?

Ginny shares her empathy as she too faces the same predicament and responds with a sigh. Grown together, you would hate to be separated and given a hand that isn’t as lucky as your first. You’ve played a major role in each other's past but with your future yet to be decided, you fear she may become somebody that you used to know.

Just as you are about to enter the dining hall to take to your stations, she grabs your hand and pulls you quietly into the corner.

“Look, you didn’t hear this from me okay? I overheard Matron mention something about Tony giving a public announcement later today. I think he’s going to pass us and the entire faction onto another Avenger.”

“What?!”

“Shhh! I don’t know for certain, but I think he suspects what we do as well. He knows that he has the biggest faction - he wouldn’t leave it leaderless and he knows the rest will all fight for it, so if he gives it all away, there’s nothing to fight for.”

“Who do you think it would be?”

“I’m not sure. We border Captain America’s faction but after the rival they had decades ago, I doubt he’ll be so willing to give it to him, and I just hope it’s not Doctor Strange. My cousin, Megara, works in his faction and I heard he’s incredibly overbearing and strict. Or…it could be someone completely new.”

“Well, whoever it is, I just hope they can treat us at least half as good as Tony has.”

Ginny sighs and purses her lips while a touch of sadness glosses over her eyes, evidently not finding faith in your optimism. “I know. I’m going to miss the old bastard.”

“Yeah, me too. Come on. We better go.”

Being the latest generation of a long line of maids, you’re lucky to have been given the opportunity to work directly for the leader of the Avengers, and he is - surprisingly - the most lenient of them all. You guess there was something about the guilt of enslaving a native species centuries ago that plagued him and over the decades he outgrew his reputation of being cynical, power-hungry and arrogant, and became the reverent leader that the other deities had no other option but to respect. Within any field of executive power, there is ranking and despite how omnipotent and divine these deities seem to be in their own right, they too abide by a hierarchy. Otherwise it would all-out war between the Greedy Gods. There are exactly eight of them residing on Earth each living within their own faction of the world which have been offered to them by Tony on one condition - ‘take what you are given and no fighting’ were his exact words, the very same inscripted onto the Avengers’ oath displayed on every Avenger temple. It’s the only rule the deity’s live by.

Despite being your master, Tony is the closest thing to a father figure in the sense that he provides and protects. Your biological father was sent away to the mines as part of the mandatory three-year conscription, but even after his conscription was completed, he chose to stay knowing that you and your mother were being cared for and he was happy with employment.

Conscription varies from faction to faction, for example, Tony has the largest faction with the largest population, so what Tony’s men dig in a year, Black Widow’s smaller faction may have to dig for 2 years to match. Another difference is the attitude. Here, it’s common for men to enrol voluntarily after conscription because Tony’s conditions are the most favourable in the world. He offers breaks and benefits, extra perks like insured healthcare and a pension, whereas Doctor Strange’s conditions, for example, are foul, laborious and completely inhumane but necessary if he wants to remain a competitor in the deity race. In simpler words, if you’re going to work for someone, you want it to be Tony. Not that you have a choice in the matter…

Just as you take your stations, Tony is wheeled into the dining room. It breaks your heart to see him so frail, an almost comatose body rolling up towards the table where a small bowlful of fruit, muesli and bread sit waiting for him. He doesn’t even get dressed out of his robe that hangs daintily from his shoulders, his glowing blue metallic heart on display; the thing that has been keeping him alive all this time. Its shine isn’t as bright as you remember it and its colour has been losing its vibrancy over the last few weeks, dulling to the same grey that stains his skin. His salt and pepper hair has faded into a soft white in patches but for a deity at this stage in life, vanity is the last thing he cares for.

“Morning, sir,” you and Ginny both greet. Tony passes you both a weak smile, not quite reaching his eyes. You both begin dishing out his breakfast, pouring his drink and brewing his coffee.

“Do me a favour girls, will you?” His voice is broken up by a hacking, wheezing cough. “Sit with me?”

You and Ginny mirror the same hesitance, knowing that doing so would be entirely inappropriate for people of your calibre. It isn’t lost in Tony’s eyes and makes one final plea. “Please. It may be my last breakfast, I would hate to spend it alone.”

Conceding, you sit by his right and Ginny follows seconds later on his left, the food remaining untouched. Formalities quickly simmer and sitting here with Tony and Ginny as the golden sunlight beams in through the 15 foot windows, you seem to be at ease but underneath it all, a melancholy aura floods the room.

“I…” Tony starts, sitting upright. “I…wanted to say thank you to you both. I know that hasn’t been said often - I’m aware of that - but today, I really mean it. Your families have served me well and I intend to serve you well after my…strangely imminent passing.”

Yet another silent conversation is shared between you and Ginny. This time it’s a look of ‘what is he going to say?’

Tony opens his mouth again but the words don’t leave his lips, stopped by a reluctance that consumes him. Your heart stops dead in your chest.

“My…passing leaves my staff, my faction and my inheritance vulnerable, and I have no doubt that the other psychos in this world will want to snatch it for themselves. Call it my better nature but I can’t…I won’t leave you in the hands of Rogers or Strange or even Thor, despite them being the obvious choice for a successor. So…” he waves his hand dismissively, “I’ve decided that you’re now Parker’s.”

“Spider-Man?” you confirm.

“Yes. Spider-Man. Peter Parker. He’s the only one I can trust to not treat my inheritance as an invitation for world domination.” He laughs half-heartedly and it descends into a fit of coughs and you’re by his side in seconds. The flickering of the blue metal heart catches your peripheral and you sense that something’s failing.

“Sir, we should-”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Now, I’ve been assured that the transaction will be quick and peaceful, and that the conditions will be strictly adhered to and by Gods there will be a serious haunting if anything doesn’t go according to plan.” Tony’s chuckle brings about a smile to your lips. He really is serious about taking care of what he leaves behind. Part of you believed he was all talk.

“Sir? What have we to do once…once you pass?”

Tony reaches over and places a shaky hand over yours as if to reassure you. “Nothing. You are to remain where you are. My passing won’t change anything for you or this faction; it’s a condition I made clear to Parker if he truly wants to claim his endowments. Everything will remain the same except it’ll just be Parker walking around these halls instead.”

“What’s he like?” Ginny asks. It’s a question that circles your mind too.

“Young, fair, perhaps a tad naive for my liking, but…capable. That kid’s got some serious potential. He’ll be the first Avenger to own two factions, one of which is the biggest so girls, by all means, don’t let that get to his head and believe me, I know it will, so you have my expressed permission to humble him every now and then, got it?”

Everyone knows that his late arrival to the planet meant that Peter Parker owned the smallest faction. One that borders the most eastern side of Tony’s and across the water. His income of infinity stones is not nearly as substantial as the other deities before him and it often puts him in the firing line for endless teasing. You once heard of a rumour that the other deities nickname him ‘slim pickings’, taking only what was left of the unclaimed and the unwanted. Of course, Tony - being the reformed man that he is - chooses to take pity on him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes of what it means to be a God amongst commoners. And now he’s about to become your God.

“Sure.”

Content, Tony looks over solemnly to the map of the world displayed on the wall at the far end of the room. The framed, hand-painted map is a 2D landscape of the world showing the division of the eight factions, colour coded and labelled with the name of the Avenger that owns it. “I just wish the others were capable of being humbled too. I worry about how they’ll react when they hear Parker’s getting everything--”

“You haven’t told them?”

“Pfft, no of course not. Do you think I want Capsicle and Point Break squawking in my ear about what they’re not getting in my final days? Hell no! I can’t think of a worse way to go. I’ll leave that burden with Parker, it can be his first lesson.”

“And…what if they don’t accept it?” Your words speak the thought as it materialises in your head, and when Tony turns to you with a dejected sigh, you know the same thought has passed through his mind too. The truth is, Tony has been acutely aware of that possibility for a while, that in order for the desired outcome, it relies heavily on his legacy of being the ‘leader’ and whether or not the other Avengers will uphold that respect they have for him, even in death. It’s been years after all. Who’s to say that the Avengers haven’t been getting bored? Tony’s perception of his legacy may not be as revered as he hopes it to be.

“It’s fine,” Tony shrugs but it’s rather unconvincing. “Everything will go according to plan.”

>>>> Chapter 1

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luciddreamslikeelectricity · 3 months

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steve loves tony so much :(

#avengers twilight #I can't believe chip zdarsky of all people is writing all of that like I didn't know he was even capable of writing a character that cares #that much about tony based on the way he wrote him in the past 😭#when james had to tell steve not to call him “son” because steve does it so much.........#I can't believe we're getting a tragic dystopian AU where steve was in unrequited love with tony while tony married and had a child with #someone else.....

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biteofcherry · 3 months

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🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Steve + “Are you trying to hide from me?”

Thank you for sending the Hoe Fairy my way, through all the trials and dangers of time zones 😆💖

Grateful for it, I wrote something slightly longer than a drabble? Oops.

I'm creating a new dark-ish universe here, so brace yourselves.

New World Order

soft dark!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: After the snap and the breaking of the Avengers the world has turned into a darker place than it already was. Being under Steve Rogers protection should be your beacon of light, right? So why does it sometimes feel as if you're caught in a sticky web?

warnings: semi dystopian universe; soft dark Steve Rogers; manipulation; sprinkle of gaslighting; economical/situational power imbalance; dub-con; smidge of breeding kink; sex (p in v);

word count: 3k

Main Masterlist

A small creak startled you. Your body tensed and jerked, the jars in your arms almost falling to the floor. You held your breath, tightening your hold on the precious cargo.

The sound came from the other room, the one anyone from the compound could’ve walked into, so it shouldn’t scare you. Not when you made sure to cover any tracks leading to this special, secret unit, which you’ve discovered a few days ago.

Slowly, careful not to make any sound that might alert whoever was roaming out there, you put the jars down on the shelf. One by one. Gently. You kept your breath shallow as you did, keeping your movements to the minimal. Then you stayed still, counting down seconds in your head and listening for any sounds from outside.

As one minute passed into another, then another, until it was seven minutes, then eight, you began to relax slightly.

No further sounds, steps, nor voices came. You assumed they were gone, whoever it’s been.

With a little huff of breath, you turned around. The nose of your boot bumped into the box of supplies you sneaked inside. It made little to no noise, but it was enough for the domino to fall down completely.

Something clanked on the other side of the wall. Then the hidden passage in the wall opened.

Bright daylight filtered through and the broad, dark silhouette filled nearly the entirety of the doorway.

You lifted your hand to shield your eyes from the sudden burst of light, letting out a small squeak as you curled inwardly. It took you a mere second to recognize who caught you and while your heart eased at the realisation, there was still a part of you that feared the outcome.

“I was wondering what kind of mouse has been hiding in the walls,” came his soft, deep voice. “Turns out it’s my own little scrapper.”

Captain Rogers walked in. Despite wearing heavy boots he still managed to move quietly.

The wall closed automatically after him, leaving the two of you in a small room with light fixtures casting pleasant, but artificial glow from the ceiling.

“Are you trying to hide from me?” His lips curled in a lopsided smile, but the way he slightly tilted his head made you aware that he wouldn’t like it, if you said yes.

“Of course not,” you let out a nervous laugh, gripping the edge of the counter behind you.

“Not from you, Steve.” Nervousness still buzzed inside you, spiking as he neared closer and closer.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, could be a scary motherfucker, if he wanted to. Usually, however, it was reserved for anyone trying to harm people he protected. Or if his subordinates broke his rules in any way.

He may not be the golden boy you remembered from the very few, rare press conferences and pap photos from a decade before. Too much has happened, since he was the poster of glorified values the government tried to sell.

First, they stripped him of the crystal areola they put themselves on him. Named him a fugitive and a traitor, for wanting to protect his best friend and fight for justice.

His other colleagues have turned away from him, leading to breaking of the Avengers formation, which was supposed to protect the people.

Then, when the ultimate threat appeared, the remaining politicians blamed Steve and the other heroes for being unable to defeat Thanos. Tony Stark never returned. So many others have dispersed into dust. For a few years - as the world around you spiralled into dystopian nightmare - phantom governments have been using Captain America and other Avengers as the arguments for why so many things were failing.

Living became hard. Well, even harder than it used to be. People turned jaded and distrustful, so very few still tried to show each other support. Unable to count on governmental help, people have started forming their own little groups. Little communities that took care of each other, but were very wary of anyone else.

You met Steve when you shyly walked into one of the support groups he was leading. You’ve seen posters inviting people to the meetings, but for quite a long time you stayed away from them, because Captain America or not, these groups always meant selling your soul in some way.

Steve lured you in with his patience and soft voice, but was firm in pointing out that if you’d like to take some of the provisions back home, or needed aid, you had to do some labour in return.

You weren’t opposed to that, but you were wary. Still, you agreed.

Each task seemed more and more important, or that’s what you told yourself, because with each you’ve somehow gotten to work closer and closer to the Captain himself.

You worked dutifully, which was something Steve didn’t omit to praise you for on a few occasions. Which perhaps was the reason why he assigned you to a team that so often worked closely with him.

As much as it filled your chest with warmth, your gut tightened each time he got a little closer.

And he always got closer.

You always sensed his gaze on you. Felt your heart jumping whenever he grazed his fingers along your arm, in a seemingly innocent, sweet gesture. But there was something about his attention, about Steve himself, that made you feel uneasy.

He was charismatic, but also less lenient.

Caring, but didn’t give second chances.

Patient, but often merciless in his decisions.

He was still Captain America, but bitter and darker. Worn-out and dirty, like his suit, with the trace of a star that used to shine hope to those who saw it. Now that faith trailed with darkness.

When Steve approached you one evening, as your team was scavenging the territory the Captain and his Avengers have liberated from under the influence of bloodthirsty gangs, you felt that quickened pulse and whispers of self-preservation instinct telling you to be wary.

He said that he noticed you watching him. Which rendered you speechless for a moment. If anything, you always caught him looking your way.

Did he really think you were the one checking him out? Was it why your gazes met every time?

You stuttered with your response, not quite knowing how to explain yourself. Steve offered you that disarming, comforting smile. He touched your hand. Slipped his fingers between yours, ever so slowly rubbing the pad of his index finger between two of yours.

Such a small, meaningless gesture, but something about it had your cunt clenching in response, as if he was insinuating he wanted to rub you somewhere else.

Before you managed to explain the situation, Steve turned the tables on you once again. He leaned in and confessed that he missed intimate touch, as well. That it was understandable and he felt honoured you would give him your attention.

Then he simply walked away, joining Natasha to make further decisions regarding the operation; leaving you dizzy with confusion and conflicting emotions.

Was he right? Were you subconsciously seeking out his attention? Was your sense of unease in his proximity provoked by your attraction to him?

Because Steve Rogers was a very handsome man. From the soft strands of hair he had grown a little longer, to the way his broad chest tapered into narrow hips and possibly the sexiest ass you’ve ever seen.

From that moment, the Captain often approached you, smiled at you, and touched you however briefly. The pounding of your heart increased each time, your thoughts still clouded.

When he caressed your cheek one time, while having just returned all dirtied and splattered with blood from a mission abroad, your breath stuttered. He asked you to help him out with patching some bruises and you didn’t find the strength in you to deny a request from a wounded man. Captain America at that.

He took you to his quarters. At Steve’s command, the AI closed the door after you. Your fingers trembled as Steve guided you how to unzip and take off his suit (since his shoulder throbbed so hard, he seemingly couldn’t do it himself).

Steve’s fair skin was indeed marred with bruises and a few cuts, which you cleaned and patched. In response to your breathless “I better leave” after you were done, Steve slid his big hands onto your hips and softly asked you to stay.

Perhaps it’s been too long since you kissed anyone. Or maybe his grip on you tightened enough for the fear of repercussions freezing you in place.

With a tiny whimper, you gave in to his demanding lips and wandering hands. Despite your brain screaming at you to run away, your heart rate accelerated with pleasure, quickly drowning out the fear.

Steve had you sinking down on his thick cock right there, while he still sat in the chair and his suit was barely pushed past his hips. He groaned praises at how good you felt; how hot it was to feel your tight cunt stretching around him; how sexy you sounded struggling to take it all.

Even with some of your brain cells fighting against it, your whole body surrendered to Steve and the pleasure he drew out of you over and over again.

Maybe he was right all along and you were starved for intimate contact.

Maybe you were choosing to let him take you, so he wouldn’t hurt you or your family in any way.

Later, as you laid in Steve’s arms, you debated with yourself how good it felt to be held and protected, and that maybe it was worth following Steve’s subtle commands.

He took you again in the morning. On your side, sliding into your sore pusy from behind. When you hissed that it hurt, Steve slowed down, but didn’t stop. He distracted you by arousing other parts of your body - rolling and pinching your nipples, sliding his fingers between your lips and fucking your moth with them, using his wet digits to rub your clit.

Both of you returned to your duties afterwards, but in the evening Steve simply wrapped an arm around you and greeted you with a kiss on your temple. Then guided you back to his quarters.

He talked to you about everything, asked about your past, as well simply about your day.

But not once did he ask, if you wanted to have sex with him.

As the days passed, the less brave and determined you were to reject him. Especially not after Steve started coming over to your quarters, to meet your parents and play this whole thing, as if you really were a couple.

So if he was this sweet and supportive, why did you still fear displeasing him in any way?

“I mean I’m not hiding at all.” Your speech quickened slightly, as you explained your actions. “I may have hoped no one would find this spot that quickly. I would tell you about it, I was going to. But first I needed to, um, I wanted to-”

“Easy, honey.” Steve cupped your cheek.

He ran his thumb along your lip, cooing at you softly.

He didn’t look angry, nor suspicious. Which lessened your worries.

“So you found one of Tony’s panic rooms.” Steve took a quick look around. “Not many people know about their existence. Not many can find them.”

“It was actually an accident,” you laughed at that, remembering how you stumbled when changing light bulbs in a weird fixture in the main lounge room and instead of breaking the mirror on the wall the pressure of your fall activated sensor in the wall, opening the passage to this room.

You told Steve the story, watching mirth form crinkles around his eyes. He kissed your forehead softly, before pulling away. Not enough to leave much space between your bodies.

“And why are you storing provisions here?” He glanced at the jars and cans you stacked on the few shelves.

“Just in case. We have a storage and everything is rationed generously, but-” your gaze dropped as you mumbled- “somemayhavebeenstolen.”

“What was that?” Steve’s tone chilled and you felt the hair on your nape standing to attention.

With two fingers, he tilted your chin up. Blue eyes bore into yours, a Captain’s command in them snapped you into obedience without an order falling from his lips.

“I think I’ve noticed someone sneaking out some portions. Often.” You admitted. “I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t suffer much loss, in case that person continued to steal.”

“Why haven’t you reported it?” Steve frowned, his hold on your chin turning into an unpleasant pinch.

“Because the person I should report to first, is the one who takes it.” You also tried to convince yourself that maybe Walker simply was giving it away to someone in need.

“You could’ve told me.” Steve pointed out, his frown deepening in displeasure.

“But you always talk about the importance of chain of command,” you blurted out.

Which actually surprised Steve. His eyebrows arched up and then his disapproval was shifting into amused satisfaction once again.

“You’re so dutiful, honey.” Steve’s grin made you gulp nervously.

His gaze slowly trailed down. When it returned to your face there was a possessive glint in the blue irises. A hot jolt stroke down your spine, pooling in your lower belly with heat in preparation for what was to come.

Because even if your lips wanted to part on a pitiful No, you knew Steve would take anyway. And he’d make sure your body was on board with his desires.

“Why don’t you continue your impeccable service for your Captain, huh?” Steve dragged the zipper of your jacket down.

It was butter soft brown leather; once belonging to Steve, but since it was too big on you, he graciously encouraged you to cut and sew it, so it fit you better.

Steve parted the sides of the jacket, exposing your chest. One move was enough to yank down the stretchy top you had underneath. Your breasts spilled out and you clenched your fingers on the edge of the counter, forcing yourself not to cover yourself, even though you felt shy.

Steve cupped your breasts with his hands; squeezed them and kneaded gently. The coarse fabric of his fingerless gloves provided additional sensation. He rolled one nipple under his thumb; pinched the other. His mouth swallowed each little moan of yours.

He drew out a whine out of you as he tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, at the same time unzipping your jeans. Steve knelt down to take off one of your shoes and pull your leg free from the pant leg. Enough to have you spread for him as wide as he wanted.

“Umm-” you swallowed hard as Steve stretched to his full height.

He was so much bigger than you. So much stronger. Sometimes, when he had you in his arms, it truly made you feel safe. Other times it scared you; made you quickly comply.

Steve picked you up so easily, sitting you on the narrow counter and standing between your legs.

“I don’t have any more pills,” you revealed. “Contraceptives, I mean. Bruce said it will take a few weeks for the production to be finished, after that one ingredient turned out to be spoiled.”

Steve met your eyes. He listened to what you were saying, nodding his head intently as you spoke, but still unzipped his suit and freed his cock.

You couldn’t help it, your gaze flicked down. Seeing it almost daily didn’t diminish the awe of the cock a primal part of your brain declared perfect. Your pussy clenched, growing wetter in preparation for what was inevitable.

Steve’s hand closed around his girth and he gave a few pumps before guiding the angry-red tip into your hole.

He slid inside with a groan. Your own choked cry responding.

When he met slight resistance due to your position, Steve hooked his arms beneath your knees and pulled your legs upwards. Your ass tilted and your upper body angled backwards. It allowed him to sink fully in, until you felt that unpleasant pressure against your cervix and his balls met your buttocks.

Then, as he bottomed out in your unprotected pussy, Steve regarded your words.

“Slight inconvenience. But we’re skilled in adjusting to new situations and challenges.” He rested his forehead against yours; his voice growing more raspy and breathless. “If fate wants us to have a child, then we will rise to that blessing as well.”

He rocked his hips into you, his pelvis grazing your clit. You squeaked, bracing your hands on Steve’s shoulders.

“Fuck, honey.” Steve withdrew a few inches then slowly thrust back in. “Your sweet cunt is so tight and wet for me.”

It was tight, because he hadn’t prepared you thoroughly - sometimes it was a blessing, because there were other times when Steve was so focused on making you soaked that he turned you into an overstimulated mess.

Also because his dick was so fucking thick.

“My perfect pussy. Isn’t it?” Each stroke was a purposeful, unrushed torment, so that you felt those inches penetrating you. Owning you.

“Y-yes, Steve. It’s yours,” you mewled when he poked your cervix again.

“It was made to be filled, honey.” Steve’s pace started increasing. “Its purpose is to take my cock and milk every last drop of my cum, until your womb swells with it.”

There were protesting voices in your head, demanding that you shake your head no and that you tell him you didn’t want to get pregnant. But they never made it past the barrier of voices supplying that you always dreamed of having a family and that Steve would take good care of you.

Even if the objections somehow made it onto your tongue, the moans and cries Steve was eliciting with each thrust and filthy word deformed them into agreement.

“That’s it, honey. Taking your Captain so well. Going to take all my cum and thank me for it.”

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x female reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers imagine #soft dark!Steve Rogers #soft dark!Steve Rogers x reader #soft dark!Steve Rogers x female reader #dark avengers #Siri #stargazingfangirl18

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shurisneakers · 4 months

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unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently.

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended.

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused.

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles.

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV.

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit.

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week.

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling.

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.”

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive.

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there.

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks.

They give him access to his Twitter.

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening.

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested.

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening.

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees.

Therefore, it begins.

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions.

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution.

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.

He is not put in another video.

And so he finds himself here.

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up.

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows.

“No.”

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to.

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad.

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was–

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily.

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now.

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head.

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question.

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked.

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night.

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly.

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.”

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them.

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?”

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–”

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum.

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together.

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it.

You were… loud. And open.

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium.

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

“Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow.

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates.

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head.

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues.

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud.

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay.

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly.

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table.

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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robins-egg-bindery · 1 year

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ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter

More on the process below the cut!

I have...SO much to say about this project! This fic was one that I've wanted to do ever since I started fanbinding, and it was one I saved until my technical skills caught up with my vision for the book. @iron--spider is my favorite author and a wonderful friend, and I wanted to be able to do this masterwork justice!

Given that it's a Hunger Games AU, I wanted to touch on the Hunger Games aesthetic while still being unique. I started with the cover; I knew I wanted red and yellow, something bold and evocative of the Iron Man, Spiderman vibe. It also doubles as an implication of the blood spilt during the games, especially in volume II - when Peter actually enters the games. I chose the spider for the cover, and painted it on the cover paper with inky black paint; I cut a stencil, and while the images did have some drippy areas, I don't mind it so much. It's meant to look like graffiti, Peter's symbol that the people of the Districts scrawl everywhere they can get away with it.

In turn, I also experimented with a paint pen on this one of the titling, done on the spine piece, which is black Better Than Goat leather! Again, I went in with a stencil, and opted for blockier letters, like something you might see spray painted onto a wall.

The endpapers are custom; I messed around with a weird cityscape I found and came out with the image you see above. The setting for the games is a futuristic city, much like MCU NYC would be, complete with an Avengers Stane tower.

And then of course, there's the typeset itself! The Hunger Games books don't have particularly striking typesets, but I did go for the dystopian vibe with the Rustic Printed font on the chapter numbers, and Moonglade for the chapter titles, giving it a very industrial feel.

It was also a pleasure to include the art that @angel-gidget did for the fic as well! Her book covers are so gorgeous and I love her manip style so much <3 I also included the short drabble @iron--spider did on her Tumblr, a post-story snack-sized fic, as well as a meta question she answered via her asks that I thought was particularly interesting. The District guide at the back, including what Districts each character belongs to and whether or not they are deceased was interesting to put together, and I hope I didn't make any mistakes!

Last, but certainly not least, this book was the first one I was able to do really nice headbands on. Shoutout to @morningstarbindery who helped me learn how! They look phenomenal and I never would have figured it out on my own <3

I'm excited for everyone to see these books! One day I'll have all your works on my shelf ;)

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rkmoon · 2 months

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Song of the Heartless - Coming to you May 4, 2024!

That's the date I'm gonna start serializing it on @project-heartless-serial!! Follow and turn on notifications if you'd like?

If you like: *A primarily aromantic cast being unapologetically aro (aspec identities galore!) *a generous sprinkle of body horror and action *focus on a queerplatonic relationship between the MC and their partner *an egg getting cracked and the exploration thereof (if you know you know) *found family *fighting monsters *fighting against an oppressive system *a rainy atmospheric setting

Then you will enjoy this book!

Further details and a sneak peek of the prologue under the cutoff:

Working Title: Project Heartless Genre: Queer, Dystopian Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Horror Length: 118K Tag: #projectheartless

The Heartless are empty of morals– just as nonexistent as their heart. That was what Rainier Sandoval had been taught at an early age. As an Inner City dweller, the barbarism in the Outer District, where the Heartless thrived, was hard to imagine. But when his own heart was stolen and crushed on his twenty-fifth birthday, he was exiled to that very place, forced to see for himself. He had thought he was prepared, but the expectations were so horribly different from the reality. Conspiracies were afoot, and the more he stayed in Outer District, the more he realized he had been lied to his entire life. The monsters he was taught to fear might be Angel City's only hope against threats lurking beyond its borders. In a twist of fate, they might also be Rainier's only hope against his own inner demons.

Prologue

Anger. Pain. Anger. Fear. Anger. Hurt. Pain. Hurt. Scream. Anger. Anger. Anger. Anger. ANGER.

No…

It couldn't think. It felt. It writhed. There was so much pain. Pushing it together.

Its mind was screaming. Its mind was filled with voices. So many people crammed in such a small space. Like a box filled to the brim with half-dead corpses. Anger bubbled inside, never-ending.

It didn't know why. All It knew was the Anger. All It knew was the Pain. From the distance, It could hear a mournful cry. Like a child begging to die. It made the Anger rise, overwhelming. The collective indignance of a thousand souls. It Hurt. It Hurt. It Hurt.

So it ripped. Blood poured out in rivulets. It wanted more. It craved. It hungered.

It felt flesh tear in its hands, but It could not see. It felt blood flow down its arms, but It didn't have any. It heard screams echo inside its head, but there was also someone outside, gasping. Begging. Gurgling.

Screams from the inside. Screams from the outside.

"Rowan!"

"Stay in formation, Will!"

"No— ROWAN!"

"It's coming! Duck!"

"It's too late for him, stay back!"

It heard it. It heard them. Anger surged, so It raged. It fought. But It also wanted to see. It knew It was but a mere voice in the sea of consciousness, but It wanted to see. It wanted to know. The fear that those voices let out, the tremble in their pained gasps. It wanted to know.

Am I the one hurting them?

But the Anger, oh, the Anger — it was all-consuming. It was so filled with Hurt. They were hurting It. In the distance, the Child was weeping. Begging for the torture to end. The Anger won't stop until the Child was set free. But it had been so long. It's been so long, and It wondered what was the point, what was It doing, was throwing back all of this hurt and pain and agony worth it—

It wanted to rest. Because it hurt. Being pressed together like this, it hurt.

We must, we should, we are stronger together, we must destroy, we must avenge, we must save, THEY HAVE NOT LEARNED THEIR LESSON—

"Rowan! No!"

So It kept tearing. It kept killing.

It will not stop.

"No!" A sob. It niggled something inside it. Even as its brethren whispered, even as they jeered and cheered and wanted and laughed and reveled in their cruelty — It heard, and it didn't feel right because the cries, the sobs, the tears—

Isn't that also just a child?

So It climbed, It groped the others. It tore through their consciousness as it tried to get a grip. It wanted to see. It wanted to know. It wanted to See.

It doesn't matter, the others whispered. We are killing. We are avenging.

No.

It pushed everything away. It felt the body moving, it felt the body going for the kill. It felt the body fighting against someone. It couldn't control it, but It persisted. Because It didn't feel right. Because It wanted to See.

It gasped as It got control of the eyes. It opened them for the first time in centuries.

And It saw... a young man, no more than sixteen, looking at It as if It was death personified.

Because It was.

KILL KILL KILL KILL

NO.

Its hands were wrapped around the boy's throat. And It couldn't help but think about life leeching out of the boy's brilliant green eyes.

The boy, the young man, was a human.

It blinked. Memories in the back of Its head surged through its shattered fragments like a fog.

Wasn't It human, once?

What did it mean... to be human?

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margareturtle · 6 months

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All the things Dru Blackthorn has done between QOAAD and TLKOF (an ongoing list)

1) She saw Frozen in theaters with Tavvy

2) She saw Avengers Age of Ultron with her siblings

3) She gets into makeup (she can do the coolest eye shadow now)

4) She takes up Portuguese (to oppose Jaime at first and then later for Thais)

5) She’s on Tumblr in 2014 and is part of the ya dystopian craze (she’s a big hunger games fan)

6) Speaking of she sees Catching Fire in theaters in 2013 and Johanna is her bi awakening

7) And bc of Johanna she decides she’s gonna specialize in Axe Wielding/Throwing (Lucie Herondale descendant that she is)

7) She had her Red Era. Red lipstick became her go to and she went to the Red tour in 2013

8) She makes Mark and Julian go viral on Vine bc she posts a video of him that’s smth like the strawberries at the diner scene

9) HAIR HIGHLIGHTS!! In 2015 she’s at turquoise, but she’s already gone through purple, red, pink, and platinum

10) She finds out about the First Heir — not that’s it’s Kit but she gets into Faerie history and it’s only a matter of time

11) She gets into Rainbow loom with Tavvy

12) When Helen and Aline go to New York to meet with Magnus and Alec (adopting kids, hangout, and running gov/institute meetup) Dru agrees to babysit for Rafe, Max, + Tavvy in exchange for tickets to Wicked on broadway

13) Tavvy gets into baking and Dru helps with decorating (Tavvy gets covered in sugar a few more times but Helen and Aline allow it as long as he bakes enough cookies to share and he eats Aline’s kale salad)

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caffiend-queen · 2 years

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The Auction

A dystopian tale of the “New Americas,” where the divide between the wealthy and… everyone else is too great to cross. But with all the other viruses comes one that lies dormant in the genes, activating at birth and it is inevitably fatal. So now, perfect genetics are the most desired thing in a mate. Even if you have to buy one.

Important note: there are discussions of disabilities in this chapter viewed by the assholes in this dystopian tales as ‘adverse elements.’ Since my twin boys have autism, I know this is bullshit. Please keep in mind that any discussion of the differently-abled is only for the purpose of the story and their negative responses are pathetic and uneducated.

You’ll be seeing Rich Asshole Ransom Drysdale at the auction tonight, along with James Buchanan Barnes and Terrifying But So Good in a Suit Loki. All obscenely rich bastards. All looking for a wife.

Chapter One - This Can’t Be Happening

“This can’t be happening.”

The woman weeping softly to the right of Rowan might be a little older than she was, but it’s clear she had no frame of reference for what was about to happen to her.

“Stop, don’t mess up your makeup,” Rowan whispered, trying to wipe away the mascara streaming down the woman’s wet cheeks. “Look, it’ll be…”

It’ll be okay?

Was she really about to say something as stupid as that? The group of overly made-up captives - including Rowan, the crying woman clutching her hand, and the twelve other young women shivering in sheer dresses - were most definitely not going to be okay.

“Listen, you’re here now,” she squeezed the crying woman’s hand, trying to get her to look at her. “This is going to happen, so you have to take control of it, okay? You-”

“What is the problem here?”

The voice was sharp, no-nonsense, and sounded much like the priest at the shelter Rowan had left the instant she turned eighteen. But this man definitely took no vow of poverty. His suit was bespoke and perfectly tailored to hide the beginning of a paunch, silver hair expensively styled. “Number Eleven, you’re foolish enough to dismantle the stylist’s work for a tantrum? Who do you think wants to bid on a crying mess? Who would think you were worth millions of credits?” His sharp brown eyes went to Rowan. “And why are you encouraging this, Number Fourteen?”

“I’m not, Mr. Toussaint, I was just-” she tried to smile, to disarm the angry… What did they call him, she thought. Not a pimp, uh, a procurer?

He waved her off impatiently. “I don’t care. Amber!” he shouted over his shoulder, “Come touch up Number Eleven.” The man stepped back and looked over the group. “Listen to me carefully. I have done everything I can to improve your chances of a good match: your wardrobe, your manners, the expensive stylists... Your future is now your responsibility. You can receive a highly lucrative five-year contract with a wealthy partner who will spoil you. Or you can show yourself as weak, poor quality material, and then,” he paused ominously, “I cannot predict your future. The House of Toussaint is known as the finest auction house in the New Americas. I will not allow you to cheapen that reputation. Do you hear me?”

There was a chorus of mumbles and “yessirs,” but he wasn’t happy.

“Do you HEAR ME?”

“Yes, Sir!” Rowan said loudly, clearly, and while the others hurried to add to her answer, Toussaint stared at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“There’s a reason you are the last item up for auction tonight,” he said, “I intend to showcase your superb genetics. But that can change if you attempt to speak out again or involve yourself with the other girls.”

She gritted her teeth hard enough to crack a molar before taking a deep breath and offering her sweetest smile. “Absolutely, Sir. I understand completely.” She could picture Ben’s sweet smile as vividly as if he was standing in front of her. She could be sweet, too. She could be very, very sweet.

“Keep up that smile,” her pimp, procurer, whatever he wanted to be called, was standing behind her, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “The live feed to the reception room begins in ten minutes.”

The live feed. She shuddered. Her only moment of gratitude was that the humiliation of flouncing down the catwalk in that dress would be witnessed only by the men and women bidding for her and the others. At any other time, she would have liked this dress; not too much cleavage, with slim straps spread wide on her shoulders to show off her collarbones and neck, but dipping scandalously low in the back. It was beaded, silver, and a green so dark it almost looked black under the lights, with a long slit showing part of her right thigh. And so heavy. What did they make these beads out of, Rowan wondered, lead?

The stylist had pinned her hair up loosely, at some point, the auctioneer would tell her to take her hair out of its chignon and sweep it out to show off the length. Long hair, real long hair, not extensions, was rare, apparently.

As if any of that mattered.

Well, maybe it did. These women - and a couple of men she’d heard - who would be bid on like cattle tonight were all extremely attractive. Rowan sneered, carefully turning away so no one would catch her expression. Good genes weren’t enough for these rich bastards. Their bought and paid-for’s had to have good looks, too.

“Number One, you’re up!”

The girl was sweet, a classic Irish with pale skin, flaming red hair and a pretty spatter of freckles buried under a heavy layer of makeup. What was her name? Rowan tried to remember: they’d shared breakfast that morning, her oatmeal for Glenna’s fruit. Glenna! That’s right!

“Glenna, you got this!” Feeling stupid even as she did it, Rowan held up both thumbs, nodding and smiling. The redhead at least managed a watery grin and a thumbs-up before Amber hustled her out the door.

Walking back and forth, hands on her beaded hips, Rowan listened to the muffled sounds of the auctioneer, how he’d pause, waiting for laughter or some other response from the room stuffed with rich entitled assholes.

One of which is buying you and taking you home tonight, her spiteful inner voice reminded her.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

It was Mina, one of the few who had willingly signed up for the Bride Auction. Her warm brown eyes were wide, clearly trying to keep the tears from spilling. She had a wonderfully lush mouth, glowing skin the color of molten chocolate and a voluptuous figure, the kind of bombshell look that was wildly popular.

Rowan tried to smile, “I think it’s too late. Do you want the pep talk or to just cry a little?”

Mina’s full lower lip trembled. “P- p- p- pep talk.”

Oh, crap a stutter, Rowan groaned silently. It was nothing, nothing at all but with these choosy trust fund scum, the slightest sign of anything less than conventionally perfect could be dangerous. “Okay, I got you. Look. I’d tell you to picture everyone out there as naked, but I think that’s probably too gross to relax you.”

That helped, Mina giggled and hiccuped a bit.

“Who are you doing this for?” Rowan persisted.

“M- m- sister’s k- kids. She got in an accident last month, a hit and run. Just… coming home from work, carrying a bag of groceries. The car hit her hard enough that they found her soup cans a block away. They’re living with m- m- me but my roommates told me they have to leave or we all do. This is-” Mina’s hands were shaking and she clutched them into fists. “This is all I h- have,” gesturing bitterly at her face and body.

“Number Five!” Miss Lavigne said sharply, “Get in line. You’re nearly up.”

Mina turned to go and Rowan grabbed her arm. “Listen,” she said, leaning in close. “There is one unarguable truth in this entire shit show. These rich bastards, they think they have everything; the money, the power, they think they own us. But don’t you forget that there is something they don’t have: our perfect genetic profile. And they’re scared, scared enough to pay for it. They need you just as much as you need them. You strut down that catwalk like you own it. Like you own them. You make them bid so high their banker will have an aneurysm. You hear me?”

She’d been whispering to keep the malevolent Miss Lavigne from hearing her, but when Rowan let Mina go she realized there was a little circle of girls around them. “Don’t any of you forget it. They’re scared and they need you.” They scattered like they were mice when the kitchen light turned on, and Mr. Toussaint stepped in front of her, eyes narrowed with fury.

“It seems, Number Fourteen that you don’t want to see your brother ever again.”

Her hands darted behind her back so he couldn’t see them shake. “You should be thanking me.”

“What?” Now his ruddy skin flushed even darker.

“You want these girls to drain your clients out there of every last million they’re willing to spend and then several million more. Well, now they will.”

Mr. Toussaint’s sharp eyes canvassed the dressing room. The auction items were standing taller, checking their hair, or lipstick in the mirror, straightening the straps on their dress.

“Number Five! You’re on.”

Mina gave Rowan one last smile, and she nodded back.

He stared down at her for a moment longer. “Go have Amber look at your hair. It’s a mess." She was edging away when Toussaint leaned closer. “Your little speech was quite inspiring to these poor, deluded girls. But there are dozens just like you that have been sold through this house. These people fear nothing. And if they wish to carve you open and extract your DNA, no one will stop them. This auction that you so despise? It protects you. With marriage, with financial security that your new spouse cannot access. I do not expect humility from such as you, but be bright enough to pretend you do.”

Toussaint straightened his tie and left without another look at her.

Rowan was submitting to another re-pinning of her carelessly upswept chignon that took a good hour to create and practicing her smile in the mirror. Inviting, confident, a little demure, and uncertain… So many important people! She pretended to bat her eyelashes. It’s such an honor to be here!

It was fucking terrifying to be here. These were the names no one knew, the families so wealthy that they could crush notoriety. These people owned the New Americas.

Everything. Everyone.

Every law that passed, every new “Moral Mandate” was straight from their twisted brains.

“Number Fourteen! You’re on.”

And now, one of them would own her.

“Rowan Wallace is twenty-eight, stands 5”8 with black hair and pale green eyes,” the auctioneer’s voice is smooth and ingratiating and if Rowan wasn’t so busy trying to walk smoothly with a spotlight blinding her, she would have flipped him off.

“She is in superb health, with a full vaccination status, administered and verified by the Chronology Medical Group, which also performed a full genetic panel. You can see the numbers here on the monitor, and her specialized genome projection that…”

The room was dark beyond the brightly lit stage. Of course, Rowan thought, I don’t deserve to see who’s bidding on me. I’m just the shiny object.

“Her IQ has been tested, with a score of 145.”

Rowan slowed on her turn, letting the audience see the sway of her hips, a slight arch to her back as she turned her head to look over one shoulder. My IQ? When the hell did they test me for that? What else did they test me for?

“You’ll see,” the auctioneer continued, “on the 3D projection that Number Fourteen’s uterus and ovaries are in excellent health, and-”

That little revelation almost made Rowan trip on the edge of her dress, but she managed to make the stumble look like another half turn.

“Number Fourteen,” this time, the voice was Mr. Toussaint's. “Stand at the end of the catwalk, if you would.”

Yeah, so pleasant and oh, so posh when your rich assholes are in the room, she thought bitterly. Bitter, but not stupid enough to defy him, she sashayed back to the circular end, posing with her right leg turned and slightly bent at the knee, hand demurely behind her back.

“You rank at 495 out of 500 on the Genetic Reliability Outcome Consensus, Number Fourteen, quite superb.” There was actually a little round of applause at this and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from rolling her eyes.

Mr. Toussaint was looking at her, seemingly expecting some sort of response, so Rowan flashed him an insincere smile, eyes lowered. “That’s… good to hear, Sir.”

A little chuckle rippled through the bidders and she gave a sweet little shrug. Don’t think of these bastards, think of Ben. Don’t you forget why we’re all up here! Her feet were killing her, these high heels must be lined with razor wire or something because-

“However, adding in the adverse element score, you do drop fifty points, dear.” The son of a bitch bastard’s bleached white teeth glowed in the stage lighting. “Your brother was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and of course is part of the package, isn’t he?”

Of course, Rowan’s teeth gritted, another ignorant asshole considering her brother as an ‘adverse element?’ How dare he! Oh, it’s on fucker!

“Well, Mr. Toussaint, I am sure you know, as do all of these extremely well-educated and well-informed leaders in the New Americas, that autism is an indication of the evolution of the human brain. Many people on the Autism Spectrum have unique gifts and talents, along with high scores for intelligence and potential to overcome sensory challenges that might inhibit their abilities to contribute to their community.”

His stupid bleached teeth opened like he was about to interrupt. Oh, no, bitch, I am on a roll.

“My brother Ben is a gift. He is challenging and intelligent, courageous in a way that I’m not. He makes me a better person, he makes everyone around him want to be more than they are. Truthfully?” Rowan looked out into the darkened room again. “He is the best part of this package.”

There was silence for a moment, quiet enough to hear the low buzz of the 3D projector and the rattling of the bracelet on her wrist as she tried to clench her shaking hands together. She'd screwed up. She had so screwed this up.

The auctioneer gave a light chuckle, smoothly divesting Mr. Toussaint of the mic. “Lovely, and it seems passion and loyalty are other excellent traits of Number Fourteen. And now, dear, if you will remove your dress.”

Rowan’s heart stopped. What? This was NOT in their practice runs! She looked out again, licking her lips. He was kidding. This wasn’t humiliating enough? Oh, there’s no way-

“Number Fourteen? Now, if you please.”

Ben’s sweet smile. She could remember it so vividly when he handed her the lunch he’d packed for her when she’d left their apartment that morning before they took him away. When he’d told her, “This is going to be a perfect day!” When he’d smiled, and…

Standing straight, shoulders back and looking regally over the darkened crowd, Rowan raised her hands to the glittering straps holding the heavy gown up and pulled them down. The silver and green beads flashed in the light as the dress dropped to the floor.

Alerting mutuals who I think might be interested, please let me know if you’d like on or off this list. Thank you!

@nonsensicalobsessions

@albinotigerpython

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#dystopian avengers #dystopian James Barnes #dystopian Ransom Drysdale #dystopian Loki Laufeyson #bride auctions #women sold for their genetic potential #patriarchal assholes #human trafficking #unwilling brides

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Resistance IV

A Dystopian AU. Please don’t ask how much there’s gonna be. I’m not sure. But I might add more characters/readers if there’s interest.

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood, gore, dark elements, tags to be added as we progress, tags will not be exhaustive so be wary.

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: I always love feedback in any form so don’t be shy. Thank you for reading and for all your support. 💗

Inspire by the LEWK.

You wheeze and puff as Bucky drops another fingernail onto the floor. Blood leaks from the barren beds, throbbing and searing in agony. Your hands shake as you're restrained by the thick cuffs attached to the armrests. You grit your teeth and roll your eyes against the hot tears.

"I'm not stupid, Lynx," he snarls as he bends to press his lips to the side of your head, "I know those idiots have moved by now. You don't tell me where they planned on going. You tell me the safehouse. Right now."

"Go... fuck...yourself," you sneer as you rip your head aways from him.

He snorts and twirls the long tweezers in his hand, gripping them in his metal fist. He drives the tip into your naked nailbed, and you shriek. The pain flowers through your tendons and sets fire to your veins. You quake in the chair and let your voice rip from your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He twists it, "tell me where."

You grunt and let it roll against your teeth. He scoffs and pulls back the sharp point, tossing the tool away from him. He turns and takes another from the tray, a pair of silver scissors. You shiver as he holds them up and refocus, looking past him to the two men on the platform, sitting in their thrones. You won't tell. You can't.

Bucky moves into your sight as he slides the blades up your sleeve. He cuts through the layers to your shoulders and across to the collar. The scissors slice through the fabric noisily. You blow out through your nose and brace yourself. He strips away your clothing, little by little, until you're completely bare and quivering.

He looks down at you, eyes scouring you from head to toe. He expects you to cower. Expects you to dissolve before him. You won't let yourself.

"This doesn't have to go any further," he warns as he presses the scissors to your neck lightly, "I can show mercy."

You lower your head and shake it slowly. He sighs and lets the tip cut into your skin before rescinding it. He drops it to clatter on the tray and signals with his hand. He grabs a clump of your hair and forces your head back as he stretches out his other arm. He's brought as large jug that he hovers over you.

"Tell me now."

You swallow and say nothing. He tuts and angles the pitcher to your nose. He pours it, keeping your head tilted even as your muscles fight to sit up. You choke on the water as it floods your nostrils and throat. You cough and gag and he eases up again.

"Go on."

You spit up a mouthful towards him and he growls. He pours morez a steady stream that suffocates you, frigid water that chills you to the core. You croak and sputter as your writhe against your restraints.

"Come on, doll," he stops again, "I'm listening."

You glare at him, heaving but silent. His nose flares and he starts again. Another flood smothers you until you're dizzy. He empties the jug and watches you.

"Lynx…"

You cough and hack before you catch your breath. "Fuck y–"

He swings the pitcher and smashes it into your face. You feel the crunch in your nose as a split forms in the skin along your cheekbone. You groan and reel as the jug flies across the room and hits the floor loudly, bouncing and rolling to a stop.

"You're a tough little minx," he turns back to the tray and drags his fingertips along the edge.

He clucks and reaches to brush his beard, lingering on the grey patch by his chin. He shrugs and chuckles as he faces you again. He rests his hand on his belt and grasps the handle of the long knife there. His fingers fit perfectly in the grip.

He slides it from the sheath and admires the silver blade, "I find the best way is the old fashioned one."

He holds the knife in front of you, pointing it towards your chest. He trails the edge down your stomach lightly. He's taunting you.

He pushes the blade firm and splits the skin down your thigh, slowly cutting to the knee. You hiss as the blood beads around the incision and stains the silver. Your toes curl and you keep from balling your stripped fingers.

He shifts the direction of the blade, cutting across, then back up. He raises the knife and smirks at it. Then his eyes flick up to meet yours.

"Oh, Lynx, this could've been over," he purrs and puts the knife flat, gliding the edge along the bottom of the incision.

He pushes the skin up and starts to peel. You feel the flesh separate from muscle and cry out. The agony is unlike anything you've ever felt before. It consumes you completely.

Your vision flashes white and the blood courses through your veins like fire. Your voice rises and rises beyond your control. You can't think as the torment crawls up your leg.

"The Ridge!" You exclaim, "The Ridge. Please! I can't–"

The flames recede but cinders still singe at your leg. Your head lolls as you gulp down air, your face wet from the years you could not contain. Your body is not your own, it is at the mercy of the pain, at his mercy.

"What was that?" Bucky steps back, moving to let the other two men get a glimpse. You see how they lean forward, enraptured by the scene.

"The Ridge. That's… the safe house." You begin to sob, overcome not only by the agony but by your own weakness.

You broke. You told him. You told them. You sold out the others. Those you swore your life to.

"You can kill me know," you shudder as you let your head fall back, "please."

Bucky grins and shows you the bloodied blade. He brings it to your throat and you close your eyes. You're ready. There's nothing left. A rat like you deserves to die.

"On second thought," he draws away and his shadow shifts, your eyelids parting to watch him turn around, "gentlemen, do you mind if I play with this one a bit longer?" He snickers and faces you again, "she's too much fun."

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #resistance #mcu #marvel #au #dystopian au #winter soldier #avengers

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brokehorrorfan · 1 day

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Boy Kills World will be released on 4K Ultra HD, Blu-ray, and DVD on July 9 via Lionsgate. Produced by Sam Raimi, the 2023 dystopian action comedy is currently available on Digital.

Moritz Mohr makes his feature directorial debut from a script by Tyler Burton Smith (Child's Play) and Arend Remmers. Bill Skarsgård stars with Jessica Rothe, Michelle Dockery, Brett Gelman, Isaiah Mustafa, Yayan Ruhian, Andrew Koji, Sharlto Copley, H. Jon Benjamin, and Famke Janssen.

Special features are listed below.

Special features:

Total Bedlam: Making Boy Kills World

Winter Wonderland

F**cked up Fairy Tale

Martial Arts

Bill Skarsgård Training

Bill and Yayan

Trailers

youtube

Bill Skarsgård stars as Boy, a mayhem machine with a hilarious inner voice who's been trained from childhood by his mentor (Yayan Ruhian) to assassinate the bloodthirsty Hilda Van Der Koy (Famke Janssen) and avenge his family’s murder. Guided by his little sister’s mischievous spirit, Boy uncovers one stunning revelation after another as he barrels toward Hilda, leading to a shocking, carnage-crazed finale.

Pre-order Boy Kills World.

#boy kills world #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #jessica rothe #famke janssen #h jon benjamin #h. jon benjamin #dvd #gift #moritz mohr #michelle dockery #brett gelman #isaiah mustafa #yayan ruhian #andrew koji #sharlto copley

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sitp-recs · 1 year

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Hi! Ok so I'm in the mood for some drarry first recs. Like they are each other's first kiss, first dates, loss of virginity, etc. I'll take just about anything. Also dark!Harry recs. Where drarry are together and something bad happens to Draco (either he dies or ends up severely injured/in a coma) and Harry seeks out revenge on those who did it and turns evil. I know that's a lot but I'd really appreciate it. Please and thank you in advance!

Hello! I did a list for Dark!Harry a while ano but that might not be what you’re looking for - tbh I don’t think I’m familiar with fics where he goes evil to save/avenge Draco (would love to read those!) but I’m sure my followers can help. As for first times, here are some recs for you:

A world just for us by nerakrose (G, 2k)

Harry and Draco go flying and then…continue to go flying.

Draco at Nineteen by birdsofshore (E, 5k)

It's the middle of the night and Harry Potter is sitting on my bed looking distinctly weird. I've had some fucked-up dreams in my time, but this one... this one is something new.

Slip Into My Lover's Hands by @lqtraintracks (E, 6k)

Draco licks his lips. He shuts his eyes, because he doesn't think he can look at Potter when he says it. When he asks for it. "One finger?"

Night Changes by @writcraft (E, 10k)

Draco and Harry have spent years dancing around one another, but Potter’s straight and married. Until one day he isn’t.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Welcome to the Broom Closet by incapricious (E, 23k)

Harry thinks he knows how his life will go: Become an Auror. Marry Ginny. Have a family. But then he sees an advertisement in the paper that no one else can see, and his life is turned upside-down. The Broom Closet: you can be anyone you want while you're there, but you won't remember it in the morning.

Speak (and may the world come undone) by @shealwaysreads (E, 26k)

The war is on in earnest, and the hunt for the Horcruxes has begun. Harry receives help from the least expected person, and must decide whether he can trust the enemy he knows best.

Your Place or Mine? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 26k)

"This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

Buds, Blooms, and Beards by @corvuscrowned (E, 27k)

Harry and Ginny have built an easy, happy life for themselves after the war. They run a thriving plant shop together, they have a great relationship, and they're definitely not gay.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man.

Romp and Circumstance by @wolfpants (E, 35k)

Since the war, Harry Potter has gone from Saviour to Scoundrel—not that he’s complaining. With a schedule full of gorgeous men, alcohol, and late nights, why would he want to change? Enter Draco Malfoy: beautiful, sharp, and completely untouchable. When Draco comes to Harry with a proposition to help him attract an engagement, Harry’s up for it—after all, how hard can it be not falling for his former nemesis?

Dwelling by aideomai (T, 83k)

Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it's not called the Mirror of Erised doesn't mean you shouldn't know better.

Reparo by amalin (E, 84k)

Voldemort's final defeat does not mean Harry Potter's troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell. New owls, fading scars, surprising alliances—and along the way, the hardest task of all, to live with it.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

#asks #anon #first times

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youandtom2 · 2 years

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An Avenger's Revenge (dark!Peter Parker)

CHAPTER 2 // SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Themes: dystopian, futuristic, smut, angst, death!, dark concepts**, a tad bit fluff :) **T/W: attempted sexual assault

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There’s noticeable unrest in the slums. The town square is riddled with the haunting sight of armoured men in navy blue, flexing their guns as a warning while their soulless eyes glare at you through their visors. They are figures of tall stature that emanate a foreboding presence like a lingering smell, and once you get a whiff of them, they’re hard to get rid of. As if he couldn’t be any more vain, Captain America’s men are replicas of him: personalities arrogant enough to don the armour that flaunts and flatters their physical strength. Inside those helmets are empty minds so very dependent on instructions and commands fed to them by Captain America, and no matter how sadistic the order is, they will do it with no questions asked. They terrify you because you know there are no limits to their actions. Guess that makes you terrified of Captain America too.

Their business here must be warranted, because why else would officials of Captain America bother with the outer slums of vagabonds and degenerates? Your feet land shaky steps, briskly walking past a group of them as they storm into a shack and shout demands that you can’t quite make out amongst the screams. Keeping yourself guarded lands a few suspicious eyes and you can only assume that someone here has committed a crime, and the guards are here to deliver retribution on Captain America’s behalf.

Furtively, you walk further away from the town square, just minutes from your shack. A step or three, a hop over the sinkhole, a swift turn of the corner and…

“Hey!” A demanding voice yells from behind. “Stop there!” Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. It’s okay, you have nothing to hide, you haven’t done anything wrong.

A fast, hard hand tightly grips your shoulder, slamming the back of your head against the scrap metal of a stranger’s shack behind you. Why they have to handle you so viciously, you’ll never know.

“Got something to hide?” The guard asks with a condescending tone you don’t appreciate.

“No! Nothing! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Spread your legs.”

“What?!”

“Are you deaf? I said spread your fucking legs. You need to be thoroughly searched.”

The moment the words leave his lips, your stomach plummets. The shock of what is going to happen robs you of your speech and as you stand shakily on weak legs, you can feel your skin paling. The guard swivels you around and detains your hands within his own, kicking your legs apart. A leather-clad hand snakes its way down your back and around your waist, groping and prodding even though he knows there’s nothing there. It snakes around to your front, resting just on top of your pelvic bone and you feel yourself sweating, murmuring pleas that fall of ignorant ears. Just before the unthinkable happens, a voice angrily yells from further down the alleyway and in seconds, you’re relieved from your living nightmare.

The man you see approaching the guard has no more authority over him than you, but his stride would convince you otherwise. Easily towering six foot three, he isn’t a man you would want to mess with. He’s dressed in the basic uniform every worker is given but they are clearly ill-fitted as the muscles on his arms and his shoulders stretch the thin material. His legs don’t share the same proportion and it’s because of that that you guess he’s a miner, or at least, was a miner. All arms and no legs.

“Get away from her you filthy pig.” The man brutally shoves the guard who falls quickly to the ground. You find your opportunity and spring to your feet, running behind the brute of a man who seems to be protecting you. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

The guard dashes to his feet and pulls a baton from his side with an angry roar, whipping it open ready to use. At the first sign of resistance, other guards come running and very soon, you and your saviour are outnumbered, a point you make very obvious to him. “That may be, but remember, the people outnumber the Gods,” he replies. That’s…certainly an interesting and optimistic view on things.

The growing number of navy guards doesn’t deter him for one second and knowing what’s ahead of him, he peers over his shoulder and murmurs words only you can hear.

“Better run, kid. This is gonna get ugly.”

“What about you? Why don’t you come with me?”

The guy chuckles. “I can take ‘em. Besides, we need to look out for each other, yeah?” The man promptly points to the side of his neck where he gestures to two small marks tattooed onto his skin; two dots that sit beside each other, a red one and a black one. Your eyes narrow at them having never seen such a mark before. They’re almost invisible if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but your eyes firmly latch onto them now that he points them out. You have no idea what they mean, but you don’t have the time to stop and ask. “Now go. Run!”

You don’t spare a second glance behind you when the ruckus begins. You don’t want to believe that your hero is the one crying out in pain, and although it’s very likely, turning around would only confirm it. So instead, you race on, panting and heaving with heavy breaths as you sprint towards your shack.

“Oh my Gods!” Alma screams as you come crashing through the door. “What’s happening, are you alright?”

“I…I…was getting…the guards, they…”

“Calm yourself dear, take a deep breath.” For the first time in weeks, Alma stands to her arthritic feet and wobbles her way to you, her ankle clearly causing her grief. “Here.” She scoops up a cup full of water and hands it to you, gone within seconds of touching your lips.

“The guards are in the square, I think they’re looking for someone, I’m not sure. On my way back, they stopped me, Alma, they wanted to…search me. They-” Your bottom lip begins the quiver, the words sitting anxiously on your tongue. “They were going to--” The words refused to leave your lips.

“Oh my dear, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Someone helped me just in time. A man. A miner, I think. I didn’t know his name but he helped me escape.”

“Bless him. Generosity is rare around these parts, appreciate it while you find it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to find him to thank him. Captain Ass’s guards didn’t take too kindly to his ‘generosity’.”

“They never do. What did he look like? Maybe there’s someone around here that knows of him?”

Alma listens as you describe your hero and all the while she listens attentively but nothing of significance sparks her interest. That is, until you mention the tattoo on his neck.

“What?”

“Yeah, two dots on his neck.”

“Describe them in detail.” Her voice is stiff, biting words at you as you continue to silently question what it is about this tattoo that intrigues her so much.

“Um…” Your eyes scrutinise the tense hand on your shoulder as she waits with unblinking eyes. “One was black, the other red. They sat next to each other on his neck just behind his ear--Alma, why are you asking? What does it mean?”

Alma silently retreats back to her rocking chair, slumping carelessly onto the thing and sinking her face into her hands. Whatever it is that’s bothering her is consuming her, and it’s starting to consume you too. Your mind is bursting at the seams, waiting impatiently to get an explanation to your confusion, answers to questions and more keep coming the longer Alma tortures you with silence. A chorus of why, what, who, where, when, and how sings, backed by a throbbing pain that circles your head. With one final demand, Alma finally alleviates your curiosity.

“A long time ago, when I was a girl, there was an attempt of a rebellion against the Gods. At the time, infinity stone production was slow. The conditions in each faction were the same, everyone worked the same hours, everyone got the same benefits if any, until the people were sick and fed up of the Gods treating them like slaves, like tools, so…understandably, they started an uprising. It started in Captain America’s faction then somehow, word got across the waters and people seemed to believe in it, saw their opportunity for freedom and got involved. It started out peaceful, y’know, strikes, protests, demonstrations but nothing came to fruition. The Gods ignored them and nothing changed, no surprises there. So it resorted to more violent means; destroying temples, crushing infinity stones, bringing down Gods’ monuments, it was chaos like I had never seen before. My mother wouldn’t let me leave the house for weeks while my father, the fool, joined the bloody uprising and got himself killed. Anyway, to prove that you were on the side of the people, a mark was tattooed onto your neck. Two dots, one black, one red. One for unity, one for strength.”

“Like the one on that guy’s neck?”

“Similar. They weren’t placed beside each other, they were stacked; one on top of the other. I can only assume that the one your stranger had is just a remodelling of the old mark. A symbol for a new rebellion.”

“What happened with the old rebellion?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rivalry Captain America and Iron Man had, yes?” You nod your head, sinking down lower next to Alma. Of course you knew it existed, but you never knew why it existed. With a little more patience, Alma reveals more. “The riots became too hard for the Gods to ignore, especially when the mining and manufacturing of their precious infinity stones came to a complete stop, so obviously they had to respond. However, none of them could agree on how they were to respond. On one side, you had Iron Man taking pity on us, realising how harsh the Gods had been treating their people, and you know, the conditions were far worse back in my day. He was willing to offer us breaks, health care, more suitable living accomodations--”

Hang on, that sounds familiar. “But he did that, didn’t he?”

“He did. But, on the other side, you had, as you say, Captain Ass wanting to punish us for revolting. As a God, he felt disrespected and wanted to use what power he had against us to make sure it never happened again. And like Iron Man, he stayed true to his word. Work increased and food decreased, anyone caught with the mark was to be shot against the post. Captain America made it very clear that he was not going to accommodate any kind of rebellion in his faction. Iron Man didn’t agree with it.”

Helena’s words from earlier loops around your head. ‘That rival they had decades ago fucked him and us over completely.’ Tougher conditions, harsh punishments. The dots begin to align, ironically, and slowly the puzzle pieces begin to slot together. Even Tony’s decision to bestow the faction onto Peter makes better sense, because he knew Captain America would abuse the people that were left unpunished after the uprising.

Peter was on Tony’s side.

The message flashes before your eyes; it was never about power with Captain America, it was about revenge.

“So what about the others? Hawkeye, Black Widow, The Hulk, what did they do?”

“Some sided with Iron Man, some sided with Captain Ass. It was just potluck who decided to side with who. It was essentially the difference between life and death for some. It’s why every faction has different working conditions and I thanked every single second I was able to live in Iron Man’s faction, but with him gone and the possibility of a new resistance rising, I fear that we might not be so lucky this time. We made the mistake once before, we can’t afford to make it again.” Tears begin to well up in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks like rivulets. No one can express the sadness that shakes her voice more than she could, having those raw emotions stir in her as they did all those years ago. “Promise me you won’t get caught up in it all.”

For some reason, there’s something inside telling you that you don’t whole-heartedly mean it when you make that promise to Alma. Perhaps, considering all that has transpired in the last two years, it’s realising that none of it can be excused; the arrogance, the injustice, the greed. Maybe what you’re realising now is actually the same epiphany Tony had too late in his life, unintentionally passed onto you. What the Gods are doing and the heinous injustice they curse this planet with is simply unreasonable, and it cannot be allowed to continue.

And as the echo of a gun being fired from the town square reaches your ears, you make your decision.

~~~~~

The minute you enter the factory, you know something is wrong. The air is tight, and the atypical lack of voices in the room makes for a very unsettling atmosphere. Everyone has their eyes on their hands, not daring to stray for a single second, especially under the scrutiny of Captain Ass’s men. Looking around, their numbers have doubled.

A buzzer resonates around the room, signalling the start of the working day, and the conveyor belt starts to roll in infinity stones, dug fresh from the mines early this morning. You take to your station just to the left of Mina and immediately begin picking up the dirt-covered infinity stone, polishing it to a sheen. Too scared to do anything rash, you give her a subtle nudge with your elbow.

“Why is it all so tense in here?” You whisper.

“Captain America suspects that infinity stones are being stolen. So we’re all being watched.”

“What? That’s crazy, why would he think that? We can’t do anything with them, they’d kill us if we tried.”

“I know, but I think he’s so paranoid that he’ll assume anything.”

You hum, not fully content with Mina’s reasoning. It just doesn’t make sense. Infinity stones are practically useless to humans, unless you had a death wish, sure, but they are an invalid currency amongst the slaves. You can’t harvest their power like the Gods can, so why would someone be stealing them? For blackmail? Protection? Security?

“Is that why the guards were invading people’s shacks last night?” Memories of last night flash before your eyes. The guard. His hands. The bile in your stomach. Your saviour. The gun shot.

Mina nods, eyes cautiously peering up to the guards leaning over the ledge of the upper balcony, all identical to one another except for the General, who stands outside the factory owner’s office, watching with an evil grin on his face, dark features casting a shadow on you all. He’s Captain Ass’s right hand man. Some original’s call him the Winter Soldier and warn of his temperament, detailing the grim horrors they’ve seen him do with that daunting vibranium arm of his. It must be serious if he’s involved.

“Typical of him to blame us humans. Scum of the Earth we are, yet without us he wouldn’t even have his precious infinity stones. I’m fucking sick of it. It’s not fair and it isn’t right--”

“I know, Mina, I know. But you have to keep quiet--”

“Why should I?” Her voice raises and she whips around to face you, dropping her tools and the infinity stone onto her work table in a clutter. It’s only when your eyes land on the soft blue and purple haze circling her blurry eye that you realise why she’s getting so worked up. Apparently you aren’t the only one who had issues with the guards last night.

As it happens, a few surrounding guards begin to shuffle on the spot, growing more suspicious of Mina’s behaviour. They creep closer and closer as Mina continues her rant.

“We’re fucking starving here, all because the Gods are too lazy to harvest their infinity stones for themselves. How is that right? And why is nobody batting a fucking eyelid that Iron Man and Spider-Man’s factions have been destroyed, their people kidnapped and forced into slave labour.”

“Shh, Mina, they are, but here’s not the place to be talking about it.”

“What? What are you saying?”

You grunt quietly, accepting that Mina isn’t going to rest until you spill what Alma told you last night. But with the guards slowly enclosing in on the space around you, you quickly improvise a plan that will hopefully keep you out of trouble. As discreetly as humanly possible, you snatch both you and Mina’s polishing brushes, much to her disapproval, and snap them in two under the conveyor belt, the action hidden from the guards. With conviction in your step, you motion Mina to follow you towards a door in the corner of the room.

“Hey! Where do you two think you are going?” The mechanical voice of Captain Ass’s men sends a shiver up your spine, last night’s nightmare flashing in your mind again. Nevertheless, you swivel to face the guard with a face of steel, almost sneering at the Captain America emblem embossed into the uniform.

“Our tools broke. We need to get more from the store room. I’m showing her where it is.”

“Hurry the fuck up. You’ve got work to do.”

With a breath of relief, you grapple onto Mina’s arm a little tighter and with hurried ambition, you find respite in the darkness of the store room. A bulb above you struggles to emit even the faintest of lighting, but you make do, because what Mina is about to hear is more important than what she sees.

“How I would love to punch those guys in the throat.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Listen, I had a little…run-in with one of the guards last night. Before things escalated, this stranger helped me. I didn’t question why at the time, I was just thankful someone showed up. He told me to remember that the people outnumber the Gods, then pointed to a tattoo on his neck. Two dots, one black, one red, sitting beside each other.”

Mina looks blankly at you. She can’t seem to process anything you're saying until she can understand why you’re telling her this, but until then, her face stills in a scowling, narrowed-eyed look of confusion. “So…what--you met a guy with a tattoo?”

“It’s not just that! Alma knew what the tattoo meant. It’s a symbol for rebellion, an uprising against the Gods, proof that people are batting an eyelid at all of the things they’ve done.” God, what is it going to take for Mina to react to anything you’re saying? “Imagine it, Mina, justice, equality, freedom, no more working in factories scrubbing stones, no more sanctions, no more hungry days. What if this rebellion is our only chance of getting that?”

“And you’re sure it exists?”

“I’m certain. They could be the reason behind the infinity stones going missing. Less infinity stones, less power for them, right?”

The next time you hear Mina’s voice again, you notice that it holds a little more confidence and understanding, like it’s all coming together for her. Like she might have a little faith.

“And the people outnumber the Gods.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.” Mina blows a sigh through her lips. “Okay, okay, we’re actually going to do this right?” Is she…pacing? “We’re actually going to join a cult to overthrow the Gods. No big deal. Right? You can just find that stranger that helped you, and then, y’know, viva la revolution.”

“Um…slight issue. I’m afraid my stranger is…no longer around.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was shot.”

“Oh.” A mournful silence fills the air. Without even saying the words, you both come to understand exactly what it means for you if you are to take such a risk of joining a rebellion. To succeed would mean freedom. To lose would mean facing execution. All or nothing. “So what do we do?”

You scratch the back of your head, afraid to admit to Mina that you don’t actually know and as you look around as if to find your answer, your eyes catch onto a glint in the corner. Something that caught the very small beam of light and reflected it back to you—

“Hello? Did you hear me? What are we going to do?”

“Oh, um…I-I guess we’ll just need to keep our eyes and ears out for the moment; anyone with the tattoo, who act suspicious or speak of anything about the rebellion. Remember, it’s two dots next to each other just beneath the ear. We should be careful and not jump to conclusions before we’re sure they’re part of the rebellion. I wouldn’t be surprised if Captain Ass’s has ordered secret spies to catch people out.” Mins murmurs in agreement, nodding her head. “And the other thing we should do is…hope.”

“Easier said than done,” Mina retorts. “We should agree on a meeting spot to report back if we find anything. Here won’t do, it’s too obvious. It’ll need to be at night too, under the cover of darkness and where no one is likely to go.”

“The watering hole. Quarter past midnight. Every Monday and Thursday. Tell no one. Deal?”

Mina stretches her hand out in front of her. It’s still slightly too dark to see what emotion she carries in her eyes. But her voice speaks of a confidence that you can only envy. “Deal.”

“We better go, we've been in here too long,” Mina warns, making her way to the door with a new polishing brush.

“I’ll follow right behind.”

The light from the main factory area enters the store room and reaches beneath the cabinets and shelves where you saw that glint earlier. Curious, you drop to your knees and sink low to the ground. What your eyes see is nothing like what you expected and your breath is quickly taken from you. Crawling across the ground in a single file is an army of spiders, dragging behind them broken pieces of infinity stones encased in cobwebs. The line stretches around the perimeter of the room, from one hole in the wall to another. You quickly decipher from the map of the factory in your mind that just on the other side of this wall is where the disregarded infinity stones are dumped. Stones that have been broken in transit, or are tarnished by other natural elements, but yet these little spiders, the same kind you found crawling across your arm the other day, are collecting them.

Your mouth hangs open in bewilderment, struggling to comprehend why they would do such a thing. The mystery quickly wraps itself around your brain, diseasing your mind with questions that don’t have answers. Although you’re coming up completely blank about everything else, if there’s one thing you’re absolutely certain on, it’s that there’s a purpose behind this and you won’t be able to shrug off these little spiders as easily as you did the first time you found them.

It’s just not part of a spider’s nature to collect infinity stones…

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You turn to find a guard filling the frame of the doorway, blocking the light to the secret beneath the cabinet. But the more you look, the more you realise it isn’t just any guard. It’s the Winter Soldier, standing tall with his vibration arm curled by his side. He has a wicked smirk on his dark features, no doubt conjuring up a plan that’s just as wicked to appease the sadist inside him, and you fear you may be involved. Those piercing blue eyes glow from behind his black hair draping over his face, and they have you in his sights. It’s incredibly intimidating. You feel like you can’t even take a breath without his permission.

“I…I d-dropped my brush.”

“And you expect me to believe that, do you?”

“Please, I-“

“Do you think I'm stupid?” He moves to take a step further into the room.

“No! No, of course not. I just came to get my brush, I promise."

The Winter Soldier grins maliciously, telling you that he doesn't buy your act for one second. A thick, heavy feeling of dread coils around your throat and you feel all the air leaving your lungs. With his vibranium arm grinding by his side, you fear that you might be standing at death's door.

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