#to the kid who voiced his feelings and concerns often and then becoming closed off is interesting

[applesaucesea]

I finished watching season 4 of The Dragon Prince..!

It’s something.. to say the least. I’ve cringed more times then I can count and wanted to slap the characters on multiple occasions. But also it was nice to see how many grew during the 2 year gap in more ways than one. Like Soren, Rayla, and Ezran.

A lot happened in those 9 episodes but also it left many things unanswered and have me curious. But around the last few episodes it helped build up different aspects that will probably be revealed in the upcoming season.

Anyways. Not great at this stuff but I just wanted to share. I might add on to this, I might not. I feel like I’m being to harsh. But don’t get me wrong there were some great moments. Pulled an all-nighter so my brain isn’t working. Didn’t want too but things happened and life sucks so.

#hate me all you want but I always disliked Claudia. If they try to make her character somewhat redeemable I’m going to laugh. #It was nice for her to give back the Coins to Rayla but she wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Terry calling her out on how cruel it was. #I started to tear up at that scene. Where Rayla just started to sob. That is her family. #I certainly didn’t think this would be the way she learned the truth on what happened to them and where they are. #she knew them as dead. Ethari knows them as dead. His husband and friends. #anyways.. #Zym is so big now! But still adorable. And Bait of course #It felt like it was the first season to a new series honestly #I remember disliking Soren in the first 2 seasons but now he’s a favorite surprisingly #Callum my boy! What did they do to your hair! #not a fan tbh but hey #I understand his frustration and sadness when Raya left but I didn’t expect him to be so cold and avoidant to her when they reunited #*Rayla #to the kid who voiced his feelings and concerns often and then becoming closed off is interesting #there were quite a number of things I wasn’t expecting #the dragon prince: mystery of aaravos #tdp #tdp spoilers

[fanfic-obsessed]

Well Technically...

It is not often that I get an idea that includes Vader (with the genocide and horror that is implied) that makes me giggle.  This however made me giggle. 

So Vader returns to the light right before he dies and comes back as Anakin the Force ghost.  Now despite what it appears this is not a kindness.  Anakin spends decades following his kids and the galaxy at large watching how little his existence mattered (galactically Anakin Skywalker was barely more than a recognizable name, and even that was diminishing as the people who knew of the ‘hero without fear’ died off; Vader would be forgotten even more quickly because no one wanted to remember him) even as he saw the long term consequences of his life (Luke’s struggle with his own identity-both as a man and a Jedi-, Leia’s struggle with her ancestry-finding out that your blood father killed all your other available parents was not a good feeling, Reva healing from the trauma he directly caused, all the ways that Ahsoka had to reshape her own soul to patch the holes Anakin put there, the echoes of the clones that died at his hand and command and the horror of the ones that survived). He has to watch his grandson not only make his mistakes but somehow make them worse, which was something that he did not know was possible. We get all the way through the the sequels, with a heavy emphasis on Anakin watching how the consequences of his actions (particularly the slaughter of the Jedi but many of the the things he did both during the empire and during the war) while acknowledging that he is not even remembered enough to be cursed, how the galaxy has spun on, not just without him but in spite of him and he is not even a footnote. 

After Palpatine’s final, for now, death, Anakin is approached (for lack of a better term) by something shaped like Obi Wan Kenobi, circa the beginning of the clone wars. When this being speaks, it speaks with two voices at once, the Daughter and the Son. It asks if he could go back to before his Fall and change things, would he.

Anakin is sure he would, there are so many things he would do differently. 

The being says that it can send him back to just before his tipping point, where his Fall and all the evil he did became inevitable, but cannot send him back further than that.  Anakin agrees. Just before he sent back the being tells him that should his Fall become inevitable again, they would shred his mind and soul and it would be more excruciating than any pain he had ever experienced. 

Anakin, who had spent 20 years in agony, now had one(1) fear. 

Anakin “closed” his eyes in the Force, wondering when he would be sent back to (Killing Padme, Marching on the Temple, Believing Palpatine over Fives) only to open his eyes as his mother took her last breath. He was back on Tatooine, in the Tusken camp. 

Anakin was confused, this was the point of no return? He had not even thought about the Tusken camp in decades, had not truly considered them at all since Padme absolved him of their slaughter.

But this was also an Anakin that had spent decades in pain, and then decades observing. He was much more patient, by necessity if  not choice, less likely to act on violent impulse then the last time. Also the majority of his rage died in a cloud of lightning with the Emperor.  Instead of killing the Tuskens in a rage, he wept over his mother’s body in the grief he denied himself the first time. The reaction surprises the Tuskens so much (due both to the nature of Tatooine and the animosity between them and the moisture farmers they had not seen human tears of grief before) that they let Anakin take the body and leave. 

They still bury Shmi and go to rescue Obi Wan (though it does not end in a marriage this time). The War still starts but Anakin is also running around trying to fix things, including himself (and actually doing all the actual emotional work on figuring out and fixing his own issues), meditating (Frankly Obi Wan is starting to be concerned that anakin is possessed), trying to not kill anyone (because he really isn't sure what the tipping point about the Tuskens was and does not want to risk it), get the chips discovered in such a way that they do not tip off the Sith (He brings a few clones, including Fives to the temple to Spar and 'accidentally' hits Fives hard enough to knock him out and pracitcally forces Master Che do a deep enough scan), make a list of the people he killed to try and do something nice for them. At some point he decides his ‘penance’ for his life as Vader was that he would somehow bring all the currently known Sith back to the Light (including Palpatine).

In the Force, the Daughter is watching all this, her head in her hand repeating over and over ‘The point of no return was murdering children, you moron. All you have to do is not murder children’. And everything he is doing works towards that goal, but she doesn’t expect him to fix the universe (in my head it is a bit akin to asking someone to tell you an equation that use 2 and equals 4, expecting 2+2 or 2*2 but instead them confidently saying((2xSqRt(100))-40+36)/4)

The Son is watching this all with Force popcorn, this is the most entertaining thing to happen in ages. 

It is important to note that the Dark in this does not mean Evil. It means selfish, which is not the same thing.  You can be a selfish dick and still not be evil.  Mostly in this case it means that for those that inhabit the dark their priority is 1)Their own wants and needs; 2)The needs of the people they like, as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them; 3) The wants or needs of others if it benefits them in some way.  The Son was bored by what the Empire did to the Force, and he found having the Light there (and everything Anakin was doing) entertaining. 

I just keep picturing the Daughter, in the Force, exasperated with Anakin because, yes everything he is doing is good for him and the galaxy but his ONLY job is ‘don’t murder children’ and it never even occurs to Anakin that that was the only act he needed to avoid. 

#star wars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #fanfiction prompt #star wars au #sheev palpatine #darth vader #star wars #star wars sequals #the clone wars

[luneariaa]

ᯓ★٠ ࣪⭑ ONE DAY.

not much proofread, plot going random, just wanted to write about him. anyway, haibara appearance <3

tagging @jadeee bc why not? hehe 👀

. dividers by @/cafekitsune ! 💛

He remembered those days when you guys used to hang out around the local park after school. You would've sat by one of the swings, and no one's around to stop you from doing so. Nanami remembered on how much Haibara loved to be there as well; often being the one who wanted to push your swing instead.

It's a quite fond memory that he silently held onto, sometimes wishing that he could go back to those times. But alas, it's nothing but a mere wish, and some old memories of the past, yet still freshly engraved within his own mind.

His chocolate eyes scanned around the currently almost empty park; no one familiar in sight at this hour of the day. It still hasn't even reached the night yet, but the people who stayed outside have lessened significantly. The air around him feels quite rare even to those who have known him, which was filled with silent longing and slightly more relaxed than usual.

Nanami may not show it much, but his eyes are very telling in those specific matters. There's no way for one to return to the past-- to remain as a completely innocent child, blinded by the problems that the world itself have caused by its people. That's life, after all.

His eyes then wandered over a certain swing that's being blown a bit by the wind. For a split second, the blonde-haired male could've sworn he could see Haibara himself sitting there while sending him his usual bright grin. Though, it only lasted for a few moments before he snapped himself back to reality.

Was he really that tired..?

The sudden rush of memories of the past filled his awakened state of mind-- remembering the days where Haibara used to push and drag him around playfully, whether it's to get some meals or even just for fun. The way he speaks; it's the epitome of the bright sun itself, to which is quite blinding in various ways to those who experienced it.

Haibara's optimism can be so heartwarming, yet it burns so deeply within one's memory.

The sounds, the laughter you three have shared in the past; he could've heard it clearly echoing throughout the empty park, even if it's just from his old memories alone.

It's not something he would admit so easily, but today is one of those days where Nanami genuinely misses the old days deeply.

"Ah, figured you would be here." A voice with a sense of familiarity filled his senses-- ringing through the evening air as the said person begins to approach his lone figure. They are adults now, no longer the child they used to be. Yet somehow, even you, wanted to become a kid all over. It's just one of those days.

When he turned his head to give you a proper look, he had this almost unreadable expression etched upon his face. It's quite unexpected for him to see you roaming out here.

"What are you doing here at this hour? Shouldn't you be at home already?"

His tone isn't one of harshness, but rather has a hint of concern and curiosity-- and at least, a bit of protectiveness. He knew on how you barely even go to the park anymore since 'that' incident, and mainly only go there whenever you need to clear your mind off from something and such.

"I just wanted to clear my mind a bit. Didn't know you would be here too." A reply that he expected, so he simply nodded in understanding.

A brief silence ensues between the two of you, one that's quite comforting due to the mutual and longtime connection you both have shared over the years. While you aren't that close with anyone else, the bond you shared with Nanami grows stronger as ever.

Without even noticing, the both of you have shared the same look towards that one specific swing; the memory within your minds are still so fresh even when times have long past. It's starting to get a little too nostalgic, so you have to tear your gaze away from it not too long after.

It'll pass, they said. But why did you always find yourself returning to even the slightest hint of darkness; especially to this specific place when it hurts you a bit more?

Slowly, you began to walk past him and sat down on one of the empty swings, moving it yourself. His gaze never left from you while doing so.

The whole scene ahead of him is so achingly familiar, even giving him the same feeling of yearning from within. There was something about the quietness of the air; the incoming darkening skies above you both that's so relaxing despite the whole feeling you two are experiencing at the moment.

"What are you thinking about?" He's the first to break the silence lingering between the two of you-- the slightest sounds from the swing you're on seemed to stop by his words.

You remained quiet for a bit more, taking immediate notice on how he has settled himself on the bench nearby, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Nothing much," you attempted to brush it off so casually. "Just.. tired, I suppose."

"Ah.."

"From what?" He questioned in a rather soft tone, genuinely wanting you to speak out to him about whatever has been possibly bothering your mind. Nanami genuinely doesn't want you to drown within it alone, letting his actions clear and known.

"I don't know anymore, to be honest. Everything, I suppose." None of it makes it better, thus the words and thoughts that have formed inside your own mind is quite a jumbled mess.

"I even, you know, considered to leave Jujutsu High at some point even before you decided to return there. But then again, I will have no place to go."

Nanami shifted his gaze momentarily, silently pondering over your words for a good few seconds. "So, you're still considering over the thought." You simply nodded, letting your eyes wandered lower.

"Don't you desire the same, Kento?"

Your statement caught him off guard for a while there, yet they were nothing short but truth. There's a faint change within his features, yet it only goes unnoticed by you.

Truly, he ever expressed the same thoughts to you not too far back then, and he did realize on how you been having that idea in your mind as well.

"I mean, I do too."

"I'm sure you're aware on how I've already given it some proper thoughts about it before."

You nodded wordlessly, not having the right words that you could let out at this moment. There seems to be a sudden shift in the atmosphere; your eyes looked heavy, yet it wasn't caused by the lack of sleep whatsoever.

Slowly, but surely, Nanami decided to stand from the bench he's been sitting on and approached your preoccupied form-- carefully placing one of his hands around your shoulders to provide at least some comfort that you might needed, while guiding you to move yourself away from the swing, and toward the empty bench.

"I don't want to leave you here alone, Ken."

He froze once he heard your words, staring at your face for a bit. He doesn't know what to say, truth be told. But then again, even words couldn't help much in situations like this, because it's simply irreversible.

"Don't join us too soon. Go and finish your duties first."

"Me and Haibara can wait."

Haibara. Right, Haibara.. It's like a slap of reality once the realization fully hit him right in the face. Has he been so exhausted lately, that he almost forgets about it? The mere thought of it already puts a heavy weight upon his heart, and now he has to face it once again. Oh, how he wishes to erase the thought itself, yet to no avail. It's in fact, the truth he has to face at this waking moment.

".. Right."

"It won't be long, I hope. So please, wait for me, okay?"

A bright smile suddenly adorns your face so beautifully, which causes an immense change for the whole vibes of the current situation. You're no longer appearing to be gloomy as before; everything feels a bit more lighter now. It's almost surreal, yet he has faced a lot more questionable stuff for the time he lived his life.

"Always! I could wait for you forever if I'm able to!" Has your skin felt this cold earlier..? No amount of heat could possibly get rid of it, yet you couldn't care less. It doesn't matter to you at this point, because Nanami himself came to visit.

It's not surprising that he chose to suppress his true emotions even right now; avoiding any hints of wanting to have a mental breakdown or anything, especially in front of you when you looked so.. happy.

So, he returned the smile you have given him, to which is a small, yet a warm one; one that is able to melt your heart all over.

"I will return to you both," he promises, taking ahold of one of your hands in his; voice filled with honesty and finality.

"Just-- don't join us too soon!"

"Me and Haibara would wait for you by the swings here!"

That's the thing. There's a certain type of child-like innocence dripping within your words alone, which made his breath hitch slightly as he tried to remain visibly composed; not wanting to worry you or get rid of the happy expression you emitted at this moment.

The two of you never deserved this at all. The world is being so cruel and unfair to you.

While you have been released from his comforting grasp not too long ago, you have kept a safe distance between you two-- standing just ahead of him. A familiar hand was placed just atop of your shoulder; the said figure emerging out of nowhere with a look of content, remaining completely harmless.

He's been taking care of you, after all.

The mixture of emotions is becoming too real for him. Nanami could feel these deep pits of sadness bubbling up within him, and at the same time, the feeling of pure relief is also present. He's just genuinely grateful and thankful because of you two for a lot of reasons.

It's so nostalgic, yet depressing in a way.

"Until I return.."

"Both of you please stay safe." It feels a bit odd for saying that, as if you two are still alive and breathing. But that's beside the point.

Even a stoic man like him has his own weakness; feeling his eyes getting a little watery as he turned his back on you and Haibara, getting ready to leave the park as well.

"We will!" The black-haired sunshine exclaims with full confidence and enthusiasm, now holding onto your hand tightly while waving using the other at Nanami's retreating figure.

The blonde-haired male couldn't help but to let his lips curve upwards ever so slightly, without facing you two as he leaves the park. He's aware he has a purpose in life, and he would continue fulfilling his intended duties.

"I'll return someday soon."

".. one day."

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are alright. all rights reserved.

#aria's post 𖥔 ݁ ˖ #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #yu haibara #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[yespleasetommyshelby]

That's twice now Tom!

Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: language, my writing?? It's rather rushed and hasn't been or off read

Enjoy! ❤️

---

"Nervous?" Aunt Pol's voice made me tear my eyes away from the reflection in-front of me, the big white dress, make up and hair done to perfection making me feel like a princess.

"A little." I whispered, smoothing my dress down once more before I turned to face her fully. "I can't help but feel like somethings off Pol." I sighed as my thumb played with the engagement ring sitting on my finger. "What?" I asked cautiously after hearing a small sigh escape her lips.

"It's nothing, I just-" she cut herself off with a shake of her head, not willing to admit to the girl who had become a daughter to her that she had had the same feeling all week. "I'm sure it'll be fine, now come on, let's make you officially a Shelby." She grinned, linking her arm with mine before leading me towards the door.

Just as she reached out towards the handle the door flew open with a red faced Ada and Arthur appearing making us take a couple of steps back.

"What is it? What's happened?" I asked concerned at the look covering the siblings faces. "Ada? What's going on?" I asked again as they both stood there staring at me in silence.

"Well? Spit out!" Polly all but yelled, finally kicking the two Shelby's into gear with Arthur speaking first.

"It's, uh, it's Tom." He muttered, his eyes flicking between me, Polly and the floor.

"What about him? Is he okay?" Rushed from my mouth as images of a beaten Tommy filled my mind, a sight I had seen all too often in our three years together.

"He's fine, he's alright." Arthur spoke quickly, his hands coming up infront of him as though he was trying to tame a wild horse.

"He's not coming y/n.." Ada trailled of quietly, so quietly that I barely heard what she had said, but I still heard.

"He's what?" I whispered, my eyebrows furrowed, yesterday before I had left to spend the night at Polly's we were wrapped up in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings as he laid out his plan for the future into the quiet room, his plan that all started with me by his side.

"He said he can't do it because he's not good enough for you, he's a broken man after the war and he can't give you what you want, the white fenced house, three kids and a quiet life in the country, you deserve someone who can give you everything you could ever want or need and keep you safe from the darkness that is Tommy Shelby's world." Ada spoke with a strong voice, but the look in her eyes and the way her voice wobbled slightly gave away her true feelings that the words she was speaking were nothing but bullshit. "His words, not mine." She added on the end, sharing a sad look with Polly before all three sets of eyes landed on you.

"Bullshit." I spat with nothing but rage in my voice. "Keep me safe from his world." I repeated with a dark laugh as I shook my head, eyes squeezed closed. "What does he think I am? A fucking idiot? It's that tart of a barmaid and we all fucking know it!" I screamed snapping my eyes open as I tore the veil from my hair and threw it across the room into the mirror I was admiring myself in only moments before. "Where is he?" I growled, my eyes landing on Arthur as he shook his head slightly.

"You don't need to see him now aye." He gave me a small smile as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Arthur Shelby, tell me where he is now." I growled, my eyes narrowed as I kept them on him, the years we'd known each other helping Arthur to understand exactly what my look meant. 'Tell me before I punch you straight in the gut'.

"The Garrison." He muttered looking down to avoid the glare that Polly and Ada was currently sending him.

"Of-fucking-course!" I laughed to myself slightly before I threw open the door to find Tommy.

Ignoring the looks I got as I passed the collection of family and friends that were stood outside the church confused as to what was going on, I carried in my way not caring that my dress was dragging through the wet grass leaving stains of green across the bottom.

"Oi y/n/n! What's going on? Where are you going?" John yelled as he caught my figure walking away from the church.

"To murder your brother!" I yelled without looking back, my mind set on one thing and one thing only, Thomas fucking Shelby.

----

The time it had taken me to get to the Garrison did nothing to calm the rage that was still brewing inside of me, the once white dress I wore was now a greyish kind of colour with the bottoms painted a mix between the green of the church grass and the black grime that layered the streets of small Heath. Without a second thought I barged my way into the Garrison to see only two people, one of which being the one I was looking for.

"Y/N, listen, I-" his sentence was interrupted as my arm swung, connecting my palm with the side of his face, his head moving to the side from the contact.

"How fucking dare you?!" I seethed, my e/c eyes pinned to his light blue ones as he stood and stared at me in silence. The cheekbones that were once mine to stroke in the dead of night now a bright red with a slight gash where my ring had caught the skin.

"Maybe you should-" "Shut the fuck up!" I barked, my finger pointing at the blond barmaid who was stood to the side watching the silent staring match playing out between me and Tom. "You keep your fucking whore mouth out of my business!" I yelled grabbing a lone glass that was sat on the bar and throwing it in her direction behind the bar, the glass finding the row of alcohol on the back wall and shattering a few onto the ground below.

"You're not good enough for me? A broken man who can't give me what I want? You know what I wanted Tommy? I wanted you! No matter the danger, the enemies, the sleepless nights from the fucking nightmares! The guns, the blood, the fear, fucking everything! I would've gone to hell and back with you the second you asked and you know this! We've been talking about this day for almost 3 years now Tom, and you're just gunna throw it all away for what? For a blonde Irish girl with a pretty smile? The same one that appeared at the exact same time as that sleazy Irish inspector? What? Her pussy so good you can't see what's right in-fucking-front of you?" I screamed as I punched him in the chest multiple times, the man just standing there and staring down at me with his arms by his side, he knew he was wrong, he knew he'd broken your heart, and he'd take the pain for it, he may be leaving you for someone else, but a part of his heart will always be yours.

"Y/N, please list-" He started before I cut him off one last time. "No Tom, you don't get to apologise, you don't get to try and make me feel better, not anymore." I sighed as I shook my head, my anger fading and leaving nothing but pain as I looked up into his blue eyes. "I'm done Thomas." I smiled slightly before turning to walk away.

Reaching the door I pushed it open, taking a step outside before I stopped and turned around to face the pair one last time, my eyes moving from Grace to Tommy.

"Just know that when she fucks you over, and she will." I paused, my eyes focusing on the small smile on Graces lips before looking into Tommy's eyes for the final time. "I'm not going to be there to make the pain go away."

-----

3 years later...

It had been three years since the day I left small Heath for the hustle and bustle of city life in London, having cut contact with the entire Shelby/Gray family completely, not telling anyone where I had moved to, not even Polly, being in contact with them was too painful, the last I had heard was that Tommy had found Polly's son and Grace had done exactly what I thought she would, betrayed Tommy and disappeared to New York.

I can't help but sigh as my thoughts went back to Tommy, all the good and bad days we'd spent together, from our first meeting, our first date, kiss, night together to the day he proposed and the days we had spent planning every inch of our wedding, then finally to the day that it all went to shit. That day had done something good for me though, I had found a new passion in wedding planning and now spent my time preparing the weddings of other people to take the pain away from being horribly single and alone.

"Hey y/n." My assistants voice made me jump as she entered my office, my mind instantly snapping away from Tommy and back to the present. "Uh, Shelley had a meeting booked in but as you know she went into labour yesterday so.." she trailled off, closing the door softly before stepping towards me, her eyes watching me carefully as if waiting for a reaction.

"Okay?" I trailled off, already having discussed with Shelley that I would take over any weddings while she was away with the baby. "You know we already have an agreement so what's the problem?" I sighed, confused as the young girl stood with her hands fidgeting together.

"It's just that, uh, the clients are-" she was cut off as the door to my office swung open behind her revealing the last two people on the earth that I had expected, or wanted, to see.

Frozen just inside of my office was no other than Thomas Shelby, standing like a statue as he stared at me with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, raking over every inch of my body as though he was trying to make sure it was really me and not just his eyes playing tricks on him. Grace was stood just of to the side of him, slightly behind as her eyes narrowed towards me, her face twisting into a bitter frown when she realised just who was planning her wedding. Paying her no mind my eyes stayed glued to Tommy, he looked the exact same as the day I had left him standing in the garrison, except the bright red mark and gash that had once adorned his face was now gone, bar a slight scar from the gash, good, I thought to myself, a physical reminder of the day you fucked up.

"I see." I sighed as I was the first to look away, sending my assistant a small smile now realising why she was concerned about me taking the booking. "Thank you Annie." I nodded as she quickly excused herself before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"Uh, right, uhm, take a seat." I muttered nervously, all self confidence going straight out the window as the two of them watched me with very different eyes, Grace's were full of jealousy and warning, as though she was expecting me to pounce across the desk and onto Tommy's lap at any second. While Tommy sat and watched me in silence, his expressionless eyes watching my every move, to anyone else he might seem indifferent, like seeing me hasn't just brought up years of memories and feelings, but to me, I could see it all, the confusion, the realisation, the guilt and the pain, he couldn't hide any of it from me, he never could.

"Is there nobody else who could do this for us?" Grace's voice interrupted the silence as she gripped onto Tommys arm fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

"No." He spoke with assertion, no room for discussion in his answer.

"Fine." She huffed crossing her arms over her chest as she leant back in her chair. "Let's just get this over with."

--

"So, that's the colour scheme, the flowers and the music sorted." I nodded to myself as I looked down at the list sitting on my desk. While it felt as though it lasted way more than an hour, the appointment hadn't been too bad really, minus the super awkward beginning and the fact that Grace seemed to want her wedding to be exactly like the one she had ruined for me three years ago, it was rather easy to pretend that Grace was just another bride while I ignored Tommy completely, not that he had much to put into the conversations giving a simple 'yes' or 'no' here and there while his eyes stayed firmly on me.

"Go out to the car, I'll be there in a minute." Tommy instructed Grace as they made their way to the door making both of our heads snap towards him.

"What? Tommy-" "Just go Grace, I'll be there shortly aye." He interrupted her, his eyes giving her a look that said there was no room for arguments right now. With a huff she grabbed her bag from besides the door and stormed off into the lobby.

"Tommy, I really don't think-" "So this is where you've been." He interrupted me without taking his eyes off of the door that Grace had just left through. "All this fucking time and you've been right here!" He roared making me jump slightly from the unexpected noise. "I had men looking for you! I spent months fucking looking for you!" He pointed as he spun around to face me, taking the couple of steps it took for him to be stood right infront of my desk as I looked up at him.

"Tom-" "What the fuck were you thinking?! Anything could've happened to you and I had no fucking idea where you were!" He continued to shout, his voice bouncing of the walls as his words echoed through the empty space. "You had me fucking worried sick!" He yelled as he leaned forwards and rested his palms against the desk leaning over slightly.

"You had no need to be worried!" I yelled back, standing up ignoring the loud clang that sounded as my chair fell over from the force. "You left me Tommy! Remember? You left me on what was supposed to be our wedding day!" I screeched as I leant forward placing my hands on the desk mirroring his stance. "You have no right to be worried about me! It's what you wanted isn't it? For innocent old me to be far away from you and your 'darkness of Tommy Shelby's world'!" I growled, repeating the words that Ada had told me that day, the words that repeated in my mind a hundred times a day.

"I never meant to hurt you." He spoke quietly, his tone a total 180 from what it was mere seconds ago.

"No? Well I hate to break it to you Tommy but you did, you hurt me in ways I never thought you could." My tone matched his, my words laced with nothing but heartbreak. "You hurt me like nothing had ever hurt me before." I whispered.

"It wasn't supposed to happen." He shook his head as he spoke, his eyes closed tight. "It wasn't supposed to fucking happen." He growled to himself as he pushed away from the desk pressing his hands to the side of his head.

"What wasn't supposed to happen Tom? Marrying me? Making me believe that we were about to start the rest our lives together as a happily married couple? My dream of finally becoming a Shelby? The dream that you created with all of your empty promises? Was none of it ever supposed to happen?" I seethed, my eyes watching as his back tense at my words.

"Grace!" He screamed as he turned to face me, his hands back down at his sides. "Meeting Grace was never supposed to happen!" The veins in his neck popped as his hands clenched.

"Yeah? Well it did Tommy. And you threw everything we ever had away, for her." I sighed as I shook my head, wiping away the tears that were starting to fall.

"Y/n, please, I'm so sorry." He sighed, his own voice close to breaking as the unshed tears forced in his eyes.

"It's too late for sorry's now Tom, Grace is waiting for you, you should go." I muttered, moving to stand by the window that over looked the parking, my eyes spotting Grace stood next to a black Bentley as she tapped her foot in anticipation.

"I'm sorry." His voice reached my ears.

Keeping my eyes on Grace I waited for the soft thud of the door closing to reach my ears before squeezing my eyes closed and dropping to the floor as the flood of tears poured down my face, looking up at the clock that ticked away I sat and sobbed not making any effort to wipe the tears from my face, feeling like my heart was breaking all over again.

---

I didn't see Tommy at the next meeting, or the one after that, or at all, Grace came alone with a list of instructions from Tommy, which listed what he didn't want at the wedding, all of which being the details we had at our own failed wedding. It had been six months since that first meeting where I'd seen Tommy again after three years, where my heart broke all over again and tomorrow was the big day, when Grace Burgess would officially become Grace Shelby.

Walking through the church I tried to swallow the sick that was rising in my throat, tried to ignore the stabbing pain in my chest as I went over the last of the decorations, making sure everything was in place and just the way that Grace has wanted it. She may have been marrying the man I was still in love with, the man that she'd stolen from me years prior but it was still her big day, she had won the heart of Tommy Shelby and all I could do was grin and bear it.

"Y/n!" A voice echoed through the empty church prompting me to turn and face Polly for the first time in years.

"Hi Polly." I smiled slightly, unable to ignore the tug at my heart at seeing her after all this time.

"Look at you!" She grinned as she came forwards and pulled me into her arms, my cheek resting on her shoulder as it always had done. "Where have you been girl?!" She exclaimed as we pulled away and she smacked me across the arm a few times.

"In London, making my dream come true for everyone else." I shrugged as I gestured to the intricately decorated room around us.

"Oh my poor girl, I've never forgiven him you know, none of us have for what he did to you that day." She gave me a sad smile as she rubbed my arms that she had just as assaulted. "This can't be easy for you." She sighed.

"It's fine Pol, time does wonders to fix a broken heart." I lied, flinching at the look she gave me.

"You're a terrible liar." She muttered as she reached into her purse to light a cigarette before handing one to me. "Come on, outside." She smiled linking her arm with mine and leading me down the aisle to outside.

---

"If you could please take your seats, the groom will be arriving shortly." I spoke as I stood at the front of the room watching as the two sides of the church filled with a very different dynamic. One side as full of uniforms and straight faced men while the other was full of rowdy Romani families with the Shelby's front and centre, Arthur, John and Finn being scolded by Polly for their ties being crooked or the jokes they were making about the cavalry.

All sounds stopped for a second as the doors to the church opened with Tommy appearing and making his way to his spot infront of the crowd with his head hung low, ignoring looks from both sides. As he lifted his head and his eyes met mine I could instantly tell there was something wrong, after knowing him since we were nine to spending 3 years by his side, the blank face he put on did nothing to hide the dark circles around his eyes or the fact that his face seemed skinnier, his already sharp cheekbones now sharp enough to be legally considered as a weapon.

"Tommy." I whispered as I stepped towards him, ignoring the pain in my heart as I said his name. "Are you okay?" I asked placing my hand on his arm as his eyes snapped up to mine.

"I fucked up sweetheart." He sighed as he shook his head. "I fucking fucked up." He laughed darkly to himself as he shook his head.

"What do you mean Tommy?" I asked concerned that he had done something to himself, or started some war that he couldn't finish this time.

"I-" just as he was about to speak the organ started to play as the doors to the church opened once more, stepping into the pews I took a seat besides Polly and watched as the crowd turned their heads to see Grace walking down the aisle on her fathers arm, a big smile on her face as she walked towards her future husband, even I couldn't deny the fact that she looked beautiful, her floor length purple gown like one straight from the movies, moving with her as she walked. Quickly blinking away the inevitable tears I moved to look at Tommy once again, his eyes on his future bride his eyes watching her every move, the look of love that I was expecting was nowhere to be seen, instead they was filled with a look that I remembered all to well, regret.

Everyone sat as Grace took her place besides Tommy, giving her father a chaste kiss on the cheek as he handing his daughter over to the most notorious gangster in Birmingham. As Jeremiah started his speech about love and commitment I couldn't help but catch Tommy's eyes as he looked around the crowd almost nervously, a look that I hadn't seen in his eyes since the day he asked me to marry him.

"Now, before I carry on." Jeremiah's voice pulled my attention away. "Does anyone here today know of any reason as to why these two can not be wed?" The silence that followed was unnerving, my hand squeezing Polly's as I wanted nothing more than to just up and leave, watching the wedding breaking my heart that little bit more. "Okay, well in that case, do you Grace Helen Burgess take Thomas Micheal Shelby to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?" He carried on, the silence in the crowd suggesting no objections to the marriage.

"I do." Her words floated from her lips as delicately as possible, her eyes bright as she looked up at Tommy with nothing but love on her face.

"And do you, Thomas Micheal Shelby take Grace Helen Burgess to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?" My eyes flickered to the ground, focusing on one particular speck of dust as I waited for those words, those 2 words that would confirm the union.

The silence that followed and the tight squeeze that Polly gave my hand forced me to look up, briefly meeting her sparkling eyes before turning to look at the alter where Tommy was stood, staring at me.

"No." He muttered, shaking his head as he dropped his hands from Grace's. "I'm sorry Grace, but I can't marry you." His deep voice elicited gasps from both sides of the crowd.

"Oh come on, that's twice now Tom!" Arthur yelled with a booming laugh, never having liked the blonde stood next to his younger brother.

"Arthur shut it! And you!" Polly hissed towards Arthur and John who had started to laugh along.

"Tommy? What's going on?" Grace asked as she tried to take Tommys hands back in her own only for him to take a step away from her completely.

"I thought it was you, when you walked into Small Heath almost four years ago I thought you were it, that I'd been wrong for the previous three years, but no." He paused as he turned to face the crowd, eyes pinned on me. "I had the one for me the entire time, I was just too blind to see it. I should've never left you that day, I broke your heart and for that I will spend the rest of my life trying to fix it, to make it up to you in any way, shape or form you deem fit. I'll apologise, I'll beg and I'll do whatever you want from me as soon as you say the word. Please, y/n, give me one last chance." He spoke, our eyes glued to each other as though we were the only ones in the room, ignoring the gasps and the whispering that erupted on Grace's side of the church, the woman just stood staring with wide eyes, unable to believe that the exact same situation she had caused years ago had come back ten fold.

"Tommy, I." I stood up, looking down at Polly and then towards the rest of the Shelby siblings before looking back to Tommy. "I can't... I can't do this again, I can't give everything to you just for you to kick me to the curb as soon as somebody else comes along, I can't handle being broken again." My words drifted to a whisper as a lone tear dropped down my cheek.

Without missing a beat Tommy rushed towards me, pulling me out into the aisle and using his thumb to rub the pesky tear away.

"I promise you love, there is nothing on this earth that could possibly make me walk away from you again, I swear on all that I have and all I will ever have, I will never hurt you again." He whispered, not caring about the number of people that had just witnessed the fact that Tommy Shelby really had a heart. "Just one more chance." He whispered as he rested his forehead against mine, both of our eyes fluttering shut at the connection.

"One more chance Thomas Shelby, hurt me again and I swear to god that I'll kill you, that's a promise." I breathed out, opening my eyes as he pulled away from me with the biggest smile spreading across his face.

Turning to face the crowd his smile dropped as he looked towards Grace and her family. "I'm sorry, but it seems you've had a wasted trip, there will be no marriage today." He spoke without a care, taking my hand in his as he squeezed it gently.

Standing quietly I stood at Tommys side as Grace and the cavalry left the church, Grace's sobs echoing through the silent room until the doors shut, shutting out the sound with them.

"What do you say love, fancy trying this thing again aye?" Tommy smirked as he nodded over to where Jeremiah was stood watching the scene with a stunned but knowing look on his face.

I couldn't help but laugh as the rest of the shelby's family and friends cheered at the prospect.

"Slow down there Shelby, you've got some making up to do first." I laughed with a smirk as he shook his head before taking my face between his rough hands.

"It was worth a shot aye?" He smirked as he brought his lips to meet mine, the familiar butterflies that erupted taking me back to that first kiss 6 years ago.

Sorry it's so rushed! Let me know what you think and feel free to send in any requests! ❤️

#tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby fic #Tommy Shelby x reader #tommy Shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fic #thomas shelby x reader #Thomas shelby fic

[oracleofapollon]

“I love you, okay? I know I don’t say it enough.” With peter please 🥺

that was such a cute concept, i feel like i didn't do it justice :(

pete x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, crying, anxiety and r having mean thoughts about themself

As soon as you lock the door behind you, it becomes too much.

Too much work, too many projects, too many expectations to meet (most of the expectations you set yourself, and are pretty unrealistic). Every single thing coming towards you seems like a burden—the unmade bed or the need to think what to have for dinner. Small tasks add to the big pile of stress, uncertainty, and gradually start to envelop you, trapping you like a metal chain you can’t free yourself from.

So there you are, standing in front of the mirror, washing your hands, crying at the thought of doing the laundry. You mentally scold yourself for being overdramatic. Taking a big breath you head towards the kitchen to see what you can cook.

You never get to the kitchen, though. As soon as you see the sofa you crash onto it, stretching and yawning and fighting merciless sleep. An idea crosses your mind—you could watch silly TV programmes—but you feel too worn out to grab the remote, let alone focus on anything. So you sigh and look around, exhausted by the warmth of tears in your eyes. It makes you feel uncomfortable, on edge, dirty, in a way you can’t really explain.

Laying there, staring at the bookshelves, you notice a picture of you as a child. In the photo you were no older than 5 years, smiling at the camera, lacking two teeth. You remember the place—a park you used to live next to, the place you visited often. It was clearly summer, you were surrounded by bushes of white flowers and a cute pink hat was shielding you from the scorching sun. 

You blink once, twice. Then you burst into tears again. 

You were so sweet, so innocent, you trusted the world with everything you had. You wanted to be an adult so badly, you wanted to be a Disney star, then an astronaut, then a teacher. You couldn’t wait to be the current you.

And you really can’t take it. The way you are mean to yourself, putting so much pressure on yourself, hating everything you do. And you realize you’re hurting the little kid grinning at you from the photo. You didn’t even make any of the sweet baby’s dreams come true.

You’re shaking now, gasping for breath, sitting up to not choke on your own tears and snot. You can’t think about the picture, your youth—missing the carelessness, sweet lollipops and playing in the sand, big dreams, evenings on the swing—and blaming yourself, and the hot eyes and cheeks annoy you more than anything. You panic more when you hear the door unlock.

“I’m ho-ome!” sings your boyfriend playfully as he closes the door. You clear your throat and make a beeline for the bathroom.

“Hi, Pete,” you say in a weak voice and immediately curse at yourself when it comes out exactly like a person who was just crying.

You close the bathroom door seconds before he appears behind them. “Are you okay?” of course he notices something’s wrong. He always does. He cares for you so much, pays attention to all the details about you, takes care of your soul in the gentlest ways. You hate yourself for thinking you don’t deserve him.

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound confident, and failing miserably. Ripping off a piece of toilet paper you try to blow your nose as quietly as possible.

“Can I come in?” Peter’s concerned voice breaks your heart. He always wants the best for you and you always make his life a little bit harder. As if it wasn’t hard enough.

You want to say no to spare him the view, but you know him. You know he will be anxious, scared he did something wrong, terrified someone could have taken their revenge on you for being the love of Spider-Man’s life. You love him too much to keep him worried, and you would most probably do anything he asked you, ever.

“Always,” not a second passes when your eyes meet Peter’s in the mirror. His brows furrow even more when he sees your red, wet, puffy face. “Not a big deal,” you reassure him before he has a chance to open his mouth. “Jus’ havin’ a bad day.”

His shoulders drop and he comes closer. You feel his hand close to you and you are sure you’re going to cry again if he doesn’t take you in his arms. He hesitates, though. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?” he asks simply and it breaks your heart in half.

“Please, please, please do, Pete.”

Maybe you were begging. Maybe it sounded pathetic. Maybe you looked pathetic, hell, maybe you just are pathetic. But none of it matters when you get trapped in his warm embrace, strong arms around your waist and rubbing your back, his chin on the top of your head, the air he’s breathing out tickling you and slightly moving your hair. Your chests pressed together, thighs touching. You feel safe, seen, appreciated, not alone. You don’t try to fight the tears dripping down your cheeks. 

“I got overwhelmed. Anxious, insecure,” you confess, your voice muffled in his shirt. “I’m better now,” you add. “You make me feel better, always.”

Your lovely boyfriend starts to rock you two from left to right, peppering your forehead in kisses. “I’m sorry you felt that way, baby,” he says against your skin, and his mouth tickles you when it moves. You hug him closer and his grip tightens. “Mean thoughts haunt all of us sometimes. But you have a tendency of believing them,” his words are true and you know it. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, trying to ignore how wet his shirt got from your tears. “You deserve everything, you know? Everything the best, the sweetest, the loveliest in the world. Everything that brings you happiness, smile, joy. You’re too harsh on yourself.”

“I know,” you nod lazily. “It’s that way for me. Hard to be gentle to myself. I try.”

“I know,” he hums. “D’ya want some food?” he adds when your stomach grumbles.

“Mm. Can we stay like this for a while?”

“Anything you want, my lovely.”

You laugh, sniffing. “You’re corny.”

He snorts and tickles your side—strongly enough to make you squeak, softly enough so you don’t try to wiggle out of his arms. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, okay? I know I don’t say it enough.”

He says it enough to make you smile like a fool and feel all giddy. You part away from Peter slightly, just a bit, so you can kiss him hard.

#peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker #tasm! peter parker fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine

[tastefulstars]

Of Wolf and Man 3/?

The gang test you while you struggle to maintain your control.

eddie munson x f!reader x steve harrington

a/n: when i say slow burn i mean slow burn word count: 3.4k warnings: 18+ only mdni. slow burn. r is a werewolf. body horror. mutual pining. the kids do science. r looses control a bit. r feels guilty for not saving everyone. eddie and steve take care of r. kidnapping. violence.

masterlist

prev/next

You spend the next few days trying to find some semblance of normal, as much as you can with your friends plying you with questions about your condition. 

Your little home has become the new hangout spot for the group and you don’t often find yourself alone. You don’t mind, the constant presence of someone else, someone’s heart beat and scent and voice fills a hole inside you that’s been missing since your parents died.

Steve and Eddie practically move in with you, keeping you close and not letting you leave their sides for too long.

Late one afternoon Max hovers, lingering in the doorway.

"You okay, Maxie?" You ask, padding to her side.

"Did you know?" She asks, not really looking at you, "Did you know that Billy-"

She cuts herself off and wraps her arms around herself and your heart hurts.

"I, no. I, I wish I did" You sigh, "Billy just smelt like he was hurt but, um, that wasn't unusual for him"

Your heart crumbles and you rest your hand on Max’s shoulder.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better, but I’m so sorry Max. I wish, I wish I was quicker”

Max leans into your touch for a moment before rushing out and you gently close the door, resting your forehead on it and sitting in your guilt for a moment. You feel ashamed at yourself for not realizing, not noticing sooner that something was wrong with Billy, for not saving him.

A few days later, the group corner you one afternoon as you’re curled on the couch with Steve and Eddie.

“Come on you three” Dustin says, hands on his hips, “We’ve got science to do”

You feel your eyebrow raising and dread curling in the pit of your stomach. Steve just sighs.

“Dustin, come on” He says, “We talked about this - leave Bug alone”

“No” Dustin shoots back, “You talked about it and I’m not listening. She said that-”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not right here?”

Dustin gives you an embarrassed, apologetic smile.

“Sorry- You said that you weren’t really sure of the extent of your abilities right?”

The pit in the bottom of your stomach grows just a little deeper, guessing where this was going.

“Yeah?” You say apprehensively, wearily eying up Dustin and the group.

“Well! Lets find out!” He informs you happily, “We can go somewhere deep in the woods where no one will see and do some experimenting!”

“Seriously, leave it” Eddie almost growls, hand resting on your knee.

“No listen-” Mike says, “We know what El can do right? She knows the extent of her abilities but we don’t really know for sure for you, right?”

“And wouldn’t it make it better, safer, if we knew?” Lucas adds.

“We should know how strong you are and what you can do and your limits and everything” Dustin concludes triumphantly.

You drag your eyes over them and flicker to Steve and Eddie beside you who are scowling at them, irritated with their arguments.

“Okay” You breathe and they whoop, their excited chatter fills the room and you pull yourself up to go change. Steve and Eddie trail after you.

“You don’t have to” Eddie says softly as he sits on your bed, “If you don’t want”

“Yeah, don’t do it just to amuse the kids. They’d get over it” Steve sighs, “Although they’ll probably be incredibly annoying about it for the next few weeks”

Their soft concern for you has your heart growing three sizes in your chest and you smile as you pull a pair of bike shorts out of your drawers and a tank top. You spin, holding your clothes against your chest, warmth radiating from you.

“I know. I’m kind of curious myself to be honest - can you two give me a second?” You asks raising the bundle of clothes and the brush past you as they leave, fingers trailing on your arms.

By the time Steve and Eddie pull up to the usual spot where the group gathers to go waltzing through the woods, the entire group has gathered. You see Nancy and Jonathan leaning against his car, heads close. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Will, El and Max are all goofing around, Robin is sitting on the hood of Jonathan’s car with her face in a book.

Eddie loops his pinky finger with yours as you walk towards the group and you feel Steve pressed firmly against your other side.

“Hey” Dustin calls, waving. “Lets go!”

You all head deeper into the woods until you find a smallish clearing that gave everyone enough space to sit. You look over to Steve and Eddie who sit flush against each other, backs leaning against the rough bark of a tree and raise your eyebrows at the kids.

“What now?” You ask.

“Okay. Will you got the notes sorted?” Will nods, holding his notebook up.

“Lucas, timer?” Lucas answers with a ‘yep’, “Mike, you’re going to record, yeah?”

“Yeah, got the camera” Mike says, “Jonathan’s gonna help me”

"I'll help Will with the notes" Nancy says.

"I'm just here for fun" Robin pipes up and you laugh softly.

"Steve and Eddie are gonna make sure you don't like, push yourself too much, okay?" Dustin tells you, “So, we’ll just ask you to do some stuff - like running, or climbing and test your strength”

“Why all the-” You wave your hands to the others, “all the writing and whatnot?”

“Oh doing science means writing stuff down”

“Documenting” Lucas nods and you laugh.

“Alright” You huff, “Just, no one sees the film okay?”

They all nod their agreements, you flicker your eyes back to Steve and Eddie and they smile softly at you.

“Where are we starting?”

Dustin digs through his backpack, and hands you an apple.

“Crush that”

The group stares at your expectantly, eyes trained on your hand wrapped around the apple.

You dart your eyes around, eyes drifting back to Steve and Eddie. You watch them as they watch you and you squeeze. The apple explodes in your grip and you feel the sticky juice ooze out between your fingers and run down your hand, dripping to the ground below you.

The kids cheer and you drop the apple, shaking the clumps off your palm and unthinkingly, you bring your hand to your mouth where you lick the juices off your fingers. You glance over to Steve and Eddie and flush when you see their eyes trained on your lips and fingers, their mouths hung open and cheeks flushed.

“That was awesome!”

“So cool!”

“Okay” Dustin raises his voice over the noise, “Next! Try this-”

He hands you a small, rock that fits neatly into the palm of your hand. You wrap your fingers around it much the same as you did to the apple and squeeze. You feel the crunch and grind off the rock and when you open your hand you’re left with smaller rocks and a pile of dust, the cheering gets louder - more excited.

You brush your hands off.

“What next?” You ask, you feel Eddie’s and Steve’s burning stare on you and you glance to them, biting your lip.

Eddie shuffles, dropping his cheek to rest on Steve’s shoulder as they watch - the sight of them has butterflies tickling your tummy and making you nervous. You shift in your spot, forcing your eyes to leave your boys and focus on Dustin, and he points to a group of trees.

“Let’s see how fast you can climb a tree!”

You snort, and shake your limbs.

“Ready?” You ask them.

“Go!” Lucas says and you push forward, launching yourself towards the group of trees. Once you’re close, you jump and push off the trunk of the tree next to the one you wanted to climb. The momentum propels you towards a low hanging branch and you swing off it, pulling yourself up and over it until you’re squatting on the branch.

“Holy shit!” Mike yells, the rest of the group starts shouting and clambering over themselves to instruct you to do increasingly more challenging tasks.

-

The full moon rapidly approaches and you can't sit still. You bones ache and feel like they could snap and shatter into a tiny million pieces at any moment, you have a deep burrowing itch and you feel like you could claw your skin off with how uncomfortable you are.

You feel yourself slipping, control lapsing and you find your mouth full of blood and teeth sharp or your nails have sharpened to deadly points.

You're frustrated, you haven't had this much trouble controlling yourself around the moon phases since you were a child.

Everything is building inside you and you can feel the strain, you're going to explode and you're so scared you'll hurt someone. Your friends seem to sense you're struggling because they give you space, don't push or tease you like they normally do.

You're clenching your fists and bouncing your leg while your friends talk. You're not paying attention, wishing for the night to hurry so you can get it over with, until you hear your name being called and you look over to them.

"Can you change someone?" Mike asks and you frown, confused at what he is asking.

"What?"

"Like, if you were to bite someone, would it change them to be like you?"

Your anger flares and you tenuous control slips, you don't realize just how much it slips until Steve is in your face holding you cheeks and talking to you. You focus.

"Hey, Bug, hey- its okay" You focus on his eyes and feel yourself settle, his warm hands ground you.

"I'm sorry" You whisper, pulling away from him and stumbling across the room, away from everyone.

"You should all go, I don't want to hurt you"

You slip away, hiding in the locked bathroom, knowing it wouldn't do much if it came down to it but needing that flimsy sense of safety between your friends and yourself.

You ignore Steve and Eddie's concerned voices- ignore Will apologizing to them, telling them he just wanted to know. Ignore the ache in your guts as you listen to their fading voices and heart beats.

"Baby?" Eddie's soft voice drifts through the door, "Are you okay?"

You're shaking your head and wrapping your arms around yourself, claws digging into the soft flesh of your arms, piercing your skin and you smell the sharp tang of your blood.

"Babe?"

You're gasping and there's blood filling your mouth and you can't stop it anymore. You struggle to your feet and yanking the door open, startling Eddie. You push past him, stumbling down the hall and clumsily opening the door that leads to your basement.

"Honey? What's-" Steve's moving to you, and you shake your head, tears wetting your cheeks.

Your throat feels like its tearing apart and you can't breathe. You practically throw yourself down the stairs and into the cage, you bones shifting under your skin and you're crying out.

You hear them rushing after you and you want to scream at them, to tell them to leave, but you all you can make out is a pained choking gurgle.

Your legs give out as you open the door, collapsing into it. You shake as your body begins the change - the bones in your legs and arms snap into pieces, the muscles tearing and skin ripping as they move and rearrange themselves. Your lungs fill with blood as your torso tears and elongates and your face breaks, bones pushing through your flesh and shifting.

You can't do anything but accept the pain and pray for it to be over.

Slowly, the agony recedes and you're left in a heap in the doorway to the cage, panting hard.

You hear a tentative footstep, two hearts beating hard and quick breathes behind you and you push yourself up. The movement pushing you fully into the cage and Steve steps up, carefully closing the door and latching it.

"I don't think you'll hurt us" He's telling you as you turn to face them, "But it makes you feel better to have this closed, right?"

His words are hard to process in this form, hard to comprehend and understand but he smells like safety and you huff.

Eddie moves to stand beside him, hand raising like he wants to touch, comfort you. His smell washes over you and you whine, home your mind whispers these two are home.

You don't realize you've moved until your snout is pressed against the bars, trying to get as close as you can - to breathe them in, to drown yourself in their scents.

"It's alright, sweet girl" Eddie says, gently brushing his fingers over your nose, "We're right here, okay? We'll be here with you"

Steve's fingers joins Eddie's and they gently caress your snout, your face, your ears, anywhere they can reach through the bars and you lower yourself. You curl up, large form pressed against the cold metal and they sit on the other side, fingers buried in your fur.

They talk to you, you're not sure about what but their voices and touch and hearts has you relaxing. You're not quite asleep but you could fall asleep, you don’t. Instead you listen, hyper aware of their presences and listening for danger.

You’re overwhelmed with the need to protect them, to keep them safe, to wrap yourself around them and not let anything happen to them. You whine again and press harder into the bars, trying to get closer.

The night passes slowly.

Steve ends up slumping over himself, fast asleep, and Eddie gently guides him down to rest his head in his lap. You watch as Eddie gently strokes his hair, a pang of something has you whining again and Eddie looks over to you.

“Don’t worry, honey” He’s saying, warm brown eyes smiling at you, “I’m used to staying up all night”

He talks to you for the rest of the night until you feel the grip the moon has on you lesson. You shuffle, whining, knowing agony was coming.

You loose focus, pain blooming under your fur as your limbs contort unnaturally. Your pained growls slowly morph into pained cries. You lie limply on the cold ground, eyes closed and panting. Trying to breathe through the transformation, trying to muster the energy to pick yourself up.

You can't.

You have nothing left.

Tears seep from under your closed eyes and your muscles contract painfully. Your nerves are on fire and you heave a sob as a blanket is draped over you, the soft fabric rubbing against your raw skin.

"I've got you" Steve murmurs as he picks you up and cradles you against his chest.

He carefully carries you to your room and Eddie pulls your comforter down for him. Steve gently places you in the center of your bed and they tuck you in.

You're not sure how long it takes for you to stop trembling, for the pain to recede but eventually you become aware of a hand on your calf, gently massaging your muscles.

"Feels good" You mumble, unable to shift enough to see who it was.

"Helping with the pain?" Eddie's soft voice drifts up to you and you nod slightly.

Steve and Eddie talk quietly and then you feel your body being rolled. They move you until you're lying on your stomach and they replace your thick comforter with a towel, carefully draped over your body.

Steve sits beside your head and gently strokes your hair as Eddie massages you. They surround you with their touch and scent and you don't think you've ever felt this relaxed after a transformation.

Later you're cradled against Eddie's chest as you both nap on the couch. Your ear pressed firmly over his heart and you let the soothing beat carry you into a dreamless sleep. The sound of the phone ringing startles you awake, Eddie grips you tighter as he stirs.

“I’ll get it” Steve says lightly, gently stroking your hair.

You let your eyes fall closed and settle back against Eddie and listen to Steve’s muffled voice, a few moments pass and there’s a soft hand on your cheek.

“Hey Bug. Do you think you’re up for visitors? The kids want to come see you”

“Hmm, yeah” You slur, “Might end up sleeping though”

“I’ll let them know”

Eddie starts running his fingers in your hair and you feel yourself relaxing against him, slipping back into a light slumber. 

You awaken to multiple voices and heart beats, clashing scents fill your lungs and you groan as you sit, moving off Eddie’s chest.

“Hey!” Dustin says, beaming at you and you smile weakly. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you” Mike looks at you and sighs, you raise your eyebrow.

“You didn’t”

“So why’d you go all weird then?” He pries.

“Mike” Steve glares at him and he just shrugs.

You don’t have the energy to entertain so you just slump against the couch and let their voices soothe you, taking offered food and water as the afternoon passes by.

“You alright?” Eddie murmurs, leaning into your side.

“Just tired” You sigh, a small smile twitching at your lips.

“Need anything?”

You shake your head and snuggle down into the couch, Eddie’s warm hand pressed against your arm.

The group keep you company over the next few days and you’re grateful for it. Their constant presence and warmth easing your soul in ways you didn’t realize you needed. As the days pass, the group seems to settle back into quizzing you and finding out everything they can - everything you can tell them.

You’re waiting for the group to come over for the evening when the door explodes open. Fear overtakes you and you freeze as a familiar scent fills the room - one you haven’t smelt since your parent’s deaths.

You can’t move as the group of men storm into your home, guns pointed at you. One of them shoves you into the wall, pain blooms in the back of your skull and you scramble, trying to get away.

You manage to get a few steps down the hallway towards the bedroom when you’re tackled from behind. You collide with the ground, heavy weight of the hunter pressing you down until he lifts himself and turns you over.

“Where do you think you’re going, mutt?” He snarls, raising his fist and slamming it against your face.

Pain bursts behind your eyes and you whimper as he shoves a needle into the side of your neck, injecting you with an unknown substance that makes you feel sluggish and weak.

He pummels his fist against your face and you weakly struggle, hands hitting at the man’s chest. One final hit makes your vision black out and you stay unconscious.

You become aware of cold, biting metal burning your bare skin. Your eyes shoot open as you panic.

They've wrapped silver chains around your wrists, suspending you from a hook in the ceiling. Your arms ached from being held up for so long, the pain in your wrists almost unbearable.

You struggle to find purchase on the cold floor, the tips of your toes brushing uselessly against it.

The hunters had cut away your clothes, leaving you in nothing but your undies and you felt so exposed, vulnerable.

Your face ached and throbbed painfully from the beating you took earlier and you knew it was just the start.

You glance around the room, not seeing much besides a couple of old rusted tables and chairs. Four men had made a makeshift camp on the other side of the room, sitting around on the chairs and organizing their tools.

One of the men looks over and sees you staring at him.

“It’s finally awake”

The men move, sauntering over to you with cruel smiles and sharp movements. Your body shakes slightly, fear and adrenaline over taking you.

“Let me go, please”

You're not above begging them to spare you, so you do. They laugh loudly.

"Let you go?" One snickers, "Why the fuck would we let a monster like you go?"

"It's almost like it thinks it deserves to live" Another one chortles.

You knew they wanted you to break, to sob and plead and when it became too much - to shift, transforming into the monster they believed you to be. They wanted you to prove them right. Unfortunately for them you were, if anything, incredibly stubborn.

You wouldn't let them see how scared you were, you refused to play their game. If they were going to kill you, they would have to kill you as a human.

You clenched your jaw tightly, teeth grinding together and you focus on thoughts of Steve and Eddie, tuning out their cruel laughter and comments.

A hand entwines in your hair and harshly tugs, pulling your face back and forcing you to look at him.

"Here's what's going to happen, bitch" The man snarls at you. "We're going to do some... tests. And experiment a little, figure out what makes you tick."

You don't say anything, staring blankly at his twisted face.

"We've been watching you for a while now" His voice is low and quiet, "We know you've found yourself a new little pack. I wonder if you've infected any of them"

Panic wells inside your throat and it takes everything in you not to snarl and threaten him, to tell him you'd kill him if he touched your family.

It's what they wanted, for you to loose control and give them a reason to hurt you, not that they really needed one.

You take a deep breath, a voice in your mind chanting that Eddie and Steve are fine, Nancy and Robin and Jonathan are fine, the kids are fine. They won't hurt them unless they have evidence to prove they're not wholly human and they don't.

All you could do is hold onto the hope you could take the pain, that you could cling to your humanity long enough for someone to find you or for the hunters to get bored and end your suffering.

Hope was all you had now.

Hope that you’d make it out of the same situation your parents couldn’t.

#stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steve x reader x eddie #i:my writing #story:owam

[milkyruins]

## soccer coach!boo seungkwan x reader, A CUTE MESS

summary: through a series of semi-violent events (aka you're hit in the face with a soccer ball), you end up meeting the cutest mess ever (aka coach boo seungkwan).

genre: fluff

content warnings: reader receives a head injury, reader has a little sister

wc: 1.1k

maybe the lizard life wasn’t so bad.

lying around in the hot sun while waiting for your little sister to finish soccer practice felt amazing. you would totally be willing to become a cold-blooded reptile for the excuse to do this more often.

the sunny day was soothing and soon you felt yourself on the verge of a glorious nap. ah, you thought as your eyelids fluttered shut, this is the life.

“LOOK OUT!”

and then you realized that you were very close to a group of tiny tots who have barely any motor skills. falling asleep is dangerous on the edge of a soccer field.

all at once, a bulldozer’s worth of pain slapped you across the face. as you opened your eyes, a small legion of tears formed on your waterline, threatening to spill over. and your entire face started to ache. god, there was going to be a bruise.

for a small kiddo, that soccer ball packed a whole bunch of force.

“y/n-ie, are you okay?” your little sister called to you, waddling over as fast as she could. despite the visceral pain you were in, you smiled as best as you could.

“i should be alright! go focus on practice.” as she approached you, you gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before sending her back to her team of frozen peers.

a throbbing headache flooded your senses and you laid down to ease it, even if only slightly. before you shut your eyes again, you caught your sister pouting in your direction. ah, she caught you– you were not going to be alright.

after a few moments of peace, a voice loomed over you.

“hey, you’re the one who just got hit by one of my kid’s soccer balls? y/n, right?”

you opened your eyes to be met with an angel. the sun against his backside haloed around him, illuminating him with a soft glow. strands of brown hair, now honeyed by the sunlight, framed his face perfectly. and despite the concern that furrowed his brow, his beauty was still undeniable. maybe you were just dizzy from the

“ah! i forgot to introduce myself. i’m boo seungkwan, coach of your younger sister’s team– pledis fc? anyways, she said you didn’t look too great so i brought some stuff over.”

he handed you a water bottle. confused, you shot him a look of mild disbelief. “what-”

“this is for your head. it’s the coldest thing i could find in our cooler.” he squirmed a bit under your pointed gaze. nevertheless, he shot you the prettiest smile ever.

his eyes shot open and he scrambled to hold up his fingers in front of your face. “i almost forgot! can you tell me how many fingers i’m holding up?”

“three.” he let out a sigh of relief. “i’m fine, really. thank you though, coach boo.”

he chuckled a bit, shaking his head. “only my kiddos call me that! you can call me seungkwan.”

you shot back a half-smile, placing the water bottle to your forehead. “alright then, seungkwan.”

“you have to take extra care of yourself, alright? even if you feel okay now, you could feel worse later. call your doctor if the pain doesn’t ease up. and be gentle with yourself! being hit where you were hit can lead to concussions and whatnot.” he humphed to punctuate his safety rant.

you laughed a bit, waving him off. “i’ll be good, seungkwan. plus, you might want to be a bit more concerned for your ‘kiddos’.”

“i told them to do some simple drills, they’re taking care of themselves.”

you pointed directly behind him, and begrudgingly, his eyes followed. “shit.”

you were near hysterics as seungkwan scrambled back to his tots, who were dunking each other with water from the cooler instead. well, it’s one way to beat the heat.

but you really couldn’t focus on his coaching tribulations when he was such a cute mess.

the rest of practice flew by. no more stray soccer balls decided to target you and you were starting to feel a lot less achy.

once the sun began to sink below the horizon, your sister made her way back to you. a demonic grin possessed her features as her sweaty self pointed at the angelic coach. with a voice that carried throughout the entire field, she proudly announced:

“y/n-ie, coach boo accidentally told us that you were very, very-” at this point, a giggle erupted out of her. “pretty.”

your jaw practically unhinged at this completely unwarranted compliment. the pretty coach thought you were pretty? not only that, but very, very pretty? ridiculous. 

another person also seemed absolutely bewildered. boo seungkwan, who was in the midst of cleaning up after his players, bloomed bright red in response to your sister’s very loud comment. with a triumphant thump, the sack of soccer balls he was carrying slid right out of his hand, resulting in an flooding of soccer balls all across the once pristine field. 

perhaps… your sister’s words held a bit of truth? well, if that uber-smooth reaction was anything to go off. if that was the case…

you got up slowly (heeding seungkwan’s words to take it a bit easy) and made your way over to seungkwan, who was currently doing a little panicked dance. on the way over, you swept up a ball. 

“seungkwan? here’s one of your balls.”

he jolted at the sound of your voice, but after seeing the soft expression on your face, he eased up a bit.

his hand reached for the ball and stole it from your hands easily. “ah, thanks y/n.”

before he could turn away again, you grabbed ahold of his wrist, making him almost drop the soccer ball in his hand (again).

your eyes met his. “also, i think you’re really pretty too. can i join you during practice more often?”

“yes,” he breathed, stupor lacing his features. “of course.”

a hush fell over you two as you just enjoyed the proximity. just for a few seconds, the world felt at ease (and your headache quieted into a dull throb). 

seungkwan’s lip quirked up. “i can even bring a few extra coolers to build you a barricade. so, you know, no more balls to the face.”

“and i can bring you a sturdier bag. so, you know, no more balls spilling out.” an equally glorious smirk plastered itself onto your face.

oh, this would definitely work. this dynamic, being able to potentially kiss his pretty self, it would all definitely work.

#seventeen imagines #seungkwan imagines #seventeen fluff #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan x reader #svt imagines #svt x reader #SEUNGKWAN IS FLUSTERED A:LDFJ #I LOVE HIM #I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM #ahem #! 💬. ⋆｡𖦹 °✩ minis

[tamedstray]

obvi vigor x nox for the kid meme <3

Name: Karina Kovach

Gender: Cis female

General appearance: At first, Karina appears human or half-elven, with perhaps a touch of moon elf* heritage. She is extremely fair with soft waves of porcelain blonde hair. She has her father's brown eyes, though a wider patch of glacial grey-blue in the left eye. Karina is relatively tall (5'8'') with a lithe build. She wears her hair down to cover her ears, tired of hearing the insult ❝zenar❞ (less than half).

*mistaken as moon elf heritage

Personality: Determined and stubborn. Confident yet blunt. Despite growing up with a loving extended family in the Bailey. Karina is slow to open up to people, instinctively picking up on things in her parent's pasts they don't wish to talk about, and heavy with knowledge of how many horrible people live beyond the walls of her home. This improves as she enters adulthood, learning to become less closed-off and independent with time.

      Her appearance helps her blend in, but she resents the fact that Felicity can't, given that her older sister is such a radiant force of joy despite her unique appearance and disability. Karina considers it a great injustice, and feels a lot of anger towards those who hurt her family, even if she is fortunate enough to have never met them.

+ Highly intuitive, determined, hard-working, fiercely protective - Shuts people out, melancholic, difficult, blunt

Special Talents: As a young teenager, parts of Karina's appearance would shift when upset or angry. Eventually, she learned to cast Disguise Self at will, and has managed to control the more chaotic aspect of her changeling heritage. However, those who look closely with get a glimpse of suddenly darkening eyes, or streaks of colour in her hair that run like wind over water, only to vanish before anyone can be certain of what they saw.

Who they like better: Nox. She is lucky to be proud of both her parents, but looks up to Nox more than Vigor. She enjoys her father's playful side, but can't relate to his interest in nature or romantic tales. Her father might be a good man, and a symbol of diplomacy and change, but her mother built their home. Even so, despite all the love she has for her mother, it can be hard sensing pain that lay beneath the surface, and Karina often turns to Jaheira when she doesn't want to think about her grandfather.

Who they take after more: Karina's personality was heavily influenced by seeing her mother's work. But she wouldn't consider herself similar to her mother, despite sharing so much. Karina has yet to nurture the more gentle side within her, weighted down by anger at her grandfather and the people the Briar Knights hunt.

      In appearance, Karina appears more like her human father. She is grateful not to be subject to the same concern her mother and sister share, but seeing Felicity hide her natural appearance only fuels Karina's angry heart.

Personal headcanon(s):

Has developed secret signs with Felicity.

Extremely close with Felicity. Always nearby to translate for her, as well as being the first to react if anyone dared comment on her appearance.

She not only considers Felicity's curse a grave injustice, but Karina is insecure about being so closed-off and cold compared to her carefree and personable sister. She feels like she has to be more social, given that she can speak and lacks obvious changeling and shadar-kai heritage, but finds herself unable to meet the standard she sets for herself.

She can sing, but few are lucky to hear it. She mainly saves her voice for her sister, Jaheira, and Cordelia. She is too shy to sing around her parents. Her singing voice is soft and breathy.

Can play a few tunes on the lute. She is less shy about this, even if it's just a few basic songs. Has played for the Bailey's patrons a few times.

Overwhelmed with frustration and anger, Karina is approached by the archfey Oberon, offering her a pact that would grant her sister a voice. A small favour to ask of a King, so he makes a reasonable request in exchange: to one day join him in the Feywilds. Karina gladly accepts, becoming marked with tattoos in the process. She does not regret her choice, and honours Oberon by freeing enslaved and mistreated animals, just as her parents help those who need them the most.

Face Claim: Freya Allan

#notyetfixed #nox #r. 𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊 { Nox } #just a v angry teen / woman who gets overwhelmed by the injustice of the world - even if she knows people who fight it #it never feels like enough - or shouldnt happen in the first place #ANYWAY #happy to make any edits <3 #mainly wrote her with her being around 16 in mind #lots of anger and not having a fully formed personality yet

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Rocky Relationship

Summary: Before they leave Fantabulous Neon, Roman gives something to Noise.

…

The cab is still pulling away when Roman calls for it to stop.  The frog driving doesn’t seem very happy with this, but Roman slips him an extra gold coin and jumps back out.

“Noise!” he calls, running back towards the gates to Fantabulous Neon.  Noise turns in surprise, and his face falls when he sees Roman again.

“Roman,” they say.  “I really can’t come with you—”

“I know,” Roman says, digging inside his bag.  “Just hang on.  I want to give you something.”

Noise shifts and crosses his arms, seeming hesitant, but at least not moving away.

After a second, Roman pulls out his rock of the two that Criss and Cross gave them, and passes it over to Noise.

“Uh, gee thanks?” Noise says, sounding a little confused.

“It’s magic,” Roman says.  “We’ve got the other one, talk into it and you’ll be able to hear us.”

“Wait, I’ll— hello?” Noise says into the rock.

There’s a pause, and then Youngblood’s voice says “Noise?” from the other side.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Noise says, starting to smile just a little.

“Keep it,” Roman says, closing Noise’s hand over the rock.  “We’ll talk to you when we get to Frog Town, and you can do the same when you get… where you’re going.”  He very intentionally does not look at the Bard College.

Noise smiles a little wider up at him.  “Okay,” they say.  “Thanks, Roman.”

Roman grins at him, and waves as he turns to run off again, slipping back into the car with a thanks to the driver.

“That was a good idea, Roman,” Youngblood says quietly as they pull away for real this time.

“Really?” Roman says, turning to him with a grin.  “Awesome!  I don’t tend to have a lot of those!”

Youngblood snorts and shoves him lightly on his shoulder.

And when a couple hours later, Noise’s voice comes through the rock and tells them they’ve made it back safely, Youngblood sighs in relief and leans his head just slightly against Roman’s shoulder.

Roman decides not to comment on it.

…

It becomes a regular thing for Roman and Youngblood to say goodnight to Noise using the rock.  Noise often pretends to sound irritated, but since he always has to be the one who starts it due to safety reasons, Roman knows he’s just pretending.

Youngblood is always a little more grateful for the reassurances of safety than he lets on to Noise, but Roman can tell.  He decides after a week or so that he needs to talk to him about it.

He doesn’t want to bring it up to Noise, who definitely has other things on their mind, but if Roman can help Youngblood feel better, he wants to know how to do it.

So, that night, after they finish saying goodbye to Noise and put the rock back in Roman’s bag, Roman heads over to the bed they’re sharing that night and sits down on it to face Youngblood.

“Hey,” he says.  “Do we need to talk about something?”

Youngblood turns to him.  “What do you mean?”

“I… you seem really worried,” Roman says hesitantly.  “About Noise.  Like you’re waiting to talk to him every night to make sure he’s alive.”

Youngblood bites his lip.  “I am, Roman,” he says quietly.

Roman narrows his eyes in concern.  “Why?  I mean, I guessed the Bard College was bad, but…”

“Noise isn’t safe, Roman,” Youngblood says, leaning back on his bed.  “We were two high priority prisoners, and they just let us go.  At the same time a city important to the Bard King was destroyed.  They’re not going to get off scot free.  You know that, right?”

“I… didn’t want to think about it,” Roman admits.  “I figured the ‘taking Noise’s eye’ thing is what the Bard King is like when he’s at his worst.”

Youngblood is quiet for a long moment.

“It is,” he says, and Roman remembers suddenly that he was first chair for a time too.

Roman lies down on the bed next to Youngblood and hesitantly wraps his arms around him.  Youngblood doesn’t react, but when Roman starts to move away he stiffens, so Roman stops and stays there.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks softly.

Youngblood shakes his head.  “I’m okay,” he says.

“Were you this worried the whole time you were gone?” Roman asks.

“I mean, I didn’t know for sure that Noise would be made first chair,” Youngblood says.  “But… kinda.  Yeah.”

Roman makes a concerned noise and holds him tighter.  Youngblood doesn’t move, but still doesn’t move away.

The two of them eventually fall asleep like that.

…

They don’t usually get a ton of updates from Noise outside of good mornings and goodnights, which is fine.  He’s busy, he’s got so many things to worry about, and Roman and Youngblood don’t exactly have a ton of free time either.  But knowing the ability is there makes Roman feel better.  And Youngblood takes to fidgeting with the rock to soothe himself when he’s nervous about anything at all, which tells Roman everything he needs to know about the importance of the ability to Youngblood.

They do try to make other times to talk, even if they’re fewer and farther between than any of them would like.  They know when most of Noise’s days off are, so they make sure to plan some time to talk on those days, and it’s mostly during this that Roman gets to know Noise.

He learns how Youngblood and Noise met, during their first days at the Bard College together.  Picturing the two of them as adorable kids is definitely a pastime Roman is finding himself enjoying.  He hears about some of the greatest hits from their relationship, like the time Noise made them both late for a mission because they got tangled up in their own tail.  Noise, naturally, immediately countered with a story about the time Youngblood got them both horribly lost while trying to find their way to their own rooms, that had ended up being moved only a hallway over.

Roman absorbs the entirety of these stories while leaning on his hand and laughing about the people who have become his friends.

Not long after thinking that, however, he realizes he hasn’t actually had that conversation with Noise, and he probably should.  He made sure Youngblood was okay with calling the two of them friends, he owes Noise the same courtesy.

So, one night, Roman asks if he can talk to Noise alone for a second (and of course he’s told Youngblood the topic beforehand).

Noise seems nervous, but not necessarily surprised, which actually surprises Roman.

“Did Youngblood tell you I wanted to talk?” Noise asks, as soon as Roman informs him Youngblood has left the room.  He sounds nervous.

“What?  Oh, no, actually, I told him that I wanted to talk to you,” Roman admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly even though Noise can’t see it.

“Oh,” Noise says, now sounding surprised themself.  “About what?”

Roman clears his throat.  “I uh, well.  What did you want to talk about?”

“No, no, you first, I insist,” Noise says, his voice rising higher in pitch.

“Okay,” Roman says, shoving his nerves down.  It’s just Noise, you like Noise, you trust Noise.

“Okay,” Roman says again, this time with a sigh.  “So, when Youngblood and I first became friends, I asked him first, because I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with it, cause he has this thing about letting people get close.”

Noise laughs, just a little.  “I know.”

“Yeah!  So anyway, the other day I realized I considered you a friend, but also that I haven’t actually asked you about that yet, so I wanted to do that!  Ask if you want to be friends, that is.  Just to make sure that we’re all on the same page.”  Roman leans back so he can look at the rock as he finishes talking, hoping it’s not going to stay silent for a long time.

Thankfully, after a second, Noise replies.

“Oh,” they say, their voice sounding warm, which has to be a good sign.  “I… would really like that, Roman.  That’s… very sweet of you.”

Roman beams down at the rock.  “Excellent!  I’m so glad!  Now what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I… nothing.  It’s not important.”

Roman narrows his eyes slightly in concern.  “Are you sure?  You sounded nervous about it.”

“Yeah.  It would ruin the mood now.”

Roman leans closer to the rock, though that doesn’t actually bring him closer to Noise.  “Noise, what’s going on?”

“I… didn’t realize,” Noise says hesitantly.  “That you wanted to be friends.  It changes things.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

Noise doesn’t say anything.

Roman picks up the rock.  “Noise, what’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

There’s a pause.

“Noise?”

“Someone’s coming,” Noise says.  “I have to go.”

“What?  Who’s coming?” Roman asks.  But he gets no response.

…

Obviously Roman tells Youngblood what happened, but neither of them really know what to do about it.  Noise doesn’t mention anything the following day when they talk in the morning, and they don’t want to push and potentially cause some kind of problem.

So, despite how little either of them want to, they let it go for now.  If anything is really wrong, Noise will tell them.  Right?

Either way, things go back to normal for the time being.  Roman and Youngblood travel, visiting towns and cities and cabins they find on the side of the road stuck in the middle of nowhere.  Noise talks to them every night and every morning, and Roman quickly wishes more and more that they’d brought him with them.  He can tell Youngblood feels the same.

Things come to a breaking point when Noise doesn’t talk to them at all one day.  Roman assumes at first that he got up late, as he can miss their morning meetings that way, but then Youngblood says he hasn’t heard anything yet, and they both sit around the rock until it’s too late in the morning and they absolutely have to get ready or else they’re going to be stuck outside at a campsite with a storm coming in the distance.  They’ll try later that night.  It’ll be fine.

Except Noise doesn’t answer that night either, and they sit up at the inn they’re staying at that night until well into the morning, with rain pounding against the outside walls.

They both decide without saying anything to stay there an extra day, at least until they hear something from Noise.

But he doesn’t say anything that night either, and Roman can tell it’s really starting to get to Youngblood.  It’s not not getting to him too.

Finally, finally, the next morning they’re both awoken from fitful sleep curled up next to each other to the sound of Noise’s voice.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Noise?  What happened?” Youngblood says, in the angriest sleepy voice Roman has ever heard.  He’s already jumping out of the bed and looking much more awake.

Roman, on the other hand, sits up and starts shaking his head back and forth to wake himself up further.  “Yeah, where’ve y’been?” he says, trying to muster up some real anger himself.  “Were worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Noise says.  Roman tries to pick out any tone from their voice, but it instead sounds flat and carefully even, like they’re intentionally trying not to give anything away.  “The Bard King sent me on a mission with no warning, I didn’t have time to tell you or grab anything.”

Youngblood collapses back on the bed with a relieved sigh.  “Fuck, Noise.”

“I’m sorry.  There wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

“We’re not mad at you,” Roman says.  “We were just worried.”

“This feels inevitable, honestly,” Youngblood says with another sigh.  “We should have come up with a plan before now.”

“Like what?” Noise asks.  “There’s nothing we can do.”

No one says anything for a moment.  He’s right, but that doesn’t mean any of them have to like it.

Finally, Youngblood asks, “Are you okay?  What was the mission?”

Roman glances over at Youngblood, and finds him looking suspicious and thoughtful, in a way Roman very much does not like.

“I had to pick up some prisoners,” Noise says.  “It wasn’t hard, just— just time consuming.”

Roman keeps looking at Youngblood, who hasn’t said anything, but after another second his eyes narrow.

“You’re hurt,” he says shortly.

Roman’s eyes widen at the same time Noise tries to protest.

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that Roman and Youngblood spend looking at the rock.

“Noise?” Roman asks finally.

“There were three of them, and they were big,” Noise grumbles finally.  “I’m just a little bruised.”

“Are you saying you were sent alone?” Youngblood asks, sounding angry at the concept.

“I’m fine,” Noise snaps.  “I can handle it.”

“Well obviously you can’t!”

“Okay woah,” Roman says, gently taking the rock from Youngblood.  “Let’s all take a deep breath, okay?  Noise, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Noise grumbles.  “Eventually.”

Roman stamps down his own worry at the statement.

“Alright,” he says anyway.  “Is there anything we can do?”

“Talk about something else,” Noise snaps.  Roman suspects it came out angrier than Noise meant it, but either way, he obliges.

“The number of towns with Burgundy Red’s Breads stands in them is now up to 17,” Roman says, an update on the tally Noise asked him to keep track of.

“Oooh, and how many towns don’t have them at all?” Noise asks, sounding like he’s perked up at the information.

“3,” Roman says, “from what I can see, that is.  But I think one of them is getting a shop sometime soon.”

“And thus Burgundy grows ever closer to her goal of world domination via croissants,” Noise says, sounding amused at the concept.

“I’m surprised you think she’s not there already,” Roman says with a grin, and Noise laughs.

Before Noise says something else, however, Youngblood stands up, with a loud enough sound that Noise seems to hear it too.  Youngblood walks out without a word, and Roman looks after him in concern, but he just closes the door behind him and leaves Roman in here alone with Noise— or, with the rock.

“Uh, you guys still there?” Noise asks after a second.  “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Roman says, trying not to sound like he’s obviously lying.  “Youngblood just has to take care of something, so it’s just us for a minute.”

Noise sighs, meaning Roman did a bad job at lying.  “Did he storm out?”

Roman bites his lip.  “I think he’s just worried about you,” he says.  “We both are.”

“I’m fine,” Noise says.  “Honestly.  I know he doesn’t think I can handle myself, but I can.”

“Noise,” Roman says, narrowing his eyes in concern.  “That’s not what he thinks.”

“Oh please.  That’s what everyone thinks,” Noise grumbles.  “But I can take care of myself.  I don’t need you two looking after me.”

“Noise,” Roman says, crossing his arms.  “We both know you can take care of yourself.  We’re just worried.  Because we’re your friends and we care about you.”

Noise doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Noise?”

“I was going to ask you to make sure Youngblood didn’t come back for me,” Noise says quietly.

Roman blinks.  “What?”

“The other day.  When you asked if we could be friends.  That’s what I was going to ask.  I didn’t realize you cared about me that much already,” Noise says.  “I thought… I could ask you to keep him away, and you might say yes.”

Roman narrows his eyes.  “Why would I do that?”

“You wouldn’t,” Noise says.  “That’s what I realized.”

Roman doesn’t know what to say to that.

Finally, Noise says, “I have to go.”

“So soon?” Roman asks, disappointed.

“Yeah, I’ve got to report to the Bard King for a mission,” Noise says.

“Wh- another— Noise, aren’t you hurt?”

“I’ll see you later,” Noise says, and then nothing else.

“Noise?” Roman asks, but they’ve already established that if Noise says they have to go, that usually means they’re leaving the rock behind because it’s not safe to bring it.

Roman bites his lip in worry, slips the rock into their bag, and goes to find Youngblood.

…

Youngblood is sitting up on the roof of the inn, since the rest of the town is too small to really go unnoticed anywhere, staring into the distance with a brooding gaze.

“Are you gonna stop glaring now?” Roman asks as he sits down next to him.

Predictably, Youngblood glares at him in response.

“You’re not going to fix things by storming off,” Roman says, crossing his arms.  “I know you’re worried, but there’s nothing we could be doing differently.”

Youngblood squeezes his eyes closed with a sigh.  “Why do you think I’m worried,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Roman says, wrapping an arm around Youngblood from the side.  “But it’s really not going to help if Noise thinks you’re angry at him.”

Youngblood sighs again and drops his head on his knees.  “Why couldn’t he just come with us?  I mean, I know why,” he adds before Roman can say anything.  “But still.”

Roman bites his lip.  “They said they were going to ask me to try and keep you away,” he says.  “That day I asked them if we could be friends, they were going to ask if I could stop you from going back for them.  Before they realized I wouldn’t do that.”

Youngblood doesn’t say anything for a minute, then turns suddenly to look at Roman.  “Why would he need to ask you to do that?” he asks, his voice low.

“What?  I don’t know, he said—”

“Why would he expect that I’d want to go back to the point of actually doing it?  What isn’t he telling us?”

Roman opens his mouth and leaves it hanging there for a second.  “I… don’t know,” he admits.

Youngblood stands up again and marches back over to the part of the roof that leads back inside.

“What— Youngblood, wait!” Roman cries, moving to go after him.

He doesn’t catch up to Youngblood, however, until he reaches their room and is already fishing the rock out of the bag.

“Noise,” he says, though neither of them know if anything will be heard.  “Noise, are you there?”

There’s silence.

“Youngblood, he told me he had to go before I came to find you,” Roman says, putting a hand on Youngblood’s shoulder, though he can’t deny that he’s scared too.

“Noise,” Youngblood says one more time.

There’s another moment of quiet, and then Noise’s voice comes from the rock.  “Bloody, I said I had to go.”

“What is going on,” Youngblood says instead of reacting to what Noise said in any way.  “Why would I be needing to come back there?”

“You wouldn’t,” Noise says.  “You shouldn’t.  It was a precaution.”

“That’s crap.  What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Noise says, though it has none of the bite from earlier.

“Noise, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Noise says again.  “I’m fine—” but their voice breaks on the word, and a second later they hear a barely muffled sob.

“Noise?” Roman asks, leaning forward.

Youngblood, next to him, sets his brow and hands the rock to Roman.  “We’re coming to get you,” he says, and he starts gathering their bags.

“No,” Noise says, though his voice is shaking.  “You can’t come here, it’s not safe for you.”

“And clearly it’s not safe for you either!” Youngblood snaps.  “I don’t care, Noise.  We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” Noise says weakly.  “Please just— just stay safe.”

“Noise,” Roman says, sitting down on the bed so Youngblood can pack.  “What was that about wanting us to know you can take care of yourself?”

“I can.”

“Well, so can we.  We’ll be alright.”

Noise is quiet for a minute.  “They’d never stop coming after us,” they say quietly.

“As opposed to right now, where they leave us alone entirely?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow.

Noise laughs just a little.  “Fair enough,” he admits.

Youngblood sets their two bags on the bed next to Roman.  “We’re gonna be there as soon as we can,” he says.  “Okay?  We’ll work out a plan on the way.”

Noise is quiet for another minute.  “Okay,” they say quietly.  “Don’t get killed.”

“We won’t.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Roman says.  “We love you, you know.”

Noise sniffs.  “Fuck you.  You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Youngblood says.  “See you soon.”

“You,” Noise says, and then stops.

“Noise?” Roman asks.

“You promise you don’t think I’m weak?” Noise mumbles after a second.

Youngblood snorts.  “Anyone who thinks that has a nasty surprise coming their way,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“You can need help without being weak,” Roman adds.

Noise huffs in what sounds like disbelief.  “Okay, sure.  See you soon.”

Roman narrows his eyes slightly.  Okay, so they can work on that.

“See you soon,” he says anyway, and takes one of the bags as he stands up, Youngblood taking the other one.

Roman is pretty sure he hears Noise mutter something about loving them too as they leave, but he’ll keep it to himself for now.  They have a friend to collect.

#roleslaying with roman #rswr roman #rswr youngblood #rswr noise #platonic blood red song #platonic galaxy polycule #no i do not apologize for the title #my fic

[m0tiv8me]

"body positive self love blog" Please stop kidding yourself. You cannot be "body positive" while promoting dieting, "clean eating," and weight loss. That is the complete opposite of body positivity. The body positive movement was CREATED BY fat activists. Stop using it to cover the harm you cause as if it's some buzzword that means nothing. I'm disgusted that you think it's okay to call yourself body positive when the entire point of your blog is following diet culture and fat hatred.

I don’t typically respond to rants or hate fueled messages simply because it usually leads down an infinite rabbit hole of debate. But, these types of messages usually come via anon so as a sign of respect for openly sharing your opinion I’ll share my own.

No doubt your argument has some validity from one specific perspective. However, I don’t share the same perspective. The “diet culture” you speak of is the one pushed my brands and sponsored athletes that preys upon people whose sole interest is lowering their weight. The word Diet in our society has become synonymous with weight loss. However your “Diet” is actually comprised of anything and everything you consume wether good or not.

My emphasis and promotion of good diet is not centered around just weight loss. Weight loss is no doubt often a product of improved diet. But so is energy levels, mental health, physical health and so much more. A good balanced diet can help greatly contribute to long term mental and physical health and goes way beyond the scale. To scoff at another and claim “fat hatred”for promoting healthy diet tells me that your perception of diet is rooted exactly where main stream society tells you it should be and that is all about your weight.

First off a person is NOT fat they HAVE fat and so does everyone! Some more than others. People with excess amounts may struggle to lose that excess fat but still benefit from an improved diet beyond just weight loss. People who suffer from eating disorders who actually NEED more fat can benefit from an improved diet as well. People who don’t struggle with either excess or not enough fat can even benefit from healthy consistent diet.

As for “body positive” and “self love” it’s concerning that you only seem to associate these things with a persons weight. Body positive self love goes far beyond just weight. It touches on every physical and mental aspect of ourselves. Scars, abnormalities, skin color, hair color, body composition, lips, nose, legs arms whatever. Someone’s hair cannot be “fat” but a balding man may think less of his appearance than a man with a full head of hair. A shorter woman may feel self conscious when around taller women. A teenage girl may think her lips are too thin or a boy may feel like his voice sounds funny. These are all things about ourselves that we must learn to love and accept as who we are. Some we cannot change and some we can. It’s the freedom of each of us to take action towards things that help us love ourselves a little bit more and that WILL NOT be the same for everyone.

My own ideals of helping myself increase my own positive self perspective and body positivity are reflected on my blog. I don’t expect them to align with everyone else’s and I would invite people like yourself who visit my blog that disagree to consider expanding their perspective and respect others opinions or kindly move along and refrain from spewing hate because my ideals don’t seem to align with your own. What’s truly disgusting in this world is being close minded and the idea that others should not be allowed to have a voice or opinion if it differs from their own.

#answered

[whatisreggieshortfor]

Vigilante Part Two

The only classmate you never actively interacted with was Todoroki. You refused. You’d managed to become friends with a girl that insisted you call her Tsu. You would look at Sato and see who you could’ve been, had you not chosen the path of a vigilante. He had the personality you did growing up, and he welcomed you in the kitchen whenever you felt the long gone urge to help him bake. He might’ve been your best friend. The first you’d had in…way too long for a kid. Tsu was a close second. Neither of them ever made you talk. Neither of them ever asked why you became a vigilante, Tsu would even be completely understanding when you would bow out of group hangouts, since Midoriya would always question everything and Iida would yell at you about safety. Sato’s friends were welcoming when it came to group hangouts if you didn’t want to be alone. They didn’t ask you questions, and they made you feel seen. Aizawa had introduced you to Power Loader’s student the sleepier man had mentioned, and while the two of you got along, she was a lot. But when she was in the need for a chiller night, the two of you would often hang out, or you would stop by her labs to describe gear you would’ve liked for your missions and she would start crafting. So in total, you had made three friends already. It was the most you’d had since you were four and were declared Quirkless. It was a breath of fresh air in your life. Sato had asked you one time, only once, why you never interacted with Todoroki directly. If anyone ever needed something from him, or to give him something, you would inconvenience yourself just to avoid being the one that got him. But he let it go when you said you didn’t want to talk about it and no one else ever questioned it. Until during sparring practice.

Aizawa was, admittedly, a little thrown off when he was announcing the duo sparring partners.

“L/N and Todoroki. You will be against-“

“No.”

“No?” He eyed you, as you stood in front of him, donned in your renewed vigilante costume. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no.” Your glare was almost icy. Aizawa has never been intimidated by one of his students before, but even he had to fight the urge to retreat under your gaze. “I will not be fighting or partnered with Endeavor’s son.”

“I am not my father.” You spun around to face the two sided boy, “I do not like my father any more than you like him.”

“No! You of all people do not get to say that to me! It’s Endeavor’s fault!”

“L/N,” Aizawa waited until you followed him away from the group to ask the question that sentence brought to his mind, “What is his fault?”

“He is the reason my father died!” Your voice was raised, and cracked, but you would not cry. You haven’t since the day you lost your father. You could feel your eyes burning, but you were not going to cry now.

“Your father dropped you off on the first day, did he not?” You spun around to see Todoroki a few feet away, apparently he had followed the two of you to the corner of the room.

“No. Chasm is not my father. He was my father’s sidekick. My father was in the top twenty five, and then he got stuck on a job with Endeavor, who cared more about his damn ego than the life of his partner.”

Todoroki seemed to finally crack his stoic expression as he paled a bit. “You- You’re-“

“I am the son of Pro Hero Bar. The metal hearted hero. L/N Yutaro.”

“My father mentioned he died but-“

You noticed the concerned expressions on your classmates faces, but you ignored them, “Your father could’ve saved him. But he didn’t. All to chase down some two bit villain that he didn’t even catch! You know who caught that asshole? I did. But when my father needed me most, I had to sit at home, and watch him bleed out and die on live tv. Because your arrogant ass father was so sure he could catch the guy and then help him. And he didn’t do either.” You turned before anyone could stop you, marching out of the gym even as Aizawa called your name.

Chasm looked up as you barged into his office, “Whoa, kiddo, you look like you’re about to go on a murder spree, what-“ He cut himself off as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever said it.” You took a deep breath, the side of your face pressed into the large man’s chest, “But I’m glad you had the stomach flu that day and I had to take care of you. Because if you had gone-“ your voice cracked but you pushed the tears back, “If you had gone, I might’ve lost you too.”

“Oh, honey…” Chasm just began to pet your hair, arms wrapped around you in return, until you were able to calm down.

You got back to your dorm to find Aizawa standing in front of the door, and you almost snorted at how out of place and awkward he looked holding a dessert container. “I apologize, Sensei.”

He held out the container, “Sato made this for you, problem child.”

“But?”

The underground hero sighed, “But obviously we need to talk about earlier.”

You nodded, opening the door to your dorm and setting the dessert on your desk. “Would you like some of this before we start?”

“No, kid, it’s all yours.” He waited until you perched on your bed to take a seat in your desk chair, “You hold Endeavor responsible for the death of your father.”

“Not…not exactly. I know it was the villain that actually killed him. But Endeavor- he could’ve done something. He could’ve even apologized that he didn’t help him. But when I got to the hospital and had to identify my dead father because Chasm was too sick, Endeavor was there.”

“What did he say to you?” Aizawa watched how the tears lined your eyes, how you clenched your jaw and pushed them back, and he had a deep burning anger filling him as you spoke the words.

“He told me that my father shouldn’t have been there if he couldn’t handle himself.”

Nedzu watched Aizawa closely, “You do realize that there will certainly be issues if this sort of knowledge gets out to the news outlets, correct?”

The hero teacher sighed, “I am aware. But Todoroki has never seemed to want to be around his father anyway, and this could help L/N let go of some of that pain he’s been carrying around.”

The principal nodded, “Very well. Pro Hero Endeavor, Todoroki Enji is no longer allowed on UA school grounds.”

You no longer had to argue about sparring partners. Todoroki was always set as from you in the gym as possible, and Monoma had become your partner when you needed to practice against the two quirks the dual boy used. And Shoto never argued with you. He even moved further from you in the classroom, and Tsu told you that he was trying to learn to respect a person’s boundaries.

You had noticed, when you finally got to eat it, that the dessert Sato made for you had a note, saying that he made his favorite for you because he didn’t know yours. So you made it for him, with a note thanking him for the sweet gesture.

Vigilante Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#my hero academia #my hero academia x male reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero fanfic #Quirkless reader #vigilante reader

[american-maryy]

The people who's deaths affected me greatly:

- Monty Oum: ive been a huge fan of his since watching Dead Fantasy. The way he animated fight scenes was so unique and exciting. And I loved watching his ddr videos. He was the reason I got to meet some online friends that i still consider to be close. People that loved the things that I loved, people that I could confide in about things that I normally couldn't my irl friends. When he died, it felt so surreal. I remember being in a college class, and not being able to concentrate. My friend, who had talked to him more often than I did, was even more so affected.

- my best friend from college: I remember asking her a question in a biology class, and that essentially put us on the path to becoming good friends. I was with her when she needed an oil change for her first car. Prior to her death, she was supposed to get married. My one regret was allowing my mental health at the time take over to the point I stopped hanging out with friends, including her. I wish I could have been with her for the last time.

- my maternal grandpa: I wont lie.....I wasn't as sad about my grandpa's death initially, but that's mostly because we had never met in person. Our first and last meeting was on Skype, when my family in the Philippines managed to come up with enough money to afford a computer and internet. The moment he saw my face, as well as my mom's, he cried. It had been 20 years since he last saw his daughter, and the first time seeing me. The thing that made me sad about his death was that we would never be able to meet in real life. I've always had.....complicated feelings towards my family (mostly on the paternal side) but with my maternal grandparents, even tho I never really got to grow up with them, I felt.....loved. and cherished by them. When I traveled to the PH for the first time, to view his grave, my maternal grandma treated me with such love and care, that I didn't know how to feel. She didn't judge me, nor looked down on me.....she made me food, and gave me a Lei of sampaguita. She made me feel special. She was like those grandmas you see on TV, who would bake you cookies and sing you a lullaby. I reckoned had my grandpa still lived, he would have done the same.

Chadwick Boseman: this was a death that affected many greatly. His portrayal of Black Panther was unique, and special. He was a strong and diligent leader, but also empathetic and kind. His performance at the end of Civil War, in particular, stuck with me; his speech about Vengeance towards Baron Zemo struck a cord with me.

I remember prior to his death being concerned at how skinny he had become in interviews. People would make fun of him and make jokes that he's doing drugs or something; not realizing he was very, very sick, and growing weaker as the days went by. The day he died, I didn't think I would be affected; but I was. I cried a lot for this man, who kept his illness a secret for so long from the public, just so he can take on a role that would mean so much to many people; especially little boys and girls of color. It hurts to see this man die so soon, someone who was looked up to by so many kids; kids who saw something in him that was also present within them.

Billy Kametz: prior to learning about Billy, I had already unknowingly heard his voice in many anime roles: Josuke, Naofumi, etc., but it was Ferdinand von Aegir in Fire Emblem: Three Houses where I first heard his name. He, alongside the entire voice cast of FE3H, brought a lot of joy and comfort to me during the three years of this pandemic. The game was the 1st game I bought with the last paycheck I got from my job before they laid me off. I spent days upon days playing and replaying that game. There were days when the uncertainty of real life would cause me great distress; but every time I heard the words "I am Ferdinand von Aegir!!" It would make me laugh out loud, and then, it would make me smile. In that moment, i was Ferdinand von Aegir; a noble knight on a horse, proud and strong, and I'd forget a little about how shitty the world has become.

When Billy announced his cancer not too long ago, I immediately thought back to Chadwick; I thought, "oh no. Not again. This can't be happening again." It doesn't help that it was the same type of cancer that took Chadwick. I was scared again. I didn't know these people personally, but i was afraid for him. Watching Billy's video talking about his diagnosis, seeing how skinny he had become in such a short span of months......this world is just too cruel.

Today, I learned on twitter that he passed away. I cried a lot, for a person I never met in person. I have a streamily print featuring Ferdinand and Hubert at tea time, autographed by both Billy and Robbie Daymond. I was hoping one day, once I own my own house with its own reception/living room, I would turn it into a tea or coffee room, and then I would hang that poster up, for all the guests to see. I still plan on doing that someday......but for now, I think I want to hang it up in my room, so that I can remember, that someone so talented and so loved by a wonderful community existed.

FYI, this post doesn't really have.....a specific purpose. With how today went, I just wanted to vent a little. Death is suppose to be a natural part of the circle of life, but it's also the one that hurts most. Once someone is gone, they're gone for good. No more text messages, no more impromptu trips to In-N-Out with them.......family gatherings have an empty void where they once stood. The squeaky toy your favorite pet used to play with, is still stuck under the shed, gathering dust, and cobwebs, and dissolving from the weather. Movies, and shows don't feel, or sound, the same. Weddings, birthday parties, graduations suddenly become a memorial.

Admittedly, it gets better with time; but there will always be moments in our lives, where a memory, or an image of someone we love appears in our minds, and we can't help but break down and cry, even years later. Despite all that, we're forced to wipe our tears and keep moving forward, as best as we can; if not for our sake, then for the people we still have in this world, as well as for the sake of the loved ones we lost, who would have wanted us to keep going.

I don't know how best to end this post except: please, hold your loved ones close.

#monty oum #chadwick boseman #billy kametz #grief #personal #ferdinand von aegir

[theoracleofgiana]

The One who Stayed

(Hanahaki Au)

(Tw: Suicide, angst, blood)

When Camillia first starts coughing up flowers, Alanna freezes. Everything in the angel's mind screamed that the girl didn't love her. That it was all a lie. Hanahaki wasn't uncommon by any means. It was natural to fall in love and the other not to feel the same. However, kids got medicine, and surgery was regularly available for those who needed it. So why was Camillia coughing up pale red carnations? She was so quick to know what to do as well. Camillia walks out of the bathroom with no trace of the flowers or blood. Alanna doesn't stay and rushes out the door. Camillia gets a message a few days later that she's single again. 

Years later, the same thing happens in front of Jazz. Camillia's quick to get to the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her tears mix with the blood and carnations falling from her mouth. Internally, she curses herself for forgetting her meds. She didn't take them often, only for dates. The flowers meant too much for her to get rid of them completely. Camillia washes up and takes a deep breath. She slowly walks through the bathroom door to the living room. 

Jazz sits there. "Do you need anything?" Her voice is filled with concern. Camillia wants to cry but reminds herself Jazz is probably being polite. Instead, she shakes her head and sits next to the other woman. Jazz seems to relax a bit. "May I ask who?" Camillia startles at the question. She turns to Jazz in shock. "You're not mad?" The demon asks tentatively. Jazz giggles at that. "Of course not! We've only known each other for a month," Jazz tells the other with a shake of her head. "Besides, I should hear you out before deciding anything." Camillia does tear up at that. No one who found out ever asked why. They always broke up with her or ghosted her. 

"I can tell you," Camillia says softly. Jazz looks at her intently, listening closely. "When I was young, I met this girl with red hair. She was always full of life and spirited. She grabbed my arm and dragged me with her when we first met. I didn't even know this girl's name, and suddenly we were running away from some adult. At some point, we stopped and caught our breaths. It was that moment of looking into her eyes I knew I was in love with her," Jazz stops the story with her hand on Camillia's thigh. "And she didn't love you?" Jazz supplies only to be greeted with a no. "Not at all, the opposite," Camillia has a faraway look as she reminisces. "We were the most troubling couple. We always got into mischief. My dad would always shake his head and sigh. Her mom," Camillia trails off before taking a deep breath. "Her mom hated me. That woman hated her kids in general. It never seemed to bother Rina. But hearing how much you're a failure and a waste of space will grate on anyone. I knew before anyone," Jazz envelops Camillia, who didn't even know she was shaking. "I knew...I knew she was dead. I knew when I was sitting in front of the fountain, and Rina was three minutes late." Camillia starts crying and buries her head into Jazz's neck. Jazz holds her until she's ready to continue. "I was the last to know it was suicide. I kept thinking I should have tried harder. I should have gotten her away from her mom. It was two days after the funeral that they came," Camillia looks at Jazz, unsure if she should continue. When Jazz nods in response, she starts again. "The carnations were blood red at first. Over the years, they've become pale. I take medicine to keep it from killing me, but sometimes I want to feel her with me again. I loved her so much," Camillia breaks into a sob and wraps her arms around Jazz. 

Jazz strokes the crying girl's hair and reassures her everything will be okay. Camillia calms down after a few moments, and Jazz takes that as a sign to continue the conversation. "Did you miss her tonight?" Jazz asks tentatively. Camillia shakes her head and slowly removes herself from the other's embrace. "I forgot my medicine," The demon says sheepishly. Jazz makes a soft humming sound and gently places Camillia's hand in her own. "You lost someone you loved so much. I'm so sorry for that," She says, pulling Camillia's hand closer to herself. "Are you going to break up with me?" Camillia's voice is faint. Jazz looks at her in horror. "What?!" She says in disbelief. "Why would I do that to you? Especially when you're in this vulnerable state." Camillia tears up for the third time. "Others have," She manages to croak out. Jazz looks shocked and mad at the same time. She takes a steady breath and envelops Camillia in her arms again. "I'm so sorry they did that to you, love," She whispers in Camillia's ear. 

The two spent the rest of the night cuddling and the next talking. They stayed together for years. Eventually, the carnations stopped entirely. Camillia took it hard until Jazz suggested they grew carnations. Six years later, Camillia sits in front of a small planter box on an apartment balcony. Jazz and her's apartment, to be exact. The carnations were a mix of red, pink, and white. Camillia smiles fondly at them until the sound of the porch door opening surprises her. "Love?" Jazz's voice comes quietly as if not to startle Camillia from any daydream she might be in. "Hello, my beautiful wife," Camillia says as she turns around. Jazz laughs and playfully swats at the other's arm. Camillia holds Jazz from her waist and pulls the girl next to her. Jazz rests her arms on Camillia's shoulder and the two look at the carnations in peaceful silence. "What are you thinking about?" Jazz fusses with Camillia's hair as she speaks. "Just reminiscing," Camillia responds, leaning into her wife's touch. "Don't reminisce too much. You'll miss dinner," Jazz tells her with a hum. Camillia releases the woman and stands up. "Care to join me for dinner, blossom?" Camillia asks while holding out her arm. Jazz huffs but takes the woman's arm, and the two head back inside. The carnations sway gently in the breeze, the home filled with love right behind them. 

(A/n: Sad. Very sad. I almost cried while writing this. I also don't know how to write endings. I hope you enjoyed and have a lovely day. Show the people you love a little extra love as well. Please talk to someone if you are having suicidal thoughts.)

Suicide Prevention Lifeline: https://988lifeline.org

#hanahaki #au #my writing #writers #writeblr #angst #sucide #ocs #original character #angst with comfort #happy ending

[wkemeup]

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  

Not that you’d let them know.  

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”  

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  

“Y/n! Thank God.”  

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  

“Were you ever going to tell us?”  

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  

“Were you ever going to tell me?”  

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  

So, you told him as much.  

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  

No one until Bucky.  

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

[spilledkauffie]

Bucky x Pregnant Reader

Just some funny & fluffy HCs (they’re kind of long, sorry!!)

*xFemale!Reader || Part 2 !

He’s super cautious about everything, if you want soup for dinner he makes sure it’s not too hot, if you want ice cream he lets it thaw just a little so it’s not too cold. When you asked him why he was sticking a thermometer in your coffee he simple said, “too much heat isn’t good for the baby, it could burn it,” as he stared at the meter, “uh-huh, and you do know we’re not in the 1940s anymore, right? We have a much better understanding of mom-baby connections,” you tilted your head, “Look I’m just being cautious, for you, okay?” It’s old fashioned, but it’s sweet.

He nearly has a heart attack when he sees you on a ladder, a step, the counter, or anything with heights. He will literally man handle you, grabbing you carefully by the waist or under your arms (yes, like a child in trouble) to bring you down from where you were, even if it isn’t actually that high. “It wasn’t even that high, babe,” you sigh, waiting for him to get your chips off the top of the fridge, “it’s not like I was climbing Mount Everest.” / “Close enough,” he shake his head at you with a sassy tone, still distraught over you just heaving yourself up onto the countertop.

Sam is always over! Though he doesn’t have kids, he has nephews he’s close with and thus has had some experience with babies and children. Often Bucky just rolls his eyes when Sam’s giving advice, but Sam comes back with “Oh, I’m sorry, who should she believe, a 106 year old who took vintage sex ed in 1900, or someone who was at the hospital with his sister, like eight years ago?” you had to laugh at the comment, but Bucky just ducked his head, “it was 1939…” / Sam is actually a big help for you, he said he’d try to get his sister up to visit with you and talk baby stuff next time the boys are on a mission so you’re not alone.

Sleeping, Bucky’s made it a habit of always going to sleep with his hand somewhere on your stomach, it’s mainly a protective thing, since before the baby he just had to have an arm around you, holding you. But now it has to be skin on skin contact, which means you’ll feel him slowly and softly slip his hand under your shirt when he comes to bed later than you. You’ve come to love it, often placing your hand on top of his.

↳ “lazy days” have become much more of a thing as you entered your third trimester, some days you just don’t want to get out of bed, and Bucky is completely fine with that, he’ll cook, he’ll bring you whatever you want, he’ll lie in bed with you.

You’ve gotten really concerned about the pregnancy and being a mom on a few occasions. Usually this results in some bouts of depression. In times like those, Bucky makes sure he is there physically and mentally for you. If you don’t want to talk about you, he lets you snuggle up as close and as tightly to him as you want. He understand silent suffering and how much just a physical person being there means. When you do want to talk about it, he’s always there and ready to listen.

One minor wince or groan or mumble from you and he’s on it with the “what’s wrong?” / “what is it?” / “how can I help? Is the baby coming?!” He’s mildly paranoid that he’s going to miss something vital or important if he isn’t 100% paying attention to every detail. This is why no you’ve never teased him about anything regarding the baby, because he’s so concerned and invested that it might just give him a heart attack… He is 106.

He was beyond panicked when you called him over, desperately reaching a hand out for him as he sat down next to you. Taking his hand, you press it to your side, and tell him to wait. Super confused if this is a good or bad moment he waits with an anxious look until- “did you feel that?” you smiled up at him; his jaw drops and spreads into a smile as he shifts closer to you in awe silence you both feel another kick, “wh- how did you do that?” he asks, stroking his free hand through your hair, as he bites the corner of his lip. Finding it precious you’re nearly crying from the happiness when he kisses your forehead.

He’s that guy that gets a book on “pregnancy for dummies,” so he can attempt to better understand what you’re going through that he can’t necessarily see. Needless to say part of the book horrified him, “oh my g- do you know what’s happening inside you?!” You just shake your head finding 10/10 entertainment in just watching his face whilst he reads it. The actual “how birth happens” chapter might’ve been one of the best.

He’s actually a little scared, or worried, about touching your baby bump (with a certain hand). You’ve told him you don’t mind that it’s cold, but he’s still avoidant. When asking him why, he didn’t want to say because he thought you might laugh, promising you wouldn’t he confessed, “what if the vibranium… magnetises the baby?” You managed to keep a straight face for approximately two seconds before breaking into laughter.

Your random (and very intense) moods are the biggest handful for him. He’s trying his very best to know what to do, but he never wants to make you feel like it’s not normal to feel a certain way.

↳ The Crying: one time he was telling you about this past mission he was on. It was like casual conversation for him to talk to you about it, but when he got to the part of “so they had these big dogs-” he looked over at you to find you in absolute tears, he stopped in his tracks, biting in his bottom lip as you stared at him, “and? then what?” you asked, voice breaking, he shook his head slowly, keeping eye contact, attempting to think of something, “then-” / “then you became best friends with the dogs and they were on your side in the fight?” he nodded dramatically to you response “yes, that’s exactly what- what happened… yep, nothing more to that story.” 

↳ constant State of Annoyed: at times you’re just purely annoyed for no reason, typically more passive aggressively, but sometimes you’re just straight up honest about it. When he tells you good morning and reminds you how beautiful and glowing you are, you’ve said “I love you, but your voice sounds like a duck today,” or “I am not glowing, be honest, I look and feel like a blimp.” He still tries his best to compliment you, other times he just hides for the day. Until you become super needy at night.

↳ MamaBear Instinct already kicking in: you’ve become extra protective / defensive. One time you were at the store, around one A.M. (because cravings!) and you were picking out cereals together. Bucky was surprised to see some brands he knew still around: “wow, Chex?” he picked up a box, “I didn’t know they were still making these-“ he trialed off about the cereal, but you noticed some kids snickering a few feet down the aisle. “Then again, the last time I had these they tasted like cardboard,” Bucky winced, “probably cause they were made out of it back then-“ / the kids laughed again, despite the soft Hello Kitty pj pants you had on, you were far from soft. “HEY!” You called out, “are you laughing at him?!” Bucky turned to see who you were talking to, but before he had time to address them himself, he was reaching to stop you from lunging over the cart at them, “I will fucking fight you if you are!” / “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Bucky completely stepped to block you, lifting his hands to meet yours gently, but you just tried to push them out of the way still flustered.

#spilledkauffie #Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky hcs #bucky headcanon #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes hc #bucky barnes x female reader #winter soldier headcanon #winter soldier hcs #sebastian stan #sebastian stan hcs

[katnissmellarkkk]

Could we maybe have some katniss and peeta actually bonding and becoming close during the catching fire period (as is touched on in the books, but it’s so brief rip😭)

Lololololol imma give you more than you asked for. I have made the executive decision to write this prompt into a mini-series that’ll ultimately become a Catching Fire/Mockingjay AU. It’ll be a short one, comprised of a series of short - ish oneshots. Hopefully it won’t take me long to write. 🥰🤣. I always say that though 😭.

Okay anyways, this first one is set right after they work on the plant book together after Katniss hurts her foot and tailbone. So after she notices his eyelashes but before her prep team shows up in Twelve and the Quarter Quell announcement is made. 🤗🤗🤗. The first few oneshots in this series are going to be just like this prompt says, Katniss and Peeta getting to know each other more and bonding deeper (a lot lot lot deeper if you know what I mean) in Catching Fire. I hope you like this! I hope anyone who reads this first little oneshot enjoys it!

Peeta and I walk side by side into town, the cobblestone path giving my bad heel some trouble. “Are you alright?” He murmurs, his voice quiet and concerned. My mother let me leave the house for the first time today after after examining my bad foot and appraising it healed enough for a walk through town. I suppose let is a strong word, considering I don’t often ask her for permission these days. I haven’t in years. Not since my father died and especially not since I won the games.

“I’m fine,” I say nonchalantly, hoping that if I act enough like the pain shooting up through my heel and into the backside of my calf is nothing then I’ll convince even myself.

Peeta seems to see through my facade but lets it drop, choosing rather to attempt at distracting me. “Do you like that cloth?” He asks, pointing to some purple material in the town seamstress’ window.

I shrug it off though. “I never cared much for fancy things.” He shoots me a curious look at that and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Peeta, do I seem like the kind of person who’d be interested in fancy materials?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But you do have an eye for beauty.”

Now I look at him curiosity. “Peeta, that’s you? You’re the one around here with the eye for beauty.”

He suddenly laughs and his eyes soften as they lower down to meet mine. “I suppose I do.”

But I’m still on the defensive for some reason. “Even more than that. You have a real weakness for beautiful things.”

“No,” he refutes, his smile becoming a smirk. “No, that’s only when it comes to you.”

I open my mouth to respond before his meaning computes. And then I’m just left speechless, never anticipating the way he can worm compliments and admissions of love into any conversation, always so seamless and always so genuine. Never expecting any sort of response in return but leaving me feeling bashful and guilty just the same.

As if proving he doesn’t expect any confession on my part, he changes the subject, gesturing towards the sweets shop down the way. “Did Cherry get a new flavor?” He asks and I squint, reading the sign.

Cherry is a chubby middle-aged women with at least three kids who I assume are much younger than me. I really don’t know any of them at all, since I’ve never had much reason to go into the shop until recently. Until I became a victor, living in the richest part of Twelve, I never once set foot in the sweets shop, never being able to afford anything in it.

Prim’s been in there though, many times over. She used to stop in, even when our mother couldn’t stand getting out of bed in the morning and looked at us like we were ghosts instead of her children. Prim would stare at the display case and fantasize about the day she could afford any flavor of ice cream or any piece of chocolate the shop had to offer.

She has gotten almost every item on the menu since I won the games. But for some reason, the memory of seven-year-old Prim, gaunt and tiny and the picture of innocence, standing in front of the vanilla ice cream, dreaming of the taste, moves me to abruptly head towards the business.

“Let’s go in there,” I say, grabbing Peeta’s hand before thinking better of it and pulling him towards the sweets shop.

I hear him chuckle behind me, but follow just the same. In fact he seems downright at home inside the business as soon as we cross the threshold. Much to my surprise, for some reason.

We only have to wait in line for a minute or two before a girl, no older than eight, skips up to the register. “Hi, Peeta,” she says brightly, flashing him a smile that reveals two missing teeth.

“Hi, Pixie,” he says in a voice I barely recognize. Have I ever seen him talk to a child before? Never, I realize. Never that I can recall off the top of my head. “What is it that I hear about a new sale?” He asks in a bright tone.

The little girl gets rapidly more and more excited, prattling on about how they got a new flavor straight from the Capitol and that her mother let her try it first and how it’s bright blue and tastes like the sky.

“Hey, when was the last time you tasted the sky?” Peeta murmurs, tugging on her braid gently. Her braid that bears a rather striking resemblance to mine.

Pixie giggles a little and I find the sound surprisingly sweet. Which, I suppose, shouldn’t be a shock since she’s clearly the owner’s — of the sweets shop — child but still. There’s something extremely endearing about her.

And I suddenly cannot help but wonder if this is how Peeta — or any other merchant — feels when watching people from the Seam interact? I can’t explain why but, as I stare at the two of them now, it dawns on me that they look so much alike. The ash blonde hair, the light blue eyes, the rosy cheeks and fair skin. They even have the same exact nose.

“Well, I’d like two cartons of that new flavor then,” Peeta says, still smiling at the little girl. “You officially sold me on that.” She giggles in response and hops off her stepping stool to go scoop up his order.

“Are you a regular here?” I ask quietly, wondering how he’s so completely familiar with this place when he himself said he used to only eat the old, stale bread from the bakery. How much trading would the sweets shop and the Mellark have to do to become this aquatinted? I can’t imagine the witch making friends with much of anyone.

But then again, Peeta did exclusively spend time with the other town kids growing up. Maybe he knows every shop owner and family in town.

I wonder, in the back of my mind, if he knows my grandparents then. If he knows the people who disowned my mother for falling in love with and marrying my father. If he’s ever stopped by the apothecary and bought herbs or remedies from them. Made pleasant conversation or exchanged niceties.

I’ve never known either of them and I never intend to but the idea of Peeta being even cordial with my estranged grandparents makes my skin crawl.

“Katniss,” Peeta says, bringing me back to reality. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”

“Vanilla,” I answer distantly — because it’s Prim’s absolute favorite — before thinking twice and adding in, “and chocolate. Vanilla and chocolate. One of each.”

He repeats my order to Pixie as she hands him his two cartons. At first I think he’s just repeating it because he assumes I’m too shy to order myself. But then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a large wad of cash, handing the entire amount to the little girl.

“Wait, Peeta!’’ I hiss as soon as Pixie goes to collect my ice cream too. “You can’t pay for me.”

“Let me,” he insists, his voice hushed as well. “I want to, Katniss.”

I try to object again but then his eyes meet mine and there’s something else there. There’s something else in his gaze, an intensity I rarely see. The same intensity that appears when he’s drawing, that was there when the peacekeeper in Eleven pressed his gun to me, an intensity that indicates an entire world locked away inside the boy with the bread. An entire world I’ve only recently discovered, that I’ve barely begun to know. Really know, not just as a byproduct of survival, as a byproduct of acting for the cameras, but really come to understand on a deeper level.

Pixie jumps back up onto her stepping stool and hands me a stack of three cartons of ice cream, instead of two. “Here you go, Miss Katniss,” she says in a polite and high-pitched tone. One that reminds me a lot of Prim at her age.

And I can’t help the affection in my tone, in my eyes and my genuine smile, despite the fact that I don’t know this child at all. “Thank you, Pixie. But I did only order two cartons.”

“I know.” She pushes them towards me again, clearly wanting me to take all three. “But I added in strawberry for free. For you guys to share.” Her big blue eyes travel between me and Peeta and I don’t have the heart to turn down an eight-year-old’s generosity.

“Thank you,” I murmur, truly touched by the gesture. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Yes,” Peeta agrees, and him and her share a smile between them, like a secret being exchanged right before me. “That is very kind of you, Pix.”

“Love you,” she murmurs happily, beaming now as she leans across the counter to hug him around the neck.

“Love you too. Tell your mother hi for me,” he adds, scooping up his ice cream in one arm and grasping my hand with his other.

“Okay!” She promises as we leave, waving goodbye until we’re out of sight.

We walk for a solid five minutes down the cobblestone path in total silence before I finally speak. “So you know her really well then?”

It’s a quite obvious fact, given that he just told the little girl he loved her. But for some reason, I still don’t see his answer coming at all. “Katniss,” he says, his tone a little sardonic. “She’s my cousin. Of course I know her well.”

That stops me in my tracks. “She’s your cousin?” I suddenly replay their entire exchange over in my head, their familiarity clicking at last.

And now he’s laughing at me. “Did you never realize half the people from town were related?”

I blink twice, barely giving his question any thought before replying. “It never occurred to me,” I defend, feeling more than a little embarrassed, despite the fact that I had no way of knowing this information. We walk in silence for a few minutes, as he still smiles to himself at my ignorance and I ponder another thought. It’s nothing specific, just a realization the last twenty minutes have really driven home.

Peeta seems to recognize I’m mulling something over. “What’re you thinking about?” He asks as our houses come into view. His fingers press against the space between my brows, the space that gets an angry line every time I’m deep in thought. A result of my instinctive habit of always knitting my brows together.

I look up at him, considering my words for a moment before admitting, “There’s just a lot we still don’t know about each other.”

For some reason Peeta has a solution to this ready and loaded. “Then let’s get to know each other now.”

It sounds so easy when he says it like that. So easy and effortless and nice. All the things our relationship has never gotten a chance to be, having always bore the pressure of survival on it’s back.

I nod, accepting his answer, surprising me how simple it is. “Okay,” I agree and smile at the way he picks up my hand again and squeezes it lightly in response.

He matches my expression. “Okay.”

#everlark #thg #hunger games #my drabbles #my writing #catching fire AU #200 #thw