#if not seeing it as malicious makes it easier for you to enjoy the rest of the novel that's good!

[metanarrates]

I completely understand how people feel triggered by that one scene in orv but I just felt like it wasn't malicious and that Singshong just heavily overestimated their abilities. Like imo it was only a way to introduce a plot point (JHY and the punisher) like they could've handled it with much more nuance rather than just having Loki go "actually their real crimes were being thiefs/murderers and NOT because they're crossdressers".

tw: discussions of transmisogyny below the cut:

look, I really don't think you can have a scene where crossdressers are depicted as older male criminals, who have done extreme crimes of torture, murder, etc, who employ disguises as beautiful young women in order to trick hapless men, and not have some sort of vitriol towards gnc people and trans women. the scene hits literally every classic trope of transmisogyny. the characters involved, minus one, are set up like nothing more than vermin to be crushed. the fact that they are "secretly men" is explicitly part of the disgust a reader is meant to feel towards them.

were singshong malicious? well, sure, I can believe that they never sat down and said "I want to make sure transfems and gnc people feel like shit about this part of my story." that rarely happens. they did in fact include a Good Crossdresser in this scene. but critically, the characters' crossdressing is also a site of revulsion and confusion from the main characters. this isn't challenged much, either. contextually, we are supposed to find it weird and kind of ridiculous in these scenes that kim yongpal is secretly a middle aged man. and I don't think you get to that point without having some seriously unexamined disgust responses to those who break gender norms.

the fact is that this is a seriously violent transmisogynistic scene. regardless of it possibly existing as an attempt to set up a plot point, it reflects really harmful views on trans women and gnc men. there IS a layer of intentionality with that, even if I understand that it's likely the result of deeply ingrained social bias rather than the authors actually thinking through what they believe trans women are.

but I don't think that bars them from growing as authors, either! I find the punisher stuff and especially the stuff with jang hayoung to be interesting explorations of gender! my fiancee is transfem, and we've talked a lot how interesting it is to have kim dokja's acceptance of jhy's gender directly parallel his arc of learning to understand that the "characters" of tswa can change! it's genuinely one of the more interesting depictions of transness that I've seen. the fact that they do depict a canonically transfem character as a hero later on shows that they are capable of doing better than this scene. it does seem like they later confront their own biases. I just think we can't let our acknowledgement of their later growth as authors prevent us from seriously critically discussing the transmisogyny present here.

#narrates #orv #transmisogyny #i guess my point is that presumed malice doesn't matter? later growth doesn't either. the scene is seriously harmful regardless #im def not trying to like. cancel singshong. i do not think this makes the novel unsalvageable #if not seeing it as malicious makes it easier for you to enjoy the rest of the novel that's good! #but i would be remiss as a fan to NOT give this the serious critical discussion that it warrants #its also necessary to acknowledge that it will ruin the novel for some folks and that is okay!

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The reader suffers from claustrophobia and some students play pranks on her. They locked her in a closet and she had a panic attack. Weems finds the reader later, when she is no longer in contact.

Safe and Warm

Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (Platonic)

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: You get bullied and end up somewhere you really don’t want to be. Small spaces always made you scared. But now your locked in.

TW: claustrophobia, small spaces, bullying, crying, panic attack, angst

A/n love the request and I hope you guys like it.

It was safe to say Wednesday wasn’t the only troublemaker in the school. But at least she never hurt anyone with malicious intent. The others weren’t so nice.

It was never a good day when they saw you. A rowdy group of furs who liked to show off and bully some of the younger years. Their so-called pranks would get more and more devious as the full moon grew closer. Unfortunately, you seemed to be their target for the day. You had done your best to stay out of their sight. Brandon was the pack leader and called all then shots and as an empath you sensed their wild emotions before you saw them, but it was already too late. They had seen you.

With the eyes of a hunter, they closed in. You were running late for botany and really didn’t have time for this today but that didn’t stop the slight tremor in your hands. They had you pinned to the storeroom cupboard. Surrounding you on all sides.

“So, thought you could get away huh?” Brandon asked with a jeer.

“No, not at all. I simply have places to be.”

“Hmm, well maybe… seeings you're not going anywhere right now and seem awfully close to that door behind you we can help you destress a bit by giving you some quality alone time.” He sneered.

That didn’t make much sense and you were about to ask what he meant when a strong arm wrapped around your left bicep and pulled you away from the door. Another one of the burly furs opened it, it was one of the cupboards that locked from the outside and seeings you were in a very remote part of the school this wasn’t going to end well.

The next thing you knew you were pushed from behind falling onto your hands and knees rather hard you felt the skin of your knees and palms tear on the jagged stone floor.

Quickly spinning around to try and escape you heard the door close and the laughter fade.

Taking a shaky breath, you tried the door handle already knowing it would be locked. The handle didn’t even twist at all. That confirmed it then, you were going to die alone in a storeroom.

Shuffling to the wall that faced the door you leant against the cool stone and curled your knees to your chest. Silent tears fell down your cheeks as you suppressed sobs. You had always hated small spaces. They left you alone with your thoughts and the stress always made it harder to suppress the feelings of others. You could sense nobody in the hall, your powers drawing a blank on anyone to get a read on. Resting you head on your knees you tried to steady your breathing.

The walls felt tight, and your chest felt tighter. Breathing was difficult and yet you soldiered on. Closing your eyes and imagining a wide-open field you scrubbed the tears from your eyes hoping someone would notice your absence in botany and that they would be quick to find you before the walls squished you be young repair. Rocking back in forwards in the dimly lit room you cried into your knees, tears rolling down your legs and face and dampening the fabric of your collar and skirt.

You hated this. It was cold, small and tight. Your breathing was shuddery and broken by silent sobs. You had no idea how long it had been the panic attack making it hard to judge.

It was getting more difficult to breathe and the rocking was only so soothing. You wrapped your arms around yourself and squeezed hoping the pressure would help ground you. Breathing became a little easier at that but still not good enough.

Larissa Weems has been enjoying her morning coffee when Marilyn had burst into her office. Setting down the steaming takeaway from the weathervane she sighed.

“Marilyn whats the matter?”

“Y/n never showed up to class. She’s not in her dorm. Hasn’t left the grounds and was supposed to meet with me after class. Larissa she’s missing.” The botanists said looking both worried and concerned.

“Well. We best find her then. We should start by letting the other teachers know to keep an eye out for her, before launching a full-scale search we should try and find her ourselves. Do you have any ideas as to where she may be?” Weems asked already sending out an email to her staff.

“All i know is that her friends said they saw her at breakfast, and she said she was heading up to my classroom for an early start.”

“Well, we should retrace her steps. See what we can find.” Weems said standing and placing a comforting hand on the teacher's arm.

The two left the office, Larissa’s coffee cold and forgotten on the desk.

Walking down the maze of halls Larissa had her eyes scanning every little detail, if she hadn’t, she may well have missed it.

“Hmm.” She said pausing in the corridor.

“What?” The botanist asked stopping beside her.

“These old storerooms aren’t supposed to ever be locked.” Weems said and walked over to the door. She froze as she heard soft whimpers coming from inside. Quickly she turned the door handle and opened the door.

Both teachers looked in and down at you curled up on the floor sobbing. As the door opened your tear-stained face looked up and you hurled yourself at the botanist, wrapping your arms around her and sobbing into her neck.

After a second to realise what had happened, she gently patted your back.

“Shh shh its ok Y/n/n. We’re here sweetheart. Your safe. Okay?” She asked and you let out another small whimper, your body still wracked with sobs she could feel your uneven breathing. Gently she peeled you off her and looked into your eyes holding you by your shoulders.

“Love can you take some deep breathes for me. In. Hold. And out. Good. Good.” She said as you drew shuddered and broken breathes. the principal had grabbed your satchel and whispered something to Marilyn who nodded.

“Y/n.” Weems started, and you turned to look at her with big sad eyes. “Do you want to come sit with me and Ms Thornhill in my office for a bit darling?” She asked and you nodded and went back to hugging the botanist.

Ms Thornhill realised you weren’t letting her go anytime soon so she scooped you up as you clung to her. Holding you up, your face buried in her neck and your front pressed to hers as she had an arm under your thighs to hold you up. The two teachers walked back one carrying your satchel and one carrying you.

Once you were back in Larissa’s office Marilyn sat down on the couch and Larissa sat down next to you gently rubbing your back as you were still attached to the teacher.

“Darling, can you tell us what happened? How did you end up in there?” Larissa asked.

You turned your face to look at her and sniffled, launching into a broken explanation you watched the principals anger grow. But it wasn’t at you, it was for you. A few minutes later she was on the phone with the school board wanting a severe punishment for the boys as she refused to tolerate any sort of such harmful conduct among students.

After you had settled some more, you were still in Ms Thornhill’s lap were resting softly. Completely exhausted by all the emotions you had been dealing with as your abilities drained you and you control over your own emotions. Your cheek was pressed into Ms Thornhill’s collarbone as your slow breathing tickled her neck. She felt you relax in her hold and knew you were asleep.

She mouthed something to Larissa who nodded and grabbed a blanket from her own quarters and tucked it around your sleeping form still resting on Marilyn.

“Looks like you're not leave anytime soon. Can i get you anything?” Weems asked with a chuckle.

But you didn’t hear, you were dead to the world, snoring softly into Ms Thornhill’s chest and for the first time in a long time feeling safe and warm.

MASTERLIST

#panic attack #weems #Thornhill #marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill is not laurel gates #principal weems #larissa weems #nevermore #Wednesday addams #reader #self insert #sicfic #whump #angst #comfort #hurt comfort #emotional comfort #bullying #empath r #claustrophobia #crying #scared r #weems comfort #Thornhill comfort #student r #outcast r #anxiety #addams #angst with a happy ending #pranks

[bitterarcs]

Pretty sure I have this in my rules ( look at me being too lazy to just read them over ), but I don't tag specific things that may be too violent or 'upsetting' etc. I have the strong opinion that violent themes come with the territory. I think a lot of people tend to be distracted, or choose to focus, on the pretty characters and whimsy of the world. It's likely easier with characters that are not affiliated with ShinRa, y'know the hero types, however it's their suffering and trials which led them down a path of the good as opposed to that of the evil. The overarching message is that ShinRa is evil, but a lot of people just gloss over that. Sure, there were good or decent people with honorable intentions in the SOLDIER program, however soldiers are soldiers. I won't go into detail about that facet as I'm trying to get to my main point. While I do think every member of the Turks had their different motives and moralities to join such a department, I also believe that every member is malicious, at the very least bad, and most certainly evil. Evil is too often depicted as black and white when really, it comes in shades of grey.

If someone makes an argument about how this Turk character was actually good but chose to be part of the Turks for xyz reason, I'll hear it out. At least in my depiction and how Reno views all his comrades, they are bad at varying degrees. Why wouldn't they be? They're the equivalent of soldiers carrying out black ops — trained to the highest capacity in a wide range of skillsets, taking on discreet missions, doing the things no one else wants to do, cleaning up messes, carrying secrets, and YOU KNOW . . kidnapping, murder, interrogations, torture, and you can only imagine the rest. This is why I have such a bone to pick with AC. It really paints the remainder of ShinRa as clowns, more so with Reno and Rude.

There's no doubt they'd keep their heads down while as they try to build ShinRa back up, but they wouldn't be knocking back drinks with Cloud and the gang for shits and giggles. The very fact that they're too friendly is just bleh. There's the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but AC makes it seem like an episode of some cheesy action flick where enemies and friends hold hands as one. I'm more inclined to think that Tifa and all of em would want nothing to do with the Turks knowing the kind of shit they're into, and they wouldn't even know the entire picture.

POINT IS, the Turks are ruthless. Some more than others know to have a personality outside of work and enjoy life, but the work they do is intense. As fun as Reno can be, I don't play him like a clown 100%. When he acts the fool, it's to lift someone's spirits or it's an act. He's a proficient killer and perhaps unlike other Turks with dubious morals, Reno loves his job and is quite evil for it. I also depict Rude as equally loving his job and being just as evil but not so blatant about it. The other Turks have their own reasons and moral compasses, but Reno chooses to see them as like minded.

Also evil corporations are only made possible by the evil people who work for them and make their goals realities. Hojo and the ol' Pres weren't the only malicious people.

#[ ⁰⁰¹ ; ooc ] #my psa for the century. #ff7 #ff rp

[giorno-plays-piano]

Remain Nameless

Part II

Pairing: swordsman!Bucky Barnes x mage!reader

Warnings: darkfic, stalking, descriptive violence, gore, near-death experience, possible noncon/dubcon in the future (but I swear it’s not as scary as it sounds)

Words: 2.7k

Summary: You could give up literally anything just to see this war-crazed psycho getting hurt, but, perhaps, he isn’t crazy as you think, and you aren’t the sort of person who enjoys others’ pain.

Part I

__________________

You are back on the arena. Your body aches from several previous fights, but you know it is nothing comparing to what awaits you - James Barnes stands in front of you, and he will attack the moment you take another breath. Your hands are raised, golden glow surrounding the arena as you draw a large bounded field, filling it with a numbing spell that is supposed to make Barnes still: it is a tough combination, and your professors are proud of you for mastering it at such young age. Nevertheless, you know it won't work.

Barnes raises his sword, and a huge beam of red light is forced out of enchanted steel, piercing the air and cutting through the soft glow. Then you put your head down, and you look at a hole inside your body: you can see your bones and muscles colored vivid red, and it is revolting to know you are nothing but a piece of meat packed in a school uniform. Blood gushes out so fast your clothes are beyond repair within a second, but you aren't too much worried. You know what comes next: excruciating, agonizing, unbearable pain that doesn't stop even if you are no longer breathing.

When you wake up, it is so early the sky is still dark. You are sweating, and your stomach hurts so much as if someone has been kicking you the whole night long.

While you sit in your bed, wiping down the cold sweat from your forehead with a blanket, you think of an emotionless expression James Barnes wore when he was tearing you apart. In a couple of minutes you force your aching body to move, stand up, and go clean yourself before you get dressed. You no longer wear academy's uniform: it has been years since you left. You have not seen Barnes after the graduation day, and you would be happy to not see him for the rest of your life. However, a part of you secretly wishes to catch a glimpse of him once more, see him when he suffers, when he is in pain, and you just stand there and watch him hurt.

You push the thought out of your head, fixing your cloak and finally leaving the room you were given by the magistrate: as many other magicians, you work in northern towns close to the forest infested with malicious monsters. Since the invincible Hydra settled down deep in the woods, the number of victims grow with each passing day.

Many fellow magicians and swordsmen from the academy went on a quest to get rid of the creature, but no one returned. Not even Tony Stark or Bruce Banner.

It gets harder to force these depressive thoughts out of your mind day after day, and you welcome the nurses with your stony face reserved for the days when you work in the hospital, treating victims of forest monsters. Your magic is so effective - a large field filled with healing spells - that they cannot allow you to do anything else, asking you to leave monsters to swordsmen and magicians who can actually attack instead of healing or protecting.

You are really offended, but treating people missing arms and legs and half of their faces and other parts is not an easier feat. It hurts just spending so much mana, not to mention how depressive it gets to see people suffering, moaning and crying and pleading day after day. Thankfully, you are good at your job, and while it drains you until your gut hurts like crazy, people actually get their body parts back and continue to live their lives. It's probably the only thing that stops you from leaving: a mage with your power could easily find a job at the palace. Oh, well, the other thing preventing you from doing that is actually James fucking Barnes who is most likely serving there as king's loyal dog, and you better stuff a hot poker in your mouth than go there.

"There are more people today," Lu, a fellow healer, informs you when you change into your working clothes. "I take room 1 to 7, the rest is yours, alright?"

You rub your eyes, "Sure. Anything special aside from our usual monster bunch?"

"Not that I know. But I heard there is one survivor after an encounter with Hydra, you might spend more time on him."

A survivor? Really? Can anyone face this hundred-headed monster and stay alive? You have a hard time believing it, especially after hearing the news of Tony's disappearance. It is probably a villager who lied for the sake of some fame.

You have no time for this nonsense, so you head straight to the room #8, preparing to work your magic on those who really need it.

_______________

It is officially your break time, but you rarely have a chance to rest, not when there are 10 more people returning from a very unlucky raid on giant spiders' nest. Placing one more bounded field, you take a deep breath and cast a dozen spells mixing with each other until they give you a perfect healing combination to help anyone within a field. The shine gets so bright people have to close their eyes.

There is a lot of surprised yelling and crying and laughing as the victims find themselves feeling completely safe and sound again, and you hear blessings and thank yous from every corner except from one man who still lack an arm. One of the young nurses is bent down, talking to him with concern, and you feel irritated. What the hell? You used just the right spell to give him his arm back. You are like a well-oiled machine in this regard, applying magic you practiced a million times already, knowing well how it would work, but today you somehow failed. Not looking in the faces of those patients who have successfully healed, you march over to the dark-haired man.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the nurse bleats like a sheep, and you roll your eyes, irritated even more. "I'm sure it's just a mistake. I will call the doctor in a minute, and she will definitely heal you."

She bet you would. There is no one better in this goddamn hole than you, regardless if it's fighting or shielding or healing.

The man suddenly shakes his head, "It is no mistake. Limbs cut by Hydra will not grow back, whatever the spell."

You still on the spot, squeezing your fists by default. You know this voice.

The next second you are staring in the face of a man you thought you will never see again.

"James Buchanan Barnes," you stretch your lips in a poisonous smile, tasting the venom on your tongue as if all those years did not pass, and you were still a graduate in a ballroom, looking at a wretched swordsman asking to dance. "What a pleasant surprise."

You can see the nurse taken aback by your greeting: you are often grumpy and tired, but never wicked, never to this extent when you want to skin your patient alive. Frankly, you don't care. The whole word cease to exist when the man in front of you blinks and says, "I remember you. You are the girl who refused to dance with me."

You feel like you want to laugh in hysterics, and the only reason you don't is because other patients are still here, watching you intently and not understanding why you suddenly look like a villain. Of course, none of them know you are not the girl who refused to dance with a bastard. You are the girl whose insides he pulled out for entertainment when she was 15.

"Funny to see you here," you are blinded by your hate so much you don't even feel any pity, looking at a bloody stump left of his once perfectly fine arm. "How on Earth did the invincible James Barnes ended up in the hospital, of all places?"

In the hospital in the middle of nowhere instead of a royal palace where he should be licking the boots of a king.

It takes Barnes a couple of seconds to answer you, "I went to the forest lake to kill Hydra. It took my left arm."

You hate the emotionless expression on his face. It matches the one he had when he was piercing you through with his magic sword, and for a second you doubt your ability to stay still and not kill him in a broad daylight.

"Of course," your unnatural smile grows wider. "Tony and Bruce had to die fighting the creature, and you are sitting here with just your left arm taken. Can't say I'm surprised, can I?"

It hurts thinking Tony is no longer there while Barnes is walking the earth freely. You never really had a chance to grow close with Stark, but you have always thought of him fondly after the graduation day. He was a good guy. He seeked you out when you desperately needed help to get away from your worst enemy, and Tony was there for you even if he had no obligation to.

It was painfully hard to think he was dead, especially when you looked into Barnes' blank face.

"Doctor, could you be any more disrespectful?" The young nurse's voice rings out through the room, and you look to the side to find her furious as if she understands even the slighest bit of what is going on here. "You are talking to a patient! If I didn't know you better, I'd think you are gloating about him being injured."

Oh, she doesn't know you. She has been here for two weeks, and she barely has an idea how to do her job right, less how she should treat her colleagues.

Maybe you are too harsh on her - you are too harsh, indeed - but you cannot, for the life of you, think clearly now.

"Don't you worry, dearie," your venomous smile is now directed at her, and the girl almost shrinks under your gaze. "I have a perfect excuse for talking like that to him. You remember seeing my nasty scarred skin? You asked Marja what was wrong with me when I was in the showers."

Under normal circumstances you were not petty enough to remember the murmurs of people behind your back, but today certainly is the right time to teach a silly young woman she should not be unkind to her hard-working colleagues. She shriveled under your gaze even further, and you felt a wicked glee.

"It was his work, you see. He made a hole in me when I was 15. Pierced me through with a magic sword, so my academy professors had to create all my organs once again to keep me alive."

You are not looking into Barnes' face, not really. What for? You know he feels no remorse. There were so many students he hurt before he was prohibited from competing with others, but you never heard of him apologizing or trying to make up for what he had done. He didn't care. He wanted a challenge, a partner who could be his equal in strength, not a bunch of kids whose faces he forgot as quickly as they fell to the ground in front of him.

But you can't help but see how his face changes when he realizes you are not just that girl he asked out for a dance. You are the girl he killed because he couldn't help himself. You might be a bit dramatic about the killing, but you cannot define it as anything else: your life was never the same after that day, regardless how much you wanted to turn back into that enthusiastic, excited child. He robbed you of a life, a good life you could have had.

The silence starts to feel suffocating until Barnes open his mouth, "I will not apologize for staying alive." You let out a laugh as if you really are a villain of his story.

Perhaps these words could sound cruel if they were said by somebody else, but once again you feel no pity for him. Barnes is not human. He deserves no sympathy.

"Of course you won't," you say with a fake softness in your voice. "You never apologized for doing this to me, so one can hardly expect you to apologize for anything else, really."

Turning your back to him, you see all other patients across the room staring at you, unsure they heard it right, and you feel ashamed and disgusted at yourself for having this conversation in front of all of these people. You are not a drama queen, not really. You don't go everywhere to tell your sad story. Hell, you haven't really talked about those scars to anyone in the hospital except for Lu who was so good at healing she guessed the nature of your injury right away. And now everybody knows because you couldn't keep your mouth shut in the presence of that son of a bitch.

You know your facade crumbles down when you see patients looking at you with pity, but what matters most is that Barnes sits with his back turned to you, and he does not see the expression you wear.

________________

When you finally come back to the doctor's lounge, everything inside you hurts so bad you flop over on your stomach right on the cold floor. God, it hurts. It always does when healing patients drain you of any mana, but today it is so much worse you cry, curling up in a fetal position and wrapping your arms around your stomach. You swear you can feel every organ inside you burn, but stomach and bowel are always the worst. It feels like someone fed you a piece of hot iron.

You are not afraid anyone will hear you: this place is full of crying and moaning people, and most doctors and nurses are occupied. Perhaps this is why you keep laying on the floor, wallowing in pain and self-pity. It feels like something explodes inside you, like Barnes' magic sword in stirring your organs, and you hate him and yourself so much you nearly throw up.

Well, not like you could throw up, really. You can't eat when you are at the job. It hurts too much to process anything except for vegetable juice Lu so kindly leaves for you at the table.

It is Lu who walks on you on the floor some time after, and you are so bad you do not hear her speaking and grabbing you to help you crawl to the sofa. She will not call for others because she knows there is no remedy for your pain: there is nothing really wrong with your organs. Academy professors did a good job. It's just it hurts like Hell when you overwork yourself, and not even the best healing spells can do anything about it.

"I heard about the commotion," her voice always sounds cold, but she pats your head ever so gently when you are hugging a warm pillow on the sofa. "I have to say he looks horribly average. You'd think the famous James Barnes would at least be as big as crown prince Steven."

"I know, right?" You let out a husky laugh, then wincing from pain. "It's insane girl were swooning over such a plain-looking man."

"It's insane anyone is swooning over a man who has no problem cutting people's limbs here and there just because he can."

She is right. You had a hard time comprehending it, but Barnes really had his loyal fanclub. It consisted mainly from girls who considered him both strong and handsome, and they had no problem arguing with everyone James Barnes was not a monster. You really wished they all were expelled, but with time you grew accustomed to the fact Barnes would always have people cheering on him. Commoners adore the swordsman who has never lost in a fight. They think he fights on their side, for their sake, and the tales of his adventures spread everywhere, making him some sort of a mythical figther for justice. People have no idea who he really is, and you have to live with the fact this monster is and most likely will always be considered a hero to the kingdom.

"Why does it happen to me?" You ask Lu as if she knows the answer, your face hidden in the pillow. "What have I done to deserve this?"

She softly massages your head, "You've done nothing wrong. This world just sucks."

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne  @alexakeyloveloki    ​@helenaeisenhower  @villanellevi  @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas  @rosalynshields  @sllooney  @angrythingstarlight  @lookiamtrying  @buckysbunny  @soleil-dor  @stargazingfangirl18  @dillybuggg  @literate-lamb  @cosicas-cuquis  @sarge-barnes-sir  @buckybarnesplumwhore  @jaysayey  @megzdoodle  @gotnofucks  @lux-ravenwolf  @ximebebx  @sourpatchspinster  @biiskuitx  @stupendouslovegardener  @melodierin  @yeolliedokai  @what-is-your-wish  @lou-la-lou  @mansaaay  @ilovetaquitosmmmm

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #yandere #winter soldier #dark bucky barnes x reader #mcu #mcu fanfiction

[too-much-tma-stuff]

If you are doing tma requests then I wanna see nikola, michael (or Helen) and jane being besties and having fun together (bonus if they make Jon suffer)

This has all the trigger warnings you would expect with these characters.

If you like my writing please consider leaving a tip :) https://ko-fi.com/tea_stuff

----------

Jon was kidnapped again, how often this was happening was genuinely distressing. This time it was by the circus, after they'd Said they weren't going to kidnap him. So there he was tied to a chair, naked much to his shame because that made it easier to moisturize him. He couldn't help but wonder in Nikola enjoyed Silence of the Lambs.

He had been left alone for now, but not for long it seemed because he could hear the clack of plastic feet skipping down the hall and into his prison. "Hello Archivist!" Nikola sang excitedly. "I hope you don't mind! I invited a couple of friends over for a girls night~ They're very excited to see you," She crooned with malicious delight. Just when Jon thought he couldn't be any more afraid.

He pulled on his bindings and gave a wordless objection since he couldn't get any words out around the gag. He hated how helpless that made him, not that his ability to compel people had ever really helped much. Sometimes it bought him a couple minutes but after that his assailant was usually even more angry then before.

"Now now don't get impatient! They should be here soon!" Nikola crooned, willfully misinterpretation Jon's squirming as excitement. One might have thought that as the stranger she just had no idea how people worked, but Jon knew better.

The air in the room changed in an indescribable but familiar and he's not surprised when he hears the creek of a door opening ominously behind him.

"Well hello Archivist, Nikola," It greeted in that headache inducing voice, sounding inordinately pleased. Jon knows that Michael is dangerous but his initial emotion is irritation anyway, he doesn't feel true terror until he hears a wet laugh behind him.

No, NO! That was impossible! Jane was dead, he had talked to the man who had burned her, he had a jar of her ashes on his desk! And yet it was clearly Jane who came shuffling around in front of him, the worms crawling in and out of her skin made him want to throw up and the way she was leering at him didn't help.

"Don't worry! Since I invited them they they promised not to do anything to damage your skin!" Nikola chirped enthusiastically, resting a hand on his shoulder freezing him in place because straining away from Jane the way he had been would send him closer to Nikola.

"Of course that won't stop us from hurting you Archivist," Micheal laughed and grabbed the back of John's neck. He Knew that he wasn't actually being hurt, but this is now that it is, a specialist in fooling one's senses, so Knowing did nothing to sooth the feeling that his neck was on fire! He screamed into the blindfold, barely muffled at all.

Nikola and Jane were laughing, it made him sick! Nikola clapped wooden hands, a clack of plastic muted by stitched together skin, Jane's laugh expelled whatever worms were squirming through her throat, they curled back around into holes in her cheek. Jon's head pounded as Michael laughed and let go of Jon's throat, his scream petering off into a reedy whine.

Nikola slung an arm around Michael's waist since she was entirely unable to each it's shoulder and it grinned to wide for its face and rested its elbow on top of her head. Jon cringed back in his chair as Jane leaned closer. "I'm told you won, but of course that's not going to stop me from trying," his stomach turned at her voice, how wet and ruined it sounded, a little blood bubbled at the corners of her lips.

"I'll take a little revenge for myself now just in case the distortion isn't lying." She opened her mouth and worms poured out, they wouldn't burrow in this time, but his scars ached with the memory and the feeling of them squirming over his bear skin was horrifying! He screamed and thrashed, struggling so hard he knocked the chair over, knocking all the air out of his lungs leaving him wheezing and shuddering on the floor as all three laughed at him.

Michael and Nikola egged Jane and her worms on as they all drank in his fear. What a perfect night for three Avatars, dinner and a show~

#jane prentiss #michael distortion #nikola orsinov #jonathan sims #the magnus schives #mental torture #sort of petered out in the end because I didn't really know how to end it #oops #fanfiction requests

[turbulentscrawl]

Hi hi! Can I get a matchup please? 🩷

You can call me Mae :) I’m Agender and use any pronouns. My sexual orientation is bisexual, and I tend to lean towards guys more recently, but generally don’t have much of a preference.

In terms of personality; I’m really blunt (almost painfully so) and hate sugarcoating ANYTHING- I value honesty most. I’m an INTJ, way more on the introverted side of that, I’m perfectly happy not speaking to anybody for a few days at a time if I need to rest after a long week of talking. I have a strong fear of abandonment and can act pretty immature when expressing these feelings, along with just having childish fears in general

I’m a multi sport athlete and I’m really good at music - things like singing, composing, ect! My other interests are photography (I’m awful at it though lol), drawing and baking. I just got into weightlifting and that is quickly becoming a hobby as well.

One thing I’m the most interested in is what makes a person act the way they are- what differentiates the brains and genetic codes of ordinary people and criminals, geniuses, ect. I plan to go into a medical research type field in order to work on it more.

I think that’s about it, sorry for writing so much! Have a good day/night :)

Thanks for requesting, Mae! I hope you like it <3

I ship you with William Ellis!

-William is a simple guy who can go with the flow and likes direct communication. He enjoys spending Quality Time with his partners, but would be equally happy to entertain himself when you need more space to decompress. Basically, he doesn’t require a ton of special accommodation and is perfectly fine with adapting to your changing needs and social levels.

-You two would likely meet at some sporting event or in the gym. He’s both friendly and competitive, so he could approach you for any number of reasons and strike up a conversation. You can just straight up tell him you’re fed up with talking and he’s like “alright, cool, here’s my number, text me when you wanna talk again ‘k?”

-On that note, he really appreciates your bluntness. It’s hot, actually. He’s pretty blunt himself, and he appreciates not having to keep track of things like subtext or implications. Life is much easier when people just say what’s on their mind and deal with whatever may come from it.

-You two bond over physical activities. He’s down for literally anything, but he especially likes the weight lifting and would love to talk to you about rugby. Did I mention he’s the best hype-man to have at the gym? …unless you hate the attention it brings, then it’s awful and he’ll do his best to whisper-yell instead. He slips occasionally though, sorry.

-He’s not the most romantic guy around, but he is very loyal and supportive. Anything you want to do, you can do. Anything you DO do, you’re great at. No arguments. Does he know anything at all about drawing or photography? No. But that’s not gonna stop him from picking his favorites that you do and demanding for a copy to keep. Some of them are even framed in his apartment.

-There may be some arguments regarding how you express your fear of abandonment—William isn’t the most insightful guy and isn’t likely to see your insecurities bubbling up until they’re bubbling over—but rest assured he doesn’t take those kinds of arguments to heart. He’s a forgiving guy and really only has lasting issues with people being intentionally malicious. You argued? The next day he’s texting you what you want for dinner like it never happened. All is well.

Runner Up: Aesop Carl

#idv matchup #turbulentscrawl

[kindling-of-sorts]

looking for the shapes in the silence

a/n: if you squint hard enough this is the prequel to my kam superpower au that i haven't posted yet,,,, enjoy!

[ao3]

pairing: keefitz

TWs: none

summary:

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless. For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact. “I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

Or: Keefe and Fitz are exes and Eternalia's greenhorn superheroes. They go out stargazing with their friends, and talk about their past.

word count: 1.5k

Their eyes meet, and the world does not end. 

Keefe and Fitz pause as the rest of the group stumble out of the van excitedly. The night sky is brilliant and sharp, and half a year ago, it would have reminded them of the other.

They smile at each other, and not at the reflection of themselves in the other’s eyes. If they rip their gaze away quickly enough, the mirror inside is easier to ignore.

Keefe looks away first. It doesn’t feel like victory or defeat, but quiet understanding. Silence is kinder to him, these days.

Biana calls for Fitz’s help on setting up the blankets, and the magic evanesces, if there was any at all. He’s getting better at letting go.

“I’m never trusting any of you ever again,” Stina announces loudly. “Stargazing, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. We literally drove twenty minutes to my backyard.”

“We asked you and you said yes,” Biana calls out, laying down on her back.

“I was playing Candy Crush!”

“No, you were supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“Shut up!”

Sophie sighs wordlessly, head in hands as she pulls Stina and Biana apart. Keefe thinks she might be tired of babysitting in case they start bickering. She’s running on three hours of sleep, which she excitedly told Keefe this morning, much to his chagrin.

“You guys are kind of killing the stargazing vibe right now,” Keefe says, thinly veiling a grin. The city sky is brilliant, but also just as bare as it has been for its very polluted history.

Once everyone settles down, Keefe sees Fitz has been kicked out from Biana’s. Fitz doesn’t fight back, even with Sophie’s equal, if not slightly less, exasperation across his face, though it’s hardly malicious.

Keefe doesn’t hide his smile this time. He’s never stopped being jealous of the Vackers, even after the tense glances and tenser arguments. As one of the rare insiders—if barely—Keefe saw their picture-perfect frame whole, then shattered, and then he realized the fractures were always there.

Still, the jealousy never dissipated. He’s a lot less ashamed of admitting that, now.

Fitz and Biana are a lot happier than they were half a year ago.

He’s proud of them, really. As heroes, as friends, as the closest thing to family he’s ever known.

He’s proud of Fitz. He loves him still.

They never stood together. That’s okay. One day, they will.

Keefe waves Fitz over when he catches him staring. Fitz’s eyes widen, a little, and tilts his head. Keefe recognizes the habit perhaps a moment too quickly.

Yet he doesn’t look away. He shouts, “If you stay there you’re gonna get your ass wet again!”

Fitz huffs, like the huff he always makes when something mildly amuses him. He rolls his eyes, even. Keefe counts it as a win.

Just as Keefe is about to speak again, Fitz stands up and stumbles his way over to Keefe’s blanket. 

“My jeans are already wet,” Fitz almost complains, but his tone is light enough that it sounds like an observation. It’s actually a bit more disconcerting that way. “Biana is ruthless.”

Keefe snorts. “We all know.”

When their laughter fades, they let their friends’ quickly moving attention span entertain them. Their current debate topic is the validity of the artificial cherry flavor. 

“The city’s most promising up-and-coming heroes,” Keefe muses, “arguing over whether cherry flavored Twizzlers actually taste like cherry or not.”

“You would be there waxing poetic about your burning passion for Twizzlers right now if I wasn’t here,” Fitz mutters, head tilted back to observe the spanning, empty night.

“You’re wrong, I hate Twizzlers.” Keefe flashes his teeth unabashedly. “You haven’t left me yet.”

Fitz’s gaze softens, and Keefe might just melt with it. He did, not too long ago, a lifetime before tonight.

“Yeah.” Fitz gulps. “I haven’t.”

The following silence is awkward, but not cruel. It follows, yes, but it doesn’t chase.

They never stopped talking. It’s hard to, when they’re both in every other mission together. Their friends are the same, though that’s kind of inevitable, considering their group is the only heroes around their age.

“Do you remember when we went stargazing in the countryside when we were eight?” Keefe asks. 

Fitz’s expression brightens in recognition. “Of course I do.”

“You were so excited, you fell asleep by the time we could actually see the stars, and I had to wake you up.” Keefe nudges Fitz with his arm. The touch doesn’t spark anymore.

“I lived in Eternalia my entire life and couldn’t leave! Of course I was excited,” Fitz says.

Keefe tilts his head. “You weren’t wrong. It was one of the only interesting things in that town.”

“It’s your hometown.”

“Exactly,” Keefe drawls. “Not my home anymore.”

Fitz offers an indecipherable hum. “It was beautiful. I remember it being beautiful.”

“You went home crying. I think that was, like, a life-altering moment for eight-year-old you.”

Fitz drags his hand across his face, but the sheepish smile is impossible to miss.

“Why do you think I came here today in the first place?”

“Uh, Biana manhandled you across the city?”

“Stina’s house is not across the city.”

“Did I lie?”

Fitz doesn’t dignify that with a response, and shakes his head. That smile hasn’t left. “No, I—I wanted to think, I guess. Just sit down and think.”

“Me too. I guess.” Keefe is at a loss for witty responses. Fitz has a way of making people lose their words.

The reminiscing pauses, and the quiet feels tenser. Keefe fidgets, drawing the blanket closer to himself. He opens his mouth to say something, anything—

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless.

For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact.

“I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

“I still think about you.”

At that, Keefe laughs. It sounds more genuine than any he’s shared today. “I know.”

Since they gave up.

Fitz’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he studies a particular star, or so Keefe guesses. Keefe is following Fitz’s eyes again. Old habits die hard—but slow.

“I still miss you.” Fitz looks like he musters all of his courage as he fixes his eyes on Keefe’s. There’s resolve in the stare. Strength. Not walls between them.

Keefe opens his mouth, and finds it dry. Still, he speaks. It is the only thing he knows.

“I know.”

“And I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m—I’m sorry.”

The desperate boy in front of Keefe is not Fitzroy Vacker, but something more intimate. Perhaps more than the one he kissed.

He still remembers how Fitz’s lips felt on his own. Everyone marvels over their softness, but Keefe remembers them chapped and trembling.

Keefe has ruined so many secrets. He won’t let this one become one of them.

“You’re an idiot,” Keefe declares, “and I love you.” Now. Present tense. Because it’s true.

Fitz looks at him again. Shit, those eyes. Keefe can’t forget those eyes, burning, hurting, exciting. He doesn’t want to.

“And we’ll be okay.” Keefe grabs Fitz by his shoulders, limbs twisting oddly in the uncomfortable position. “Promise.”

A minute passes, then another, and Keefe has half a mind to start shaking Fitz. He worries he said something wrong. Fuck, did he cross the line? He shouldn’t have—

“I can’t really give you my pinky like this,” Fitz mumbles, and there’s that huff again.

Keefe smiles. “I don’t care. Promise.”

“I promise.” Fitz doesn’t hesitate.

“You’re going to be so good, and I’ll be right there cheering you on,” Keefe says firmly, because it’s easier than, I won’t stare at your back all day anymore, or, I’m sorry I can’t let you go, or, I hope I can love you in a way that matters.

“We’re going to be so good,” Fitz counters, “most promising heroes, and all that.”

“I think I might have heard you say more run-on sentences today than in the past sixteen years.”

Fitz sputters. “You have a way of making people ruin perfectly good grammar.”

“I think you’re just easy to make fun of.”

Fitz laughs, not huffs, vivid and lilting. Keefe breathes, and decides Fitz is the brightest star he could ever gaze at tonight.

“Linh Song, you are a filthy traitor.” Dex seethes, who Keefe finds to be drawing twenty-four. “I cannot believe I ever trusted your innocent act.”

Linh shrugs with a polite smile. Dex continues wallowing as everyone groans and finished their round of Uno. The champion is Linh. Again. For the fourth time in a row.

“Oh, I am going to obliterate everyone,” Keefe says.

“I’m sure you will.”

“You are literally the worst at every board game ever.”

Fitz’s eyes gleam. For all the prim and proper facades he’s managed to plaster, his competitiveness has been left untamed.

“Thank you,” Fitz says, gentle, and the words unsaid are not hidden.

“Me too,” Keefe whispers, and corrects himself: the magic never left.

#river's writing #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fic #keefitz

[i-like-gay-books]

lately been seeing a lot of pushback against the pushback against intellectual elitism, crying anti-intellectualism, and there are a few reasons this is bothering me which i’m going to try to list here to the best of my abilities all in one sitting because otherwise i’ll forget to finish it:

1. the whole attitude against consuming “easy” media like marvel or mainstream movies or books, etc, is intellectual elitism no matter how you sugar coat it. im not saying it’s intentionally malicious, in fact i believe most people doing it are unaware they’re doing anything at all. the thing is that privilege can affect you in many different ways, and the level of media you are able to consume and have an enjoyable experience with is one of those ways.

i am very well educated in language and writing, so reading experimental stories where the syntax and turn of phrase is almost more important than the actual plot or characters is easy and even sometimes enjoyable for me. however, i have next to no media literacy when it comes to films. i can watch something more artistic or experimental, but i likely won’t understand it even close to the amount i need to in order to enjoy it. it would take a lot of effort to fully understand and even if i got to the point of understanding it the effort it took would make the experience much less enjoyable.

i hope i explained that well enough. it’s kinda hard to put into words

2. it’s ableist. full stop. i’m not even joking here i saw someone seriously type out and post something that said people are using this callout of intellectual elitism as a way to hide the fact that they’re all just “jocks who don’t play sports.” that doesnt directly relate to this point in particular i just remembered it. 

yes, less artistic or intentionally intellectual/ thought provoking pieces of art are easier to consume. speaking as someone who has not only dealt with chronic burnout myself but who is part of a generation of people living day in and day out with chronic burnout, sometimes easy media is all i can handle. by which i mean, most times. and its easier to consume again. and again. and again and again.

burnout is just one example of course, many disabilities can cause a lack of energy to devote to activities that are for leisure. and even without disabilities, humans are meant to rest. nobody wants to be thinking critically or philosophically 100% of the time.

3. communities are much larger surrounding mainstream/ easy to consume media. obviously that doesnt make it more worthwhile, but it does come with its own certain set of benefits. also you know what mainstream fandoms have a shit ton of? fan work. look at fan fiction and fan art and fan theories and tell me those people are not thinking critically and engaging meaningfully with their source material. just try to tell me. 

some people work better with more hands on, creative pursuits. my favorite subjects growing up were always math and english, because there was a way to be involved, and not just be told the answers, the story. science and history never offered me that, at least not as openly. learning styles are different, and just because we’re talking about a leisure activity here doesnt mean that fact changes or becomes irrelevant.

this is just me word dumping onto a document because i didnt want to hijack a post at 12:30 at night, but these are a few of the reasons this “anti-intellectualism” accusation has been leaving a bad taste in my mouth for the few months its been going on. feel free to add on or ignore or whatever, i dont really care. i just needed to write it down and get it out there.

#anti intellectualism #intellectual elitism #media #disabilities #burnout #media literacy #privilege #cloudy rambles

[joylinda-hawks]

Joy is in all of us, but sometimes we just can't show it. ZZH is sometimes a huge volcano of joy. He can enjoy small things and is able to share this joy with others. There is nothing about him that makes him a jealous or malicious person. ZZH took part in the Amazing Race not only to show off his physical prowess, but also to lead his team to victory. ZZH sets the bar high and strives to achieve what it has planned. ZZH is consistent in action, but also patient. Years of working in the entertainment industry taught him humility and patience. He had ups and downs at work, but he knew he had to get up and keep going. All this hardened ZZH and became as strong as steel. Here I chose a photo of ZZH taken during the recording of the Amazing Race program, when ZZH decided to showcase his physical fitness. I don't know if it was planned, if it was a ZZH initiative that came out on the spur of the moment, or if it was one of the challenges of the program. ZZH showed us what his splits look like and he was very pleased with it. The split is not easy to perform, you need to have a well-trained body for the split to look elegant and not an imperfect imitation. There was no typical sports clothing at ZZH that would make doing the splits easier. He was dressed in plain black jeans, sports shoes, a white printed T-shirt and a black striped zippered sweatshirt. ZZH did this split with great charm, maybe he didn't fully believe that he would succeed. But we did it and we see great joy and a sincere smile on ZZH's face. When ZZH is very happy and laughs sincerely, he closes his eyes, as you can see in this photo. ZZH shows us his splits, gently supports himself with his left hand and rests his right hand on his knees. This treatment seems to be aimed at maintaining balance. ZZH can laugh not so much because he managed to do the splits, but because he surprised the audience and the host of the program. I love these photos of ZZH laughing and I miss him so much. I'm waiting for him to present his skills on public television again.

#zhang zhehan

[crosseyedcricketart]

How to Route and When to Go - A Few Tips

This is a repost of my original blog post on my website, https://crosseyedcricket.art, from this post here! i would appreciate if you would subscribe to my blog or follow me here!

These tips are from me, with the influence of my parents who have been traveling together for about 40 years now. I think they have some authority on this. 

1. Plan your route before you leave. 

It feels self explanatory, if not a bit obvious, but this is a serious first point- however you are routing your journey, throughly go through it before you click the little go button on your phones GPS. There’s a lot of different reasons to do this: to see if there are road closures or road work, to see if there are major wrecks (the day of, that is.), to see if Google is going to take you through 12 neighborhoods after screaming at you to exit here. It’s best to— assuming you’re using a phone— to zoom in and follow the roads it’s going to take you on. Be through. It’ll take a few more minutes, but it’ll save you from waiting for a road across a dam to get finished being paved. Do all of this before you leave your drive way so you aren’t distracted while driving and to minimize the stress of real-time routing. 

2. Keep a physical map with you. 

Now, I’m younger. I don’t need to use a physical map if I have my phone. But if you’re traveling to a national park, have choppy cell service, or you want to have a backup plan, keep a physical map with you. Make sure it’s as up to date as it can be. If you can, mark your beginning and end point. If you have a passenger who can help, have them mark major landmarks or roads you pass so you know where you are. It’s better to keep track of this, especially if you’re driving somewhere you’ve never been before, in the event you loose phone service or your phone dies. Or you don’t have a phone. Whatever reason, just use the resources you have so even if you get lost, you’re not fully “in the middle of no where.” 

3. Be aware of any towns you pass through. 

What do I mean by this? Well. If you’re anyone who might be targeted for an easy little hate crime (read irritation), check to see if there’s any sketchy areas you’ll pass through- especially if traveling at night. I especially mean this for any minorities, families with minority members, or a girls trip with only women in the car. Life would be a lot simpler if we didn’t have to worry about this, but that’s not the world we live in. Be careful with yourself and your travels. Sundown towns, unfortunately, still exist. Police departments that won’t take you seriously exist. Be safe and be careful. If you need to make an emergency stop, try to do so at a state rest stop or a trustworthy truck stop chain. Be wary of malicious law enforcement. As my blog has said before, I travel by car for most of my travels, and this is unfortunately something we all need to keep in mind for our travels by vehicle. 

4. Mark trustworthy spots on your route. 

Building on my last point with a little bit of a lighter note, mark any spots you deem as trustworthy on your route. It can be a truck stop chain you really enjoy, state rest stops, and if you’ve already taken this route before, any establishments you know are in repair and are safe. Personally, I always keep my eye out for truck stops like Love’s and Pilots. There are stores I know are in safe areas and I’ve been to before, such as a Walmart I’ve visited before or a Walgreens. Those little things can help you in the event of looking for a snack break, gas station, or bathroom break. 

5. Try to travel in the daytime. 

I know this is not always possible, but if possible- again, building on points 3 and 4- try to travel in daylight hours. It’s safer in terms of any nefarious individuals, the driver has a better chance of seeing better, and any road hazards are easier to see. Plus, most places are open during the day. Again, I know this seems a little obvious, but little points of planning like this can make your trip safer and easier. If you have to stop at night, try to do so in a well lit area or at a trust worthy spot. 

These are all my routing tips for now, I hope these were helpful, or at least helpful reminders, for your next trip by vehicle. If there’s any tips you have, leave them in the comments! I would love to read those. 

Happy travels! – Annie, The Crosseyed Cricket

My blog / My pinterest / My storefront 

I run my blog with my personal issues in mind, and that includes eye strain, eye issues, and being autistic, so i try to run my blog in a way that is accommodating for me and those like me. I cover travel, my art, and a few beauty reviews.

#road trip #auto travel #roadtrip #travel #traveling #travelling #vacations #wordpress #autistic artist #travel blog #art blog #autistic blogger

[sabineelectricheart]

Celine’s Not Nervous

Summary: Celine has to tell Charlie that she has got a job interview. She is not nervous. Not at all.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2700

Notes: Now that everyone thinks the teach is it, I thought there is no better time to post something like this.

Celine is not nervous.

No, nervousness would imply guilt or wrongdoing on her behalf, neither of which should apply. Her conscience is clear, as it should be. The way her hands are trembling must be attributed to something else. It would not make any sense otherwise, would it? This loss of appetite, nonstop churning in her stomach, and overall inability to sit still could be a premonition of illness. Perhaps the flu or a cold is on its way. Or winter’s chill has seeped through the windows, as they are not very well-insulated, which could explain her shaking.

She is not nervous because of him. She is not nervous, she is not…!

“There’s no need to glare at the plate, I promise. That chicken’s not coming back from the dead to haunt you.”

Charlie pops in from the front door. His light-hearted assessment of her current condition has her face warming up. Were her thoughts bleeding into her facial expressions that much?

If that is the case, then he must be the polar opposite of her. Every expression the college professor wears would not be there had he not wanted it to be. She wishes that he was easier to read, or possible to read at all. Instead, she is left to decipher his closed-mouth smile and seemingly omnipotent eye.

“I wasn’t glaring at it.” The young woman mumbles.

The man mutters his half-hearted assertion, not even bothering to sound like he believes her. He leans forward and rests his chin atop his hand.

“Glaring, scowling, call it what you will. I could debate semantics with you all evening. What isn’t up for debate, however…”  His voice drops, as does her racing heart into her stomach. “Is that there is something you want to tell me. Am I right, sweetheart?”

Celine swallows a growing lump in her throat. He is just teasing her, that is all there is. That is how he has always been, ever since their first encounter at that fateful astronomy class. Poking and prodding at her, but always in good fun, never with malicious intent.

The dining room goes deathly silent. She had thought over the different ways to broach this subject, and each time, she could never settle on the least offensive way.

She decides to come right out and say it, exhausted from beating around the bush for weeks. “I think I’d like to move out.”

The tall man raises an eyebrow. “You think you want to move out?”

“Ah, I mean, I know!” She corrects herself. Why is she trying to soften the blow to a statement that should not be hurtful? “It isn’t that I don’t enjoy our current arrangement. I’m immensely grateful for all that you’ve done for me, while I’ve been down on my luck.”

Down on her luck might be an understatement, considering that she was borderline homeless when she pleaded for his help, after failing to secure a sponsor and having been kicked out of college and from home. If Charlie plucked her out from a shelter, it would have been functionally the same.

There is no time, however, to consider her words so carefully. She carries on, half-convinced that stopping now would render her permanently paralyzed.

“I found a job opportunity.” She says, with a sigh. “A promising one, it’s to manage a apparel store in town, nothing too fancy. I think that it’ll work out, so I won’t have to keep mooching off you.”

He nods. “Getting ready to leave the nest, I see.”

Hopefulness rises in her chest, and for a blissful moment, she thinks she may have gotten her point across sufficiently well. Until he speaks again.

“You really aren’t a bother, Celine. Did I somehow give you that impression?”

The lack of humour in his voice takes her back from her optimism, and she rushes to defend herself. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that!”

“There’s no harm in staying, then. If I hadn’t made it obvious, I quite enjoy your company. It’d be lonely without you around.” He sighs to add his classic dramatic flair.

The tension in the air ebbs and flows at his command, and with the pendulum swinging back from serious to casual, she is tempted to leave it at that. He is offering her an unspoken out from this unpleasant topic.

If it had been a few weeks ago, maybe Celine would have gratefully accepted this chance. She could have joked that she was being unreasonable, maybe she would have felt embarrassed about his admission of being lonely without her, and that would be that. They would have dinner, then go watch some TV before bed, and tomorrow it would all have been forgotten for good.

How tempting it is to fall back into her familiar routine! That would lead her back to where she started, staring at a crossroad with one path easier to traverse than the one she needs to take. She needs to not have almost all aspects of her life reliant on Charlie. She needs her independence back.

“I’ve already scheduled the job interview.” She admits, further proving her concrete stance on the issue. “I’m more than happy to repay she for everything, of course. Lodging, extra groceries, or any other inconvenience I may have posed.”

“You’re breaking my heart here. Do I strike you as the type to hold debts over others?” He chuckles lightly at her loud silence. “I suppose I might for anyone else. You’re admittedly a rare case. That should make you feel all the more special, shouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but…”

He cuts her off. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

His dismissal both perplexes and frustrates her. He is adding sentiments that do not need to be there, weaving webs to keep her stuck in place the more she struggles. Various arguments flare up and then dissipate in her head.

She should not need to make a case for going back into the real world on her own, she is not on trial and defending herself. This was always meant to be a temporary situation, a leg-up when she needed it, before they part ways, at least in theory, and she goes out to make a life for herself again.

It has been years now, and she still is in the same vulnerable position she has always been. They progressed from teacher and student, to a benefactor arrangement and now they are dating, but he has always been in a position of power over her. It is hard for her to build a proper relationship with this man under these conditions, but it seems that the only one bothered by it is her, regardless of the spoused motives for that rationale.

She is weak. She has always been weak, and she will always be weak.

For the rest of dinner, Celine remains quiet. Charlie regales her with tales of the local academia, about the progress of his research, the absurdities coming from the students and juicy department gossip. His voice is the only sound filling up the otherwise quiet apartment.

She offers only half-hearted responses in return and pick at her plate. Her appetite is nowhere to be seen, even after she worked hard on preparing this meal herself. The goal was to put her boyfriend in a good enough mood to hear her request out, but that did not end as she intended.

If the man notices her crestfallen attitude at all, he has made a point of not mentioning it.

“I can handle the dishes tonight.” She tells him, plucking up the silverware she had barely used. “It sounds like you had a long day.”

Charlie hums an affirmative but does not say anything further than that. She starts the cleaning up process on her own, wiping down various pots and pans by the sink with a rag.

The window in front of her gives an overview of Sugardale and the twinkling lights in the lively city. The warm glow of the artificial lamps that she would walk under after a hard yet fulfilling day’s work, the vendors who would greet her by name and offer discounts on baked goods that did not sell well, winding concrete paths with various dips that she knew to avoid by heart.

Celine misses it. She misses her life, her freedom, the wonder about life and future that she used to nurture as a teen. She feels so lonely, so isolated.

It is his musky cologne that she notices first, mixed with the faint scent of whisky that he must have indulged in before returning home. He smells so good, so familiar, that she cannot help but take in a deep breath.

His lithe arms snake around her waist and pull she against his warm chest. His grip is never tight on her, always lax and almost lazy. It gave the illusion that she could get away if she ever decided to try.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His warm breath tickles her ears and she shivers. “C’mon, be honest. Lay it all out, I can handle it, I promise.”

Can you, though? A part of her wonders.

The woman shakes her head at the word in question. “I’m not mad.”

Anxious, mad, irritated, frustrated. These descriptions do not do justice to her unknown, unnamed feelings. He did not do anything that could be described as diabolical, she supposes. She mentioned getting a job and he assured her that it is not necessary.

On paper, this does not sound bad, not even close. Many a person out there would like to not have to work, after all. Nevertheless, she still feels discouraged, depressed, disappointed.

The professor blows on her ear playfully. “Hm, is that so? I think someone is being a little dishonest.”

She scoffed. “Can you of all people find fault with that?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling as he does so.

“You got me there. Allow me to impart some advice then, as your former teacher and as a senior in the art of deception. You’ve got lots of room to improve. For one, you wear your heart on your sleeve. And your lovely, lovely eyes…” His voice drops an octave. “They give you away each and every time.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep them closed when you’re around, then.” She huffs, not wanting to give his words more thought than necessary.

Charlie does not need to point out her inability to lie, at least not how she cannot with him. Lying to herself, however is something she is growing more proficient at by the day.

“It’s not a big deal.” She proclaims, letting out a heave. “If the timing isn't right, I’ll just try again in the future. You’d probably waste away without me here to take care of you.”

He settles his chin on her shoulder. “How would I ever survive without you around, I wonder?”

Celine would like to know that as well.

This arrangement could be argued as mutually beneficial if observed from the right angle. He goes and does his professorial work and his investments while she handles chores and occasional errands. Without having to worry about paying rent or how she will afford her next meal, she can dedicate more effort to her hobbies, or picking up new ones that she never had the time for. It might be a bit old-fashioned, being a housewife, but humanity has operated in this manner for millennia. There must be some upside to it.

Upon Charlie first opening his doors for her, she was met with a clean if not unlived in space. The furnishings were the bare minimum to qualify for a home, and even those were more spartan than what they provided at the dorms. It was a combination of boredom and wanting to express her gratitude for him allowing she to stay here that had she sprucing up the place. Calla lilies in vases on the windowsill, drapes that complement the wallpaper, canvas paintings in areas of the room that felt bland.

It was not anything too out of the ordinary, and everything still felt decidedly Charlie, rather than Celine. Little flourishes that left her mark and seemed to amuse her host. She remembers a comment he made while she tended to the flowers that have long wilted by now.

“You’re almost like my spouse at this point.”

It made her smile and roll her eyes at the occasion. As they are now, she is not sure what to make of it. There may have been more truth to those words than she initially noticed.

“Charlie?” She calls.

“Yeah?”

A pause. “You do know that I can’t stay here forever, right?”

The faucet drips into the basin at an unsteady rhythm. She complained about it to him once, something about the water bill being worse than it needs to be with a leak. He laughed and promised to do something about it. She is grateful for the pesky drops now, reverberating in an otherwise hushed room.

“If I didn’t know any better…” His fingers dance up and down the sides of her waist. “I’d say it sounded like you wanted to get away from me.”

Her breath hitches, and Celine laughs, breathless and forced. “You’re imagining things.”

Those fingers of his engage further in their dangerous waltz, roaming where they please, going everywhere and nowhere at once. She wonders if he can feel the rush of her pulse and each frantic beat of her heart through her flesh and bone.

His faint reflection shows in the window’s sheen. While her stiff head looks straight ahead, he gazes at nothing but her, fondness mixed with something else etched onto his handsome features.

He was right, she thinks, her grip on the plate tightening until her knuckles hurt. My eyes do give me away.

Glossiness has begun to form on her lower lash line and her pupils have dilated to the fullest extent. Her colour drains from her cheeks and her nostrils seem wide and dark like a black hole.

She is not nervous.

Charlie brushes his lips against her goosebump-ridden neck, then deeply inhales, savouring her distinct scent. He makes the same wistful expression after taking the first sip of his Jack Daniels on a Friday night, when he told her that Dean Monroe got sacked and the Sociology department lost its funding or when she welcomes him home with open arms.

It betrays his enjoyment over this situation.

He might try to hide it, but when she is like this, trembling as if she were a new-born doe, he is truly content with the world. She does not know what that means, what she is supposed to do with the information. Everything feels so confusing and strange, and all she wants is to leave.

“I am, aren’t I?” He presses a chaste kiss to the conjunction between her neck and jaw. “Right. That’s my bad. About your interview tomorrow, don’t worry your pretty little head over it. I’ll handle the details myself.”

The most Celine can bring herself to do is nod.

He smiles widely. “I’m glad that we’re in agreement then. Thank you for dinner, by the way, it was delectable. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Charlie sets his plate down on the counter and saunters off. For the first time in ages, she is able to finally breathe again, air rushing into her greedy lungs like she had just been freed from a corset after an evening dancing at a ball. 

She takes a long look at the reflection staring back at her, which resembles her features just enough to be recognizable. For the first time ever, as she is able to gauge her own inability to lie against herself, she manages to identify the unknown emotion that has reared its ugly head recently. 

The woman finally understands that she is not nervous, or even mad, as he so tastefully proposed minutes prior, nor any of those d emotions that rushed through her head in the heat of the moment. That is the absolute truth, and there is no reason to be any of those.

Rather, Celine is horrified.

*_*_*_*_*

College Craze Masterlist

#college craze #Charles McGregor

[mr-no-life]

The Best Metal of 2022 (So Far, In my Opinion)

So, here we are, already halfway (or past depending on when this post goes up) through an interesting year. I drew inspiration (a.k.a I stole this list) from the U.K based heavy metal magazine Metal Hammer in which they held a poll to gauge what people thought were the best metal albums so far (or at least the 40 most talked about). I decided to take this one step further and listen to their whole list of albums from others not listed (and that I could listen to in time) and then decide for myself which is the best so far. Of the whole list, I have listened to about three albums on my own. To be transparent, a lot of these are the first time I have heard of these artists and some I have heard their older work. To make this extremely easier on me and keeping the same format from last month’s post, I have made a table ranking each of these albums from 1 (Being absolute Trash) to 5 (being worthy of being on repeat 24/7) The following table is all personal opinions not meant to be taken seriously. I am by no means an industry professional; I just like listening to music and sharing how I feel about it. I will also have a link to a Spotify playlist of my favorite songs from each album at the end of the post. During the writing of this post, several more albums are being released, for sanity’s sake, I stuck with the list from Metal Hammer (and the ones I added at time of writing) I will cover the ones that came out after June for my end of the year post (or that is the current plan).

            So, without further ado, here is a table outlying (in brief detail) what I think is the best Metal albums of 2022 (so far).

From this selection so far, I can tell that this year that this is the year of sticking to a classic formula but making it better. This is both a good and a bad thing. In all honesty some of these albums were a bit boring (as you can tell by the ones I have marked 2/5 and 3/5).

                 Four albums I have enjoyed (in no particular order):

Rakshak by: Bloodywood  (Lyrics that bled native and English with a mix of Rapping and Metal make this a solid hybrid)

Leather Terror by: Carpenter Brut (Loved the hybrid of harsh techno and “soft” metal)

DISCO4 :: PART II By: HEALTH (A very interesting take in all honesty. I do not know what to add here)

The Harvest By: Mammoth Weed Wizard Bastard (MWWB) (Surprisingly, this was an interesting one to listen to)

Four Albums that I did not really care for (in no particular order):

SKIN By: Ho9909 (I had ZERO clue what the hell was going on half the time)

We are the Apocalypse by: Dark Funeral (I legit was so board I skipped 95% of the album)

Malicious Intent by: Malevolence (Because it sounds so similar to everything else, nothing stood out to me

Requiem by: Korn (It sounded nothing like them... Maybe some slight changes but that’s about it. I get it they have been going on for a while… But Iron Maiden has been around a long time and they sound the same.)

There are some that it was not what I was expecting, and I ended up loving in from start to end. Then there were ones that I just skimmed through the songs because I was either board or just were not that interesting. I know I am bound to annoy a lot of people for my grading scale and that is okay, we all have our opinions. As I have said before, this is just a sample of what has come out this year, this genre is SO VAST that it would be impossible to do every album that came out justice.

From this selection I personally think it is going to be an interesting year and I cannot wait to see what the rest of this year has instore. I will be covering the ones I did not cover here at the end of the year (spoilers for December’s post).  

But feel free to message me either here on Tumblr or on any one of my social medias (here is the Linktree). I hope you enjoyed reading this. I again want to thank Metal Hammer Magazine for the inspiration. If you want a more detailed review on these albums, I highly suggest checking their article Here.  

Click Here for a Spotify playlist of my favorite tracks from these albums.

#live music #music #audio music #audio engineering #audio production #my opion #metal #heavy rock #heavy metal #judas #power metal #U.K #U.S #2022 #Best of 2022 #half way home

[corpsekiller]

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 — 𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. thomas shelby x witch!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff, witchcraft, nightmares, mentions of war and violence

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. after another sleepless night, tommy decides to seek you out for help and although he doesn't believe in witchcraft, he's willing to follow your advice.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. i accidentally deleted the request i got for writing tommy and a witch!reader and i couldn’t remember the name of the blog who sent me this ask, so i couldn’t tag this properly. i hope you see this drabble and enjoy it <3

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.499 words

MASTERLIST

The small bell above the door rings when Tommy enters the shop on a rainy evening. His coat is drenched and the everlasting cold of Small Heath has slipped under the wool to settle in his skin, causing him to shudder as he takes a moment to observe his surroundings. The air is thick, hot and heavy with the scent of lavender and myrrh. Each breath blurs his thoughts and he finds it hard to turn his head without feeling a wave of dizziness take over his senses.

“You must be Mr. Shelby. I was expecting you to pay me a visit sooner or later,” you muse lowly behind him. Despite his usually so perpetual attention, the unwavering tension in his sharp gaze, he hadn’t noticed your figure lingering around him in the darkness of your shop until you spoke and Tommy isn’t quite sure what to make of that. Delicate fingers graze his shoulder as you smooth over the damp fabric of his coat and he blinks a few times, too befuddled to reply in a manner that would be proper and acceptable for a man like him.

His tongue is too heavy to form coherent words, his fingers are numb and the room has started to spin around him — it feels like his head is filled with cotton, like he's floating under the ceiling and if it weren’t for the sudden realization that he’s dealing with an actual witch, someone who could unnoticedly put him under a spell he would think he’s been drugged.

There’s no use fighting against the tingling exhilaration that curls around his body and weaves through his hair. Even if he would try, Tommy’s senses already submit to your power before he can think of a clever plan to weasel himself out of yet another possibly life-threatening trap. So he stays silent and allows you to undo the buttons of his coat before you slip the heavy piece of clothing off his shoulders.

The hand that rests on the small of his back and guides him to a table in the farthest corner of your cozy store, hidden behind shelves filled with books, crystals, and different herbs is warm, steady and reassuring. When he sinks into a cushioned seat, your touch abandons his staggering frame and he can’t help but long for more.

This is witchcraft. It has to be.

“Not quite, my dear. I haven’t put a spell on you yet, but I might change that if you forget your manners and don’t watch your foul mouth. Here, have some tea.” A delicate cup is pushed into his hands, followed by a plate of pastries, still steaming hot. “The brain fog occurs to most of my customers who come to see me for the first time, but it gets easier after a while.”

In response, Tommy merely raises his eyebrow and attempts to regain his composure. His expression falls into one of stern discipline despite the lightheadedness, despite the strong smell of incense burning in his nose and the daze of witchery on his sanity, almost as if he’s expecting you to pull out a dagger and aim straight for his heart — there’s no sign of comfort in the endless blue of his eyes.

That’s the problem.

It’s going to take more than a few kind words until he lets down his guard until he lets you see the darkness around his soul and then, only then, you can truly help this troubled man.

For better or for worse.

“Now, how can I be of assistance to you?” You ask after he took a careful sip of his tea. There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips and mischief glints in your calculating eyes, a kind of playfulness that doesn’t show any malicious intent he expected to find in a witches’ gaze.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Tommy admits after a minute of pondering in silence. Of course, he doesn’t tell the whole truth - he avoids the part about the terrors that plague him at night, the images flickering behind his closed eyelids and the fear that sends tremors through his limbs when he fails to stifle the violent scream which jerks him awake each time. His eyes are locked on the inside of his cup, where the residue of tea leaves has left a small pattern on the white porcelain as his hand wanders to the inside of his jacket before he deliberates you with a questioning look. Only after you nod in approval does he light the cigarette hanging loosely between his pursed lips.

“I’m sure you already met my aunt, Polly,” he states nonchalantly. “She’s the one who convinced me to seek you out for help since she thinks the methods I use to get a few hours of sleep at night are rather... impractical and bad for business.”

“And by methods you mean morphine.”

“Right.” Tommy throws his arm over the back of his seat and exhales a cloud of smoke, watching patiently how you lean forward to take his cup. He has heard of it before, the art of reading tea leaves, called Tasseography if he remembers correctly, but he’s never believed in finding any special meaning in a spoonful of tea and some dried piece sticking to the inside of a cup nor was he ever able to witness a witch do it in his presence.

“Let’s see,” you mutter quietly, carefully tilting the cup by the handle and examining the strange shape the left behind on the inside. The tip of your finger glides over the rim and a strand of hair falls into your face as you swirl the residual liquid in the counterclockwise direction twice, connecting your mind to the leaves and the answers they hold. It’s surprisingly fascinating to witness and Tommy catches himself staring at your features, drawn softly in the flickering light of candles lit all around your shop, only averting his eyes once you have found what you needed to know.

“Ah, I see. Those nightmares must be terrifying if they keep you awake at night.” Your eyes flicker to him, once again falling into the familiar pattern of studying him — his posture is tense, poised, almost resembling a cat, to hide the vulnerability your words have exposed so easily. This man, who thought he could hide anything from anyone, has been stripped naked to the bone and no matter what he does, you can see right through him. “The horrors of war can bring the most powerful creature to its knees, but worry not, my dear. I already know what could ease your mind during those rough nights, though I believe there’s a much deeper, darker force that reveals itself to be the true root of your torture.”

With one last glance at him, you get up to rummage in your shelves, quickly gathering different items and dropping them in a satchel that you pulled from the leather belt around your waist. It doesn’t take long until you return to your seat and hand him the bag with an enigmatic smile, inexplicably daunting and strangely comforting at the same time, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Lavender for good sleep and amethyst to ward off your gruesome night terrors,” you explain at the questioning arch of his brow. Nimble fingers untie the strings around the satchel to let him take a look at the innards. “Put them under your pillow and keep them there during the night. You will also find a vial of jasmine oil in there, interwoven with a tinge of magic. Dab a few drops of it on your temples to cleanse your thoughts before you go to sleep and cut the drugs — neither whiskey nor morphine will do you any good.”

“And what am I supposed to do if those things don’t help?” Tommy asks lowly, offering you a skeptical look, though he takes the satchel nonetheless and shoves it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I can’t imagine how a fuckin’ stone should ease my nights in any way.”

“You’ll see. If nothing works you can always return and I promise I will do my best to grant you a few hours of peaceful sleep." You offer him a mischievous glance, then you walk past him to gather his belongings and accompany him to the front door of your small shop. The cold breeze that slips into the room a second later forces him to stop under the small bell that rang upon his arrival earlier and Tommy has to force his feet to cooperate to leave the store entirely.

"Have a good night, Mr. Shelby. We will meet again."

Your voice follows his steps into the dark morning hours, past flickering streetlamps and through abandoned streets where he finds himself pulling the satchel you gave him out of his pocket, locking it tightly in the palm of his hands. He will see you again.

#tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders

[ddarker-dreams]

Glacial Heart. Yan Kaeya x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, general anxiety, and manipulation. Word count: 2.1k. 

You’re not nervous.

No, nervousness would imply guilt or wrongdoing on your behalf — neither of which should apply. Your conscience is clear. The way your hands are trembling must be attributed to something else. It wouldn’t make any sense otherwise, would it? This loss of appetite, nonstop churning in your stomach, and overall inability to sit still could be a premonition of illness. Perhaps the flu or a cold is on its way. Or winter’s chill has seeped through the windows, they’re not insulated the best, which could explain your shaking…

You’re not nervous because of him. You’re not nervous, you’re not—

“There’s no need to glare at the plate, I promise. That chicken’s not coming back from the dead to haunt you.”

Kaeya’s lighthearted assessment of your current condition has your face warming up. Were your thoughts bleeding into your facial expressions that much? If that’s the case, then he must be the polar opposite of you; every expression the Cavalry Captain wears wouldn’t be there had he not wanted it to be. You wish he was easier to read, or possible to read at all. Instead, you’re left to decipher his closed-mouth smile and seemingly omnipotent eye.

“I wasn’t glaring at it.”

“Mhm,” he doesn't bother sounding like he believes you. He leans forward and rests his chin atop his hand. “Glaring, scowling, call it what you will. I could debate semantics with you all evening. What isn’t up for debate, however…”

His voice drops, as does your racing heart into your stomach.

“... Is that there is something you want to tell me. Am I right, sweetheart?”

You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He’s just teasing you, is all. That’s how he’s always been. Poking and prodding at you, but always in good fun, never with malicious intent. The dining room goes deathly silent. You’d thought over the different ways to broach this subject, and each time, you could never settle on the least offensive way.

You decide to come right out and say it, exhausted from beating around the bush for weeks. “I think I’d like to move out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Ah, I mean, I know,” you correct yourself. Why are you trying to soften the blow to a statement that shouldn’t be hurtful? “It isn’t that I don’t enjoy our current arrangement. I’m immensely grateful for all that you’ve done for me, while I’ve been down on my luck.”

Down on your luck might be an understatement, but you carry on, half-convinced that stopping now would render you permanently paralyzed. “I found a job opportunity at the marketplace. A promising one. I think that it’ll work out, so I won’t have to keep mooching off you.”

“Getting ready to leave the nest, I see,” Kaeya nods. Hopefulness rises in your chest, and for a blissful moment, you think you may have gotten your point across sufficiently. Until he speaks again. “You really aren’t a bother, [First]. Did I somehow give you that impression?”

The lack of humor in his voice takes you back, and you rush to defend yourself. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that!”

“There’s no harm in staying then. If I hadn’t made it obvious, I quite enjoy your company. It’d be lonely without you around,” he sighs to add his classic dramatic flair. The tension in the air ebbs and flows at his command, and with the pendulum swinging back from serious to casual, you’re tempted to leave it at that. He’s offering you an unspoken out from this unpleasant topic.

The you from a few weeks ago may have gratefully accepted this chance. Joked that you were being unreasonable, maybe felt embarrassed about his admission of being lonely without you, and that would be that. How tempting it is to fall back into your familiar routine. That’d lead you back to where you started, staring at a crossroad with one path easier to traverse than the one you need to take.

You need to not have almost all aspects of your life reliant on him. You need your independence back.

“I already scheduled the job interview,” you admit, further proving your concrete stance on the issue. “I’m more than happy to repay you for everything, of course. Lodging, extra groceries, or any other inconvenience I may have posed.”

“You’re breaking my heart here. Do I strike you as the type to hold debts over others?”

He chuckles lightly at your loud silence. “I suppose I might for anyone else. You’re admittedly a rare case. That should make you feel all the more special, shouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then I don’t see the problem,” his dismissal both perplexes and frustrates you. He’s adding sentiments that don’t need to be there, weaving webs to keep you stuck in place the more you struggle. Various arguments flare up and then dissipate in your head. You shouldn’t need to make a case for going back into the real world on your own, you’re not on trial and defending yourself.

For the rest of dinner, you remain quiet. Kaeya regales you with tales of his knightly exploits, ranging from Dragonspine expeditions to hiding Klee from the Acting Grand Master. You offer halfhearted responses in return and pick at your plate. Your appetite is nowhere to be seen, even after you worked hard on preparing this meal yourself. The goal was to put Kaeya in a good enough mood to hear your request out, but that didn’t end as you intended.

If Kaeya notices your crestfallen attitude, he’s made a point of not mentioning it.

“I can handle the dishes tonight,” you tell him, plucking up the silverware you’d barely used. “It sounds like you had a long day.”

He hums but doesn’t say anything more than that. You start the cleaning up process on your own, wiping down various pots and pans by the sink with a rag. The window in front of you gives an overview of Mondstadt’s lively city. The warm glow of the street lanterns that you’d walk under after a hard yet fulfilling day’s work, the vendors who’d greet you by name and offer discounts on baked goods that didn’t sell well, winding cobblestone paths whose various dips you knew to avoid by heart.

You miss it.

It’s his musky cologne that you notice first, mixed with the faint scent of whisky that he must’ve indulged in before returning home. He smells so good, so familiar, that you can’t help but take in a deep breath. Kaeya’s lithe arms snake around your waist and pull you against his warm chest. His grip is never tight on you, always lax and almost lazy. It gave the illusion that you could get away if you ever decided to try.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His warm breath tickles your ears and you shiver, “C’mon, be honest. Lay it all out, I can handle it, I promise.”

Can you, though? A part of you wonders.

“I’m not mad,” you shake your head at the word in question. Anxious, mad, these descriptions don’t do justice to your unknown feelings. He didn’t do anything diabolical, you suppose. You mentioned getting a job and he assured you it wasn’t necessary. On paper, this doesn’t sound bad, not even close.

Kaeya blows on your ear playfully. “Hm, is that so? I think someone is being a little dishonest.”

“Can you of all people find fault with that?”

“You’ve got me there,” he chuckles, his chest rumbling as he does so. “Allow me to impart some advice then, as a senior in the art of deception. You’ve got lots of room to improve. For one, you wear your heart on your sleeve. And your lovely, lovely eyes…”

His voice drops an octave.

“They give you away each and every time.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep them closed when you’re around then,” you huff, not wanting to give his words more thought than necessary. He doesn’t need to point out your inability to lie — at least not how you can’t with him. Lying to yourself, however…

“It’s not a big deal. If the timing isn't right, I’ll just try again in the future. You’d probably waste away without me here to take care of you.”

… Is something you’re growing more proficient at by the day.

He settles his chin on your shoulder. “How’d I ever survive without you around, I wonder?”

You’d like to know that as well.

This arrangement could be mutually beneficial if observed from the right angle. He goes and does his work for the Knights while you handle chores and occasional errands. Without having to worry about paying rent or how you’ll afford your next meal, you can dedicate more effort to your hobbies, or picking up new ones that you never had the time for.

Upon Kaeya first opening his doors for you, you were met with a clean if not unlived in space. The furnishings were the bare minimum to qualify for a home. It was a combination of boredom and wanting to express your gratitude for him allowing you to stay here that had you sprucing up the place. Calla lilies in vases on the windowsill, drapes that complement the wallpaper, canvas paintings in areas of the room that felt bland. Little flourishes that left your mark and seemed to amuse Kaeya.

You remember a comment he made while you tended to the flowers that have long wilted by now. “You’re almost like my spouse at this point.”

It made you smile and roll your eyes then. As you are now, you’re not sure what to make of it. There may have been more truth to those words than you initially noticed.

“Kaeya?”

“Mhm?”

A pause. “You do know that I can’t stay here forever, right?”

The faucet drips into the basin at an unsteady rhythm. You complained about it to him once, something about the water bill being worse than it needs to be with a leak. He laughed and promised to do something about it. You’re grateful for the pesky drops now, reverberating in an otherwise hushed room.

“If I didn’t know any better,” his fingers dance up and down the sides of your waist, “I’d say it sounded like you wanted to get away from me.”

Your breath hitches, and you laugh, breathless and forced. 

“You’re imagining things.”

Those fingers of his engage further in their dangerous waltz, roaming where they please, going everywhere and nowhere at once. You wonder if he can feel the rush of your pulse and each thump of your heart through your flesh and bone. Kaeya’s faint reflection shows in the window’s sheen. While your stiff head looks straight ahead, he gazes at nothing but you, fondness mixed with something else etched onto his handsome features. He was right, you think, your grip on the plate tightening until your knuckles hurt. My eyes do give me away.

Glossiness has begun to form on your lower lash line and your pupils have dilated to the fullest extent.

You’re not nervous.

Kaeya brushes his lips against your goosebump-ridden neck, then deeply inhales, savoring your distinct scent. He makes the same wistful expression after taking the first sip of his Death After Noon on a Friday night, or when you welcome him home with open arms. It betrays his enjoyment over this situation. He might try to hide it, but when you’re like this, trembling as if you were a newborn doe, he’s truly content with the world.

“I am, aren’t I?” He presses a chaste kiss to the conjunction between your neck and jaw, “Right. That’s my bad. About your interview tomorrow — don’t worry your pretty little head over it, I’ll handle the details myself.”

The most you can bring yourself to do is nod.

“I’m glad that we’re in agreement then. Thank you for dinner, by the way, it was delectable. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

He sets his plate down on the counter and saunters off. For the first time in ages, you’re able to finally breathe again, air rushing into your greedy lungs like you’d just been freed from a corset after an evening dancing at a ball. 

You take a long look at the reflection staring back at you, which resembles your features just enough to be recognizable. For the first time, you manage to identify the otherwise unknown emotion that’s reared its ugly head recently. 

That’s right — you’re not nervous, or even mad, as he so tastefully proposed minutes prior.

You’re horrified.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #yandere kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #my stuff #commissions

[witheringwidgetwrites]

If you like, obey me guys with an MC who suffers from chronic pain, specifically that they have a hard time keeping up with the brothers when walking?

Ooo!!! Definitely excited to write bc I relate!! Im actually disabled 😎 im an abulatory wheelchair user so im tempted to make a HC w them reguarding smth like that?? Anyway i get it, so here is my most accurate potrayal mwahaha

Just to add some clarification, im gonna reference some symptoms I personally deal with, though I will do so vaguely! Chronic fatigue means many diff things for many folks so, yk. Also They're all tall, fit, superhuman strength, so even your average person probably couldn't keep up? Idk but i think it would be dramaticly different for mc vs the boys

Edit/ got way too into this lol, sorry. I did mostly use the slow walking as a reference, but less so any swaying, excess sleeping, passing out. This is harder to write about than i originally thought? It's hard to encompass so many symptoms in 1 thing lol, anywau enjoy!! I hope this is okay!!

edit2- I FOGOT ASMO AND belph im so sorry, will add later

Lucifer

At first? Kind of a selfish ass. Not directly, but he gets obviously a lil ticked when MC is significantly slower than everyone else. Like this is inconvenient for him, almost feels like MC is doing it on purpose.

Mostly thinks about how it's an inconvenience, how humans are delicate and weak, but as his relationship with MC grows, he's a lot more interested in WHY mc is so fatigued. How does it feel for them?

Will at some point gets the guts to ask. Wouldn't before though because he wouldn't want it to look like he's super interested in MC, but once he accepts that he's in love? Oh boy.

He'll add extra time in the schdule from now on, at least a couple minutes so he and MC can walk at a more leisurely pace. It's hard for him to adjust, because he's usually striding, fairly quickly.

Grows to kind of enjoy it? Taking things slow. It's a nice change for him, but it's a lot of how he shows that he cares. The breaks, stopping to "look" at a shop window when he hears MC breathing a little heavier or when they start to slow down a little more, trudging instead of walking.

Does a fair amount of research on human conditions. If it's a medical condition or not, he'll do what he can to support you. May even assist on your weeks being half online, half in person? So you could have more rest time. It would ensure that Dia's favorite exchange student is preforming to the best of their ability with their accessibility needs being met!!

Will pick you up from the couch and put you in your bed. Sometimes his. Wink.

Mammon

I think Mammon, even originally, was really interested in MC at first glance. He's got a weird protective need? Like must nurture,,,, human,,,

Will keep walking until he realizes MC didn't respond to what he said. Then turns around are sees MC quite a bit behind him and he's confused. Why are they so slow?

Will ask MC, "are most humans so slow?" But doesn't seem malicious about it at all, it's a genuine question. He's had limited contact with humans and they've never really walked anywhere.

Will pick MC up, or tells MC to jump on his back. Doesn't ask, but squats down and gestures.

Will poke fun at MC unless they seem upset about it. Doesn't really mind how slow they are though, it's just an adjustment period for a while.

(Sorry, pov switch.)

On bad days, he'll absolutely help if you ask. He'll bring food and water, by himself, but has trouble thinking of other ways to help without being asked specifically. Probably picks up their homework too, small tasks that they mention.

He's not likely to ask you directly, you'll have to bring up the serious conversation. He just accepts the fatigue as part of MC, doesn't consider that its not normal or is a medical issue? He's willing to put in more effort if you ask though, if he can make things easier for you? He's in. Tries to condense your hang outs too, like the places you go, just so you do the least amount of walking possible.

Overall, 8/10 support.

Leviathan

You're walking to RAD together on a day for a student counsel meeting, the first time he's been out with you, and after a couple minutes of rambling he realizes you've fallen behind?

"Do you not walk to walk with me?" Genuinely a little dejected, feels bad and realizes he's done ALL the talking??

Hopefully you say something like, "no no I love walking with you, I just get so so tired so fast," because he'll respond fairly well. "Oh okay," and then moves on, walking significantly slower. If you watch, you'll notice him looking over and at his feet more often, seems like he's checking his pace?

Once he realizes more so how bad your fatigue gets, and you both grow closer, he'll make more of an effort to leave his own room and go to yours. When he's super uncomfortable, he'll at least meet you at your room to walk you to his room. So you can have company.

Does try to go out of his way to make things easier. Also probably brings it up weeks/months later. Asks you if it's normal. Probably brings it up when your symptoms are especially bad one day, or when you're so tired and cant keep your eyes open.

Isn't one to consider it a burden. It's definitely a change because his legs are a lot longer so he's natrually faster, but he learns to take smaller steps.

Satan

Similarly to Lucifer, feels inconvenienced. His first thoughts are only about himself, only starts thinking about why, how, the details once he gets closer with you.

It's a sudden relevation once he gets the hint that you might feel embarrassed or like a burden? Switches up pretty fast. He's slightly fatigued after his "episodes" for lack of better word, but he imagines its maybe similar to what you experience?

You're sitting in the library, and suddenly he pipes up and asks you. "Is there a reason you're so tired all the time? Why does walking bother you so much?" And as you explain, his curiosity is satiated for the time being. He's silent for a minute after you respond, then, "is it embarrassing?"

Offers some casual reassure once you respond. Tells you that you shouldn't be embarrassed, and that you should accept the things you can't change.

"Would it help if I walked slower from now on? Or would walking be easier if I went with you to and from your classes?" It's a secret plot to spend time together.

He's unlikely to bring you food, but almost has a ritual of bringing you a water bottle every time? Like a human world water bottle? Not sure where he got them. If you inquire about it, he'll tell you that he read how staying hydrated is very helpful for your condition.

Is insistant on the water thing. Also, when you go to the library together, he'll have a small area set up so you can sit while he looks, your stuff is ready and he'll bring you back a book or two with a small flush on his face.

Beelzebub

Notices as you start to slow down, but isn't concerned really, just starts walking slower. But once you start barely moving, he's holding his arm around you until you get to the next bench on the pathway. Belphie had similar issues when they first fell, so the switch to walking slower is much easier for him than anyone, though is now curious as to why you, a human, are having the same issue.

"Did you not eat enough today?" Once you chuckle at him and explain, he's still thinking about food. "Would eating more help?" "Not really, I just get super tired and need more sleep later."

When you hang out, in the kitchen, at school, anywhere outside of your room, he's ready to head home by like, 8pm. He doesn't say it, but he assumes you need to be in bed super early. He's willing to settle for 10, but any later than that and he feels morally responsible for your fatigue.

He gets used to you sleeping in his bed though. He's totally going to get a blanket and a pillow for you and set it near/in the kitchen. He wants to cook but he'd also like to hang out, but you also need sleep, so this is his comprimise.

You both become cuddle partners very fast. It starts with hanging out, and then you fall asleep in his bed and he sleeps on the floor. Once you wake up in the middle of the night and force him back into the bed, he's very stiff for like, a hot minute until you snuggle up to him and doze off.

His help is mostly going to be sustinence. He'll bring you something small from when he goes to eat, or he'll pick up any extra work you have. Is also constantly ready to carry you where ever you'd like. Piggy back rides to RAD? Sure, where do you need dropped off?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me satan #leviathan obey me #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me headcanons #obey me fluff

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

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