#I also don't know if I’ve settled on this as his main fit or if it’s like whenever I draw Orania and she gets slightly different clothes

[aliothbuzzsawshark]

Idk what to caption this, I just love drawing my dork

Aw, he shut up :c

[cafeinthemoon]

It's a Fire - Chapter I

Chapter 1

Wordcount 3,5k

Title Retired Hashira

Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba / Demon Slayer

Symbols ⭕ ➕ 🖤

Warnings: arranged marriage; age gap; mentions of increasing in criminality and poverty; grieving; non diagnosed depression (the condition wasn't properly understood by the time this story is settled)

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N.A.: So Kimetsu no Yaiba returned and I'm taking the opportunity to finally start posting this story that has been in my list of ideas for several months!

A while ago I made a poll where I included the option of writing a fic with the Rengoku family, and it was this one I was talking about. I know there are other stories I need to work on already, but let me tell you that this very fic just saved me from a creative block, which was caused by what I suspect to be the beginning of a burnout (I'm about to go on vacation and I just can't take it anymore, but I don't want to discuss this rn).

A few words about the ff itself: It's a slow burn, arranged marriage story between reader, who's 27/28 yo, which makes her closer to myself who's a bit older than this, and Shinjuro Rengoku, who's struggling with the same problems we see in canon, but somehow accepts her as his wife: she was the daughter of old acquaintances of his, so the marital contract is sealed to allegedly honor the friendship between the families. However, things are way more complicated in reality.

Of course, because of the things we see in the original media, such as violence, alcoholism and etc., I need to make it clear that my personal opinions on these subjects may diverge from what I'm putting in this story (due to personal family experiences), and each chapter will carry the necessary warnings. Also if you notice similarities with Beauty and the Beast, know that it isn't just a coincidence haha Finally, the title is a song by Portishead, which didn't influence my writing but its lyrics somehow fit this plot 🌹

I hope you have a good time reading this ❤

“You walk a lonely road 

Oh, how far you are from home” 

(Enya, May it Be) 

That fate didn’t care about your preferences and desires, you knew well. 

You wished you had your mother with you for long years, and that your relationship grew stronger as you spent your time together, dedicating yourselves to the art of the sword, but most of her time and energy were directed to her work as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps, and it was like this until the day you received a messenger from Ubuyashiki-sama to inform you about her death: she didn’t fall to the Oni, but couldn’t resist the injuries from a battle against a group of them. 

You also wished your father, after losing the woman he claimed to love, stood up to his remaining family, that is, himself and you, and took reasonable measures to protect his territory and the people who lived in it, but he preferred to lock himself in his office and ignore the demands outside it, firing half of the house’s servants for the sake of saving money and willing to leave the property to the dust and the insects, not seeing this happening thanks to you, who took the task of maintaining everything by yourself, even doing some of the physical work. 

There were, in fact, many other things you wished for, but didn’t have the chance to see them coming true. One of those other things were continuing to live in the house you grew up in, and using your education to dedicate your life to a career of your choice, though your options seemed limited by your sex. But even this was taken from you when, on an ordinary day, you saw your father leaving his office in the company of a man you’ve never seen in your life. You wanted to question him about this strange visit, but you didn’t have to: your father came to your chambers later, and without measuring his tone or giving you time to process such news, explained the meeting’s main subject. 

– I’ve recently contacted an old acquaintance of mine, someone who was also known by your mother – he started – And explained our situation here. 

You knew what he was talking about: after your mother passed away, your lands’ protection has been neglected, and appearances of demons have been reported more often by your servants and the people who live in the villages near. No one dared leaving their houses at night, and the local economy were deeply affected by this, since part of the basic work used to be done in this period of the day; this led to an increase in poverty and criminality. You, on your part, weren’t immune to these difficulties despite growing up in a privileged family. 

Your father addressing this situation to you, however, was something new, and you exposed this impression to him. 

– Things are getting harder for everyone here, that’s true – you agreed – But why are you discussing this with me now? 

– Because I asked this acquaintance for help, and he answered me – he took slow steps toward your window, half opened by that time; he closed it with firm hands, but without making much noise – The thing is that, at the same time our lands are now dangerous to people, specially to young women like you, it’s time for you to take the next big step in your personal life, daughter. After all, you’re almost twenty-eight. 

You frowned. 

Next big step? What is he talking about?… 

Your father might have noticed your confusion, because he soon clarified his words… and you wished he never did it. 

– I’m talking about marriage, y/n – he spat – You declined the last two proposals, and I respect your reasons for that, but this time the circumstances aren’t in our favor. This man who visited me earlier is a messenger from the Rengoku House, and he brought me a positive answer from their head: I offered your hand and a good dowry in exchange for your protection, and in respect to your mother, who worked for the same cause as him, Shinjuro Rengoku accepted you as his wife. You’re leaving the house this week. 

You were speechless. You tried to stand up and show a sign of protest, but your legs didn’t obey you; you opened your mouth to say something, but no word left it. You knew your father have been struggling, but you could never suppose he was becoming insane – arranging a marriage for you without your consent? Other men used to do this to their daughters, but the man who married your mother would never… But, apparently, he was no longer this man. 

Maybe he was expecting some disagreement, but seeing your silence made him frown. 

– Don’t you have anything to say about this? 

You finally seemed to wake up. You gave him a dead glare, murmuring your response. 

– And what do you expect a woman to say after being sold and sent away from her own house out of nowhere? – you moved your head to the side, irony leaking from the gesture – Thank you? 

Your father clenched his jaw. 

– I certainly don’t expect your gratitude – his voice was lower now – I know this isn’t the future you wanted for yourself, and I didn’t want things to be like this either, but… 

– Why marriage, father? – your tongue was released, interrupting his thread of thoughts like a storm – I could stay temporarily with them, work for them, anything! But marrying someone I’ve never met?! Don’t you remember that I’ve declined the other proposals after at least seeing the faces of those men? 

– You’ll meet him on the wedding day, and you’ll have all the time of the world to know anything there is to know about him – his tone was louder again, as his patience was running low – Besides, Shinjuro is an old friend of mine. I give you my word that he’s a decent man, besides being a formidable warrior. He was married to a respectable woman once, and built a good family with her. I trust him, and so did your mother. No problems should be expected from his part, so the same must be expected from you. 

Shinjuro. It was only the second time you’ve heard that name from your father’s mouth, and you didn’t know what to think. In fact, you’ve learned from your mother that among the Demon Slayer Corps there was an elite group known as the Hashira, and one of them was Shinjuro, the Hashira of the Flames. He was the current head of the Rengoku family, but personal struggles – including the death of his wife – forced him to a retirement despite his capacity as a warrior, so that his eldest son, Kyojuro, took his place. However, you also heard that this young man was dead, so it was impossible to tell how things were going for his family members now. And that was the environment your father was willing to throw you into, even spending money in the process. 

You sighed. 

– Father, when was the last time you’ve met this man? I don’t remember you talking about him – you crossed your arms – I’m only familiar with his name thanks to mother, but now you’re telling me that he’s an old friend of yours. How old is he, exactly? 

– Not as old as me, of course – his reply came with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation – I can’t believe that, of all the things involved in this arrangement, this is what concerns you more! 

You scoffed. 

– I’m not that futile, but if he’s old enough to have a son capable of replacing him in the battlefield, I think I have the right to be concerned! – you took a step toward him – If I have no choice, I want to know exactly where I’m getting into. Can’t you even make such a small concession to me, father? 

No, he couldn’t, and you soon realized that. 

Your father decided the conversation was over. He returned to the room’s door and opened it. 

– It is decided, already – and, with a sort of sadness in his eyes – I’m doing what I think it’s best for my daughter. I only wanted her to trust me, at least for once. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. 

– I wanted this too, father. But you’re making it too difficult for your daughter. 

He stared at you for a moment, then left without any word. 

*** 

Things really happened the way you feared, in the path your father stated they would follow. He said that, but until the end he kept acting like he had no control over the flow of events, in a frail attempt to soothe his own conscience that only served to unnerve you, and not even seeing the disappointment in his daughter’s eyes each time he looked at you was enough for him to leave this pretense aside. Had he no shame anymore? 

During that fateful week, you avoided his company, leaving the burden of communication to the remaining servants and only speaking to him when utterly necessary. What was left for you to talk about when, as he said, everything was decided, and when you had nothing but sadness for him — for him, the adversities he’s been through and for the way he chose to behave in face of them? It was useless to argue on this, and whether you liked it or not, you had little time to put everything in order and couldn’t have the luxury of wasting it: would it be worthy to cause a delay in the arrangements under the risk of leaving a bad impression in your future spouse, even when he was someone you’ve never saw before? 

You sighed at the thought. 

And, as if I hadn’t enough things to worry about, I still have to consider this. 

In fact, you didn’t want to take much stuff from that house with you at the same time you didn’t want to cause any difficulties to the servants, who have already seen their load increase the last months, so you were quick to select essential items and packing them with the help of a maid, from your clothes to the gifts brought by your mother, and instruct her about what to do with the other things: some of them you gave to her, knowing that she had a daughter who was younger than you and who’d appreciate your charity, and the others, such as the furniture, should be sent to the villagers, for you wanted your things to be with people who would make good use of them instead of letting them rot in a place to where you’d never come back. 

Among all of this, the last object you packed was the only thing you made a point about carrying by yourself, and the only thing you didn’t trust anyone to pack but yourself: the sword of your mother, which was sent to your house by Ubuyashiki-sama and now belonged to you. Your mother has been teaching you lessons since you were a teenager, but she hasn’t lived long enough to see if you were going to develop your own Breath; well, until that day you haven’t, but you’ve never stopped practicing even under your father’s disapproval. You didn’t know what you would find once you stepped into your husband’s house, but you wouldn’t want to depend on his protection on everything; besides, having a wife who knew how to wield a sword must be an advantage, right? 

The train of thoughts, feelings and concerns was such that you were robbed from sleep the night before the ceremony. You knew women who had their marriages arranged as well, but you never got to talk to them about it; you had no idea of how you were supposed to feel, or how you were supposed to see the whole thing. How one should feel when they saw themselves trapped in a situation from which they couldn’t get out? Without having answers, you just relied on the feeling that seemed reasonable to you, that is, utter fear. 

The next morning came silent and inexorable, just as the ones before it, and you saw yourself leaving your bed and taking care of your duties without putting your thoughts on them. It was only your body working by itself, saving your soul from the burden of being conscious, or perhaps you were just accepting your fate after a night of tears and rage. 

Having dismissed the maid’s help, you bathed and dressed alone, and left the house where the most important moments of your life took place without one last look. To be fair, your eyes were so sore and tired that they barely registered the appearance of the weather while you walked to the carriage, but you guessed it was a warm, sunny day, though not enough for you to get sweaty. Your father was already in the carriage’s interior; you took the seat beside him with no signs of acknowledging his presence. 

The coachman shook the reins and yelled something to the horse, and the crack of the wooden wheels was heard as the vehicle moved along the road. 

*** 

The ceremony took place in a building in the city of (…), near your father’s property, which served as the head office of a group of law professionals, including the man responsible for your marital contract. 

You wouldn’t call it a ceremony, really: it was more of a sequence of bureaucratic procedures than a social event with the purpose of uniting two families; a mere formality to allow you to move to a man’s house without ruining your reputation. It was quick, direct and cold like a financial operation, and the people involved seemed to make sure it looked like this. 

Your father led you to a sequence of stairs and then through a narrow corridor, until he stopped in front of a door and opened it, entering the room and inciting you to follow him. You did it, and found out you weren’t the first to arrive: the officiant was already in his position, behind a table upon which you saw an open book; at its right, there was a small inkwell and a feather; around him, two officers which function you couldn’t guess and couldn’t care about. And, finally, in front of the table and observing your arrival with a stern glare, the man who was about to become your husband. 

Whatever you were expecting to see, Shinjuro was nothing like you might have imagined, except for the fact that he was younger than you supposed – and, indeed, younger than your father – and stole the attentions among all those men despite the quiet, composed manners. Well, he would do it in any place he’d step in, for his appearance was extravagant, to say the least: on his severe face he carried a pair of orange eyes under two thick, black eyebrows, a wild trait that made you think of a lion; framing his expression and matching his eyes, he had thick, blond hair that decreased to red on its edges, spreading over his shoulders. And, as if his looks weren’t enough to draw the whole room’s attention, he was dressed in sober, dark clothing, more like someone attending a western funeral than a wedding. 

As you walked to the center of the room, led by your father, and took the spot beside Shinjuro, you felt your skin burning in discomfort under his merciless eyes. You breathed deep and, when he nodded to acknowledge you two, you made an effort to greet him, as well as the other men. 

I knew he wasn’t the same person my father claimed to know. He stated that he was good and trustful, but everything in this man screams danger. What kind of hell I’m getting into… 

The officiant announced the beginning of the ceremony, and you turned to him in silence. After a few, composed words to the new couple, he gave you both clear instructions on where to sign your names, and you did as he said, Shinjuro first, then you; you glanced at his hand offering you the feather and took it in a second, taking care your hand didn’t touch his. You tried not to think of your gestures as you wetted its tip on the ink, but a tremble reached your wrist the instant you approached the feather from the paper. 

So… That’s it. I write my name in a book and enter a path from where I can’t go back. 

The realization was too much to bear and time was passing, so you bit your inner cheek to prevent your mind to entertain the thought and scribbled your name at once. When you moved the feather away and put it back on the inkwell, your hand acted by itself, and your arm gone numb once you recoiled it to your side. 

Your mouth was dry, and a hole seemed to have taken the place of your heart. You barely noticed when the officiant and the other witnesses analyzed your signatures and approved them, bringing the ceremony to an end. You refused to believe all of that was real until the man announced you were free to go, and both Shinjuro and you turned away, preparing to leave. He didn’t bat an eye at you while doing so. 

The head of the Rengoku family stopped to exchange some words with your father. You were close enough to hear the conversation, but didn’t want to pay attention; you just wanted to leave this place, even though you weren’t going to a familiar one after it. 

You only understood their conversation was over when you heard your father’s voice calling your name. You turned to him and your stomach curled in disgust when you saw the pleading smile on his face, the only thing that reminded you of home and now a sign of everything you lost. You’ve never felt so alone. 

Later, you’d try to remember his exact words for you at that moment, but you’d find yourself unable to do it. Maybe it was a formal wish of good luck or something. The only thing you remembered was your reaction: you stared at him for a few seconds, then, without a word, you turned your face away, walking toward the door. You knew your husband was observing, but his approval was the least of your preoccupations now. 

*** 

Little was recalled by you from the travel to the Rengoku house, except that it was silent, even calm period. The only abnormality was caused by you: unlike your other belongings, who were sent in another vehicle ahead under the supervision of a servant, you decided you were going to carried your sword with you in the carriage, to everyone’s surprise and your father’s discontentment. 

That occasion was also when Shinjuro spoke to you for the first time. 

— Why are you doing this? 

The question, made when you were already in the carriage, was direct but not devoid of politeness, so you granted him an honest answer. 

— This sword once belonged to my mother, and now it is mine. If my father had his way, I’d never carry it with me, but I refuse to leave it behind — and, glancing at him, — I couldn’t risk him checking my things and subtracting it from them without my consent. 

Shinjuro only murmured an “I see” in response, and the conversation died there. 

You were beside the carriage’s window and might have slept to the warmth of the sun and the constant noise of the wheels in movement, but you weren’t sure if you did. As your body was now avoiding visible reactions, your spirit was suppressing the emotional rush for your own good, since no advantage would come from a breakdown in the middle of the road, right in front of your new spouse who, just like you, didn’t seem all pleased with the whole thing: sure, he didn’t show visible discontentment whether with your appearance or your manners, but you’ve been dealing with middle aged men for too long to sense when they were seeing something they didn’t find appropriate; and, in the present case, it was clear to you that Shinjuro already formed his opinion: to him, you were a stubborn, spoiled brat who didn’t have her way and was decided to make it everyone else’s problem. Yes, the idea of acting like that wandered through your mind for a while, but you thought you were better than this, and opted for a balance between bitterness and decency, not wearing plain clothing and displaying rude manners, but also not being extravagant in anything; still, you couldn’t convince the man of your good nature, and he let it clear with the inquiring about the sword, so now you completely gave up on seeking his favor. 

You were just waiting for the travel to end. 

Chapter 2

[stellavesperis]

Through the Smoke

This is my original work and I do not give permission for this to be reposted outside of tumblr, or used in any other sort of way without my expressed permission. Please be respectful of it.

Oki doki! Now that I'm actually getting around to posting this, I'm a little bit nervous about it lol, but here is my short orchestral piece "Through the Smoke" based on the aftermath of Dagor Bragollach. This isn't exactly part of the Noldolantë project that I'm working on, but this is a taste of my style and contains the main musical themes I do intend to work into it. It was ultimately inspired by a fanfic I read by @sweetteaanddragons called "Through the Smoke I See You" about Maglor's defense of the Gap, which proceeded to stew in my brain until another scene developed from it (see below cut for more). Be forewarned, this is an MP3 sound file derived from a notation software, so expect the instrument quality to match that. Additionally, that initial theme/meter transition is a bit rough because I can't get the playback to do what I want it to do :(. This wouldn't happen ideally in an actual performance with intuitive players. (I want to say feedback is appreciated because I want to improve, but I also don't know if I can take super harsh critiques right now, so keep it gentle if you must). A lengthy discussion of the music and the scene below.

The Scene in Question:

In the original fic, Maglor is trying to prove some things by defending the Gap at all costs, resulting in him having to be dragged away from the battle unconscious to Himring (I won't say much more about the fic because you should go read it. It's short and worth your time). It's narrated from Maglor's perspective. The scene which then presented itself to me was from Maedhros' perspective. After successfully defending Himring, he was waiting on the battlements and staring off into the smoky, glowing haze that blanketed all of Beleriand as far as the eye could see. For all he knew, his was the only stronghold that had fended off Morgoth's attacks. There was the faintest of rains that allowed a brief respite from the burning ash-laden air. Off in the distance, the sentinels spot several horses running from the direction of Maglor's lands- it's unclear at first who their riders are, but once they recognize them, Maedhros lifts his heart that someone else is still alive and rushes to the gates to meet his brother, who he then realizes is wounded.

More on the Music itself:

I deliberated for a while which of my WIPs to post because all of them have interconnected musical motifs, which you have to have heard in the previous piece to understand its meaning, but I settled for this one because I was the happiest with where it was. It also contains several different character themes/ leitmotifs that I get to talk about.

The first theme to make an appearance is the B section of Maedhros' theme, pitched higher on the violin. This is his secondary theme, which was originally played on the horn (White Fire is the next piece I'd like to post, so you can understand this more fully). I definitely intend to use this going forward. I begin to overlap this with what I've decided to call the Main Theme/Overture of the Noldolantë, which creates a lot of dissonance before opening up more fully around the one minute mark (the meter transition really is rough to capture on the notation software I was using, neither the ritardando nor the breath I scripted show up in the recording) Around 1:23, it opens up into a theme that vaults up before coming back down that I've used for Maglor basically ever since I first read the Silmarillion. I've played it so many times I’ve lost the capacity to determine if it is actually a good fit for him- it just is his theme and my music would be vacant without it. This leitmotif is adjoined to the main theme for the Noldolantë. Underneath Maglor's theme is the harp line I used for Maedhros' return from his capture (i.e. a subtle reminder that he couldn't save his brother from Thangorodrim, his guilt being the driving force of his actions in the fic, as well as the pulse of his theme here).

At this point in time, I kinda just started having fun with the music to see what else could be fit together, so be less concerned with what the themes mean narratively. The first four notes (me re me do) that begin after the caesura at 1:40ish have also been associated with the Sons of Fëanor ever since I read the Silmarillion, and I haven't been able to resist using them in my cadences whenever possible. The harp line at this part actually belongs to the viola line from "Finwë and Indis". Finally, the violin (te le sol sol) is the abbreviated leitmotif for the Silmarils. This is a super short motif on purpose because I can work it into a variety of settings and disguise it underneath a lot of other lines without detracting too much from anything else that's going on, just enough to be a subtle reminder of their presence (or lack thereof).

Whew! That was a lot. Thank you again to anyone who took the time to read/listen. I really appreciate the support I've received from you all in the past few weeks- it's given me the courage to be a bit more bold about my music. I hope that it lives up to your expectations :)

(And thanks again to @sweetteaanddragons for letting me post this!)

[tswaney17]

Accidental Chemistry - Part 1: New Beginnings

This is dedicated to the incredible @duskwhisperer. Thank you, love, for sending me the idea for this fic and letting me run with it. 💜 I'm very excited to finally share this story with you all. I don't have set posting dates, but I'm hoping to dedicate more time to this fic after I finalize IDBTWY. Until then, I hope you enjoy this first part! 💕

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: language

Word Count: 4,982

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read the beginning below or click here to head to AO3.

Azriel was sitting at Rhys and Feyre’s dining room table, feeling particularly suspicious as to why he had been invited over for dinner. It wasn’t that he never had dinner with them. It’s that usually, it wasn’t just him.

“How’s work, Az?” Feyre asked, spearing the asparagus on her plate.

He took a sip of his wine. “It’s good. I’ve finally filled the last tech position that’s been open so I have a full team now. She’s fitting in well and is super quick in picking up new information.”

“Does she have prior experience?”

“Not really. She’s a recent graduate and was looking for entry-level in the industry. To be honest, most places would’ve passed on her for the lack of experience, but I thought she could be molded into what we need while growing her skillset.”

Rhys smirked. “You put in the work and you get a long-term employee.”

He tipped his glass towards his brother. “Exactly.”

Feyre pushed her chair back. “Let me grab dessert,” she announced, noticing both men were finished with their main courses. She returned a few minutes later holding three plates with small, pastry-like cups filled with cream and covered in blueberries.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Lemon and blueberry verbena tarts,” she said like he had any idea what the fuck that meant.

Az eyed the dessert, taking a bite and letting the tartness from the lemon slide across his tongue before settling with the blueberry’s sweetness. His brows raised in surprise. It was good. Like really good. He glanced at the female sitting across from him. “Did you make this, Fey?”

She laughed, head tipping back. “Oh heavens no. My sister made it. Elain. You remember Elain, right?”

He shot her a puzzled look at the turn of questions. “Yeah, vaguely.” Lie.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved these fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[buckets-and-trees]

Fic: Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams

Title: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader, side of Steve

Word Count: 8k

Summary: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined. This was written for prompt #14 in Roo’s Hallo-Cream Extravaganza: Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Additional Notes: I will leave more detailed notes at the end of the fic so I don’t give specifics away, but this is loosely based on some Scandinavian folklore I’ve been exploring. I emphasize this is loosely based on the folklore – I’m not a Scandinavian folklore expert AND there were a couple of elements I did adapt to fit the direction of the story overall. I've left some songs throughout the fic for a bit of a soundtrack, if you wish. The title is taken from a Taylor Swift lyric (from "This Love"), but don't let that fool you. Here be a dark story.  

Also, thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for letting me in on the party here with the challenge (my first challenge in this fandom) AND for literally saying "take all the time you need" when I said the beast was still being tamed and that life had been more life-y than I thought it would be over the past few weeks.

The first thing you’re conscious of are the warm fingers stroking lightly up and down your back. You take in a deep breath of morning air, and hum in contentment as you let it out, stretching one of your arms out across the mattress, and the other above your head, pushing out from under your pillow to press against the headboard.

“Good morning, beautiful,” your husband says softly, his hand now moving beneath the hem of your shirt to press gently against the small of your back.

“Morning, Buck.”

Then you frown, registering that he’s not on his side of the bed, but sitting on the edge of your side of the bed. You turn and try to sit up. “Wait, what time-?”

He cuts you off and pushes you back down to the mattress. “Early.”

“James! You said you were leaving at six!”

He chuckles, “I know. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, brushing some hair out of your face before kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to get up until seven, and I didn’t want you to go to the trouble of getting up at five to try and make breakfast and send me off.”

He’s kissing you again to try to swallow your protests, which only works for a moment, but then you turn your head. “It’s our first day going back to work since the wedding, you should have let me dote on you.”

Pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he counters, “Shouldn’t a husband allow his wife to sleep in so he can keep her up all the later when he gets home?”

You let out a soft moan as he punctuates his question by sucking softly at the crook of your neck.

“What time is it?” you manage to whisper, trying to stay focused on your spat.

“A little after four.”

“What?” you jolt up with shock. “Four!”

He laughs. “Wheels up at five so we could get back for dinner.”

You groan and settle back into the mattress. “Four in the morning is disgusting. I’m glad you tricked me. Just make sure to grab some toast or something on your way out.”

“Yes, dear.”

As he moves to leave, you pull him back. “One more kiss.”

“Always.”

He sinks back into you, and your lips meet again. You love to feel his weight pressed against you, but he does prop himself partly, his metal forearm right next to your shoulder, and vibranium fingers tangling in your hair. Both your hands hold his face, and you part your lips to drink in more of him. He reciprocates, tongue seeking yours earnestly. His flesh hand skims up the side of your body, moving again under your sleepshirt, over your ribs, and then he begins to gently palm your breast, and your moan again.

“Keep up with that, and you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon,” you murmur against his lips, your back arching into his hand.

He huffs out a sigh, easing his hand away, but pressing his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I know.”

Your lips capture his again, but with less urgency, just lips and feelings, and his warm hand withdraws from your chest and comes up to caress your face.

After another minute, he sits up.

You sigh but smile at him.

“I promise to pick up where we left off when I return.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He takes your hand and presses a warm kiss into your palm before standing, then pulling the covers back up and tucking you in. You yawn, both of you laugh, and then he leaves a final kiss on your cheek.

“Sleep well, my love.”

 The sky grows darker, and you frown as you look at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t a problem for Bucky to be taking longer than you expected to get home for dinner because the soup was safe just simmering, but this much later when he texted he would be home soon wasn’t normal.

There’s a knock on the door, and you carefully move Alpine off your lap and deposit her back on the cozy armchair to go answer it. You wonder if it’s Bucky and maybe he forgot his keys?

A quick glance out of the peephole reveals the familiar frame of your husband’s best friend on the other side of the mahogany door.

“Steve!” You open it wide and beam at him. “Bucky didn’t say you’d be coming by! You’ll stay for dinner, I’m assuming?”

Because Steve is already such a regular fixture in the place you and Bucky had recently moved into before the wedding, you had already turned and crossed the living room, heading for the kitchen, when you pause and turn back around, realizing that Steve hasn’t said a word of greeting and has only taken a few steps inside.

He’s watching you closely in a way he never has, and you read hesitancy in every muscle and movement of his body. He slowly pushes the door closed behind him.

Steve looks around the room very quickly, then takes a deep breath in and out before saying your name, and there is so much emotion in it, your blood runs cold immediately.

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no. Steve, he can’t…”

He closes his eyes and gives a single nod.

The flood of anguish is overwhelming, dropping you to your knees, and the tortured sound that erupts from your soul is foreign to your own ears. In less than a moment, Steve is crouched next to you, wrapping his arms around you. As much as you’re clinging to him as you sob, his arms are holding you so tightly you can feel he must be trying to hold both of you together, but he weeps as well. You stay that way, huddled together, until both of you are empty – no more tears, past feeling, beyond exhaustion – overcome with the grief that Bucky is gone.

There is no body to bury, but Bucky had already stipulated he didn’t want to be buried. He and Steve both stated they wanted to be cremated when their time came to remove temptation for trying to develop any new super soldier serums from their remains.

Without a body, you, Sam and Steve decide burning mementos as part of a funeral bonfire would be a fitting tribute for those who wanted to pay their respects.

The man who so often perpetuated that he was a taciturn and sullen retired assassin had collected a small but mighty community of neighbors, friends, and colleagues who show up on the day. Seeing so many who regarded him as Bucky, James, Sergeant Barnes, or the White Wolf – not HYDRA’s Winter Soldier – gather to say goodbye is a balm to your soul in those days immediately after losing him. You know it will take years and still the vast hole of losing him will never be truly filled, but you don’t want to drown in the depths of despair.

Still, you are a shadow of yourself as you live through the enormous heartache.

Steve comes by to “check in” on you every other day, but it’s always around dinner, and you think he needs someone who feels this much pain over losing him, too, needs to know it’s okay that it still hurts, with someone else who knew him, even though you knew different parts of him. You’re glad because Steve had also become someone you considered one of your own close friends, and a small part of you had worried that without Bucky to tie you two together Steve might have disappeared as well.

One night about a week after the service, Steve seems a little distracted, and you ask what’s on his mind. He mentions that there have been two deaths reported that Bucky would have been interested in – Senator Stern and Jack Rollins. The senator had already been in treatments for advanced colon cancer, but it appeared there had been a severe reaction with his chemotherapy. Rollins, the former number two on SHIELD’s STRIKE team who was revealed as a HYDRA sleeper agent when Steve exposed them and Bucky escaped and went into hiding, had gone underground himself, a mercenary operating in the shadows of the shadows, but had turned up in an alleyway in Detroit. He’d died of what looked like an aggressive infection from a wound, likely from a violent altercation.

“I know he never pursued vengeance, but I think he would’ve liked to know those two were gone for good. It’s just another thing I won’t get to talk to him about,” Steve says.

“Damn it, Barnes,” you sigh. “This would all be so much easier if he’d been a pain in the ass not worth missing.” 

The ache still hurts, but the small genuine laugh you and Steve share is another tiny piece of healing.

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Alpine who’d been distant and skittish at Bucky’s abrupt extended absence at first, but then finally sensed you were as forlorn as her and largely refuses to leave your side now. It’s late, and you’re starting to fight with your eyes to stay open as you read, when two distinct poundings on the door startle you and Alpine both.

“Who could possibly be here at this hour?” you whisper to Alpine, gently moving her from your lap into a small cocoon of the blanket you’d been wrapped in.

You move to the door as quietly as possible. You don’t want to confirm to whoever’s on the other side that you’re home if you can help it, glad now that you had been too lazy to get up and flip the record in your record player when the music came to an end however long ago.

But when you see the shoulders of the man leaning weakly against your doorframe, a shocked cry bursts out your chest. Your fingers struggle with the locks as you hastily work to throw the door open, and he stumbles in.

You’re quick to try and catch a cold and shaking Bucky Barnes as you close and lock the door behind him.

“Bucky?” Your left hand moves to his bicep to steady him, but your right hand tentatively seeks his.

He seems lost for another moment, but then his other hand comes up to cover yours and when his fingers brush over your wedding ring, he turns his eyes to look at you, and you see the flame of recognition. It’s confirmed and your heart sings when he murmurs your name.

“How are you here?” you ask, desperate to know this is real.

“I promised.”

Your breath hitches. You’d relived the pre-dawn moments of your last morning together in so many dreams, waking up with a tear-stained face too many times to count. “Is it really you?”

You’re not convinced this is any more than a hallucination.

But then he pulls you in and his lips consume yours, and its lips and teeth and crashing, too desperate and too real to deny.

“What do you think?” he growls, breaking the kiss for a moment, leaning his forehead to yours again as he had so many times.

“God, I missed you,” you respond, tears freely spilling down your cheeks.

“God has nothing to do with it.”

His hands grab the collar of the old sweatshirt you’re wearing, and you yelp in surprise as in one swift motion he rips it from top to hem and pulls it down away from your body. He’s never ripped your clothing – he always wanted you to feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments – but if he’s anywhere as close to as desperate as you are in this moment of reunion, it’s no wonder he doesn’t hold back.

Your hands go beneath the collar of his jacket to push it down his arms, and before it hits the floor, he’s already lifting his Henley and undershirt up and off his torso. You quickly unhook your bra and drop it while he yanks off his shoes. Then he’s up, and his lips capture yours again, his metal hand tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other palming your breast. This is truly where you left off the last morning you saw him, and you’re entirely overcome – by the grief that has enveloped you the past two weeks, the release of relief, confusion, but, more than anything else, your love and lust, blazing out from the depths of your soul. He sinks to his knees, pulling you with him, then pushing you back to the floor, the hard wood solid against your spine while he hovers over you, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing and sucking, nipping at your collarbone. Then his hungry mouth latches onto your other breast, alternating between sucking the nipple and teasing his tongue over it, drawing a moan from your lips.

Your hands seek every part of his bare skin they can reach, running over his face, his neck, in his hair, gripping his shoulders, up and down his arms, the planes of his stomach, his broad back. Then you pull his head back up to you, needing his lips against yours. You need him more than you need to breathe.

He pulls down your underwear, and you work at his belt and zipper, and in the next moment, he’s plunged fully inside you, bottoming out in your wet heat, and any pain is welcome, less painful than your heartache without him. He doesn’t let you take a breath to get used to the fullness of his cock inside you again before he’s already setting a quick pace, thrusting in and out brutally. You whimper against his lips, but you don’t want him to stop.

“I didn’t want to believe you were gone.”

“’m never leaving you again,” he swears.

You’re hit with a fresh wave of tears at his words and with a shift in his hips, his cock now hitting at a different angle, pressing furiously now against that most pleasurable spot up against your pubic bone.

“More,” you moan, and he grunts and gives you exactly that, more force as he ploughs into you.

Your walls clench around him, and he reaches down to pinch your clit, biting down on your lip at the same time, and it all pushes you over the edge, and you cling to him as your orgasm shakes you. He continues to fuck you through the waves, not slowing his pace or his force, and you whimper, but with no desire for him to stop. Every brutal thrust is primal, and you need to feel this as much as he does.

Finally, his movement stutters and then he’s filling you with his hot seed, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, hot heavy breaths against your skin. His pace slows, but he continues to pump into you until he’s finished, then collapses fully onto you. You welcome the weight of him, another reassurance he’s really here. You thread your fingers through his hair, no thoughts of moving.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” you say softly.

Bucky raises his head to look at you. His expression is unfamiliar – haunted, hungry. It’s unsettling. Or it should be.

“You’re still cold, Buck,” you note, moving a hand to stroke his cheek. Immediate intensity of your reunion starting to abate, and now you begin to assess and worry over him.

He moves quickly, standing up, then scooping you from the floor and pulling you into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. His destination is the bathroom where he deposits you on the counter before turning to the shower, twisting the knobs to initiate the stream of hot water. As you’re securing your hair up and out of the way, he drops his pants to the floor, and then the two of you step naked into the shower.

The hot water pours over your skin. Enclosed by the sanctuary of tile and glass, in here he kisses you as if it’s as essential as breathing, slow and concentrated. It’s still overwhelming, but it’s not the same frenetic desperation he took you with on the floor, and time flows by just like the rivulets over your skin, until you realize the temperature of the water is cooling.

A small laugh bubbles up from your chest, and you pull away from his lips. He tries eagerly to follow, but you gently cover his mouth with your fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we lose the hot water completely.”

Bucky sighs, but nods meekly. You turn to see only your things in the shower, and it’s only a half of a second that you bite your lip before pushing out of the glass door, not caring that you’re dripping water all over the floor but do take care not to slip as you take the few steps to across the bathroom to the cupboard. You had removed Bucky’s toiletries from the shower, the counter, and his designated shelves behind the mirror so you wouldn’t be constantly reminded of his absence but couldn’t bring yourself to throw them out and had only been able to stash them in a box. You slide the box from the shelf, set it on the counter, quickly fish out his shower gel and shampoo, and return to him and the shower.

Bucky's already soaped up your loofah and gets to work running it over your skin as he has so many times before. You switch him spots to rinse off, then turn your attention to him. You work up the shampoo in your hands, and he bows his head down when you reach up for him. You draw a moan from him as you work your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp and his posture relaxes. You trade places again for a moment to let him rinse the suds out of his hair, then pull him back out of the direct stream so you can wash the rest of him. Neck, shoulders, arms, chest. You tug his vibranium arm to get him to spin around for you, but then you gasp.

“Bucky!”

Your fingers skim over burns below one shoulder blade, and he tries to turn back to face you, but you press your left hand firmly against him to keep him there as you continue to examine him. You knew every freckle and mole on his skin, the scars he had before, and these are new. So, too, are some bruises, and there’s even a gash lower on his side.

“Bucky, what happened?”

He’s slow to turn back and face you now, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow, the haunted look is back in his eyes, and he’s frowning. Your heart aches while you wait for him to speak.

You take his hand and gently tighten your grip, trying to reassure him that you’re here, that there’s no rush for him to answer.

After another moment, he finally answers, but he drops his gaze to the floor. “I don’t remember everything that happened. It’s just fragments.”

Setting aside the foam sponge you were using, you take a half step closer to him and cup his cheek, urging him to look back at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure it out together.”

He engulfs you in another kiss. The heat and urgency grows, and then you two quickly rinse off the suds from his scrubbing down, and you’re escaping the shower, quickly toweling each other down, and Bucky pulls you to your bedroom and buries himself again in you. He’s relentless, taking you apart for hours, pulling orgasms from you, spilling his own into you, until you’re beyond spent, unable to move a muscle. Only then does he sink into the mattress next to you, pulling you into his side, you burrow happily against him, and he pulls the sheets and blankets up and around you both.

“Sleep well, my love.”

When you wake in the morning, you feel the sun on your face and fingers softly stroking up and down your back, and you sigh in contentment. A moment later your eyes fly open, and you shoot up in bed, your heart skipping a beat as you lock eyes with Bucky. You’d been so consumed by grief and conditioned yourself to coping with his absence that the reality of having him back hit you anew, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest even as you heaved a small sob.

“You’re really here,” you say softly, confirming it, reconditioning your brain.

“Never leaving you again,” he promises, pulling you close and wiping the few happy tears that spilled over your cheeks.

Tucked in under his right arm, you rest your cheek on his shoulder and let your fingers come up to trace lazy patterns over his chest, reacquainting yourself with the planes of his body. “I thought I had dreamed all of it.”

“This is not a dream.”

You shift slightly and laugh. “Yeah, my muscles are saying last night was very real. Can’t conjure up this kind of soreness in a dream, and I’m sure I’ve got bruises.”

“I’d apologize, but…”

He can’t see it, but you roll your eyes. “Bucky, I’ve always said I’d tell you if I ever needed you to stop, if you ever really hurt me.”

He huffs.

“Speaking of bruises,” you continue, letting your hand move to the side of his torso where you had discovered the gash in the shower. It’s still there. You lean up on your elbow and with your other hand, push up under his back, urging him to roll up onto his side. He tuts impatiently but indulges you all the same. Your fingers skim over the same bruising and burn marks that remain unhealed on his back. “Why are these still here? You always heal so quickly.”

He rolls onto his back again, looking at your concerned face. “I don’t know.” Your frown deepens. “No, I really don’t know, but they don’t hurt either.”

You sigh. “Okay, okay. But you’re also looking pretty peckish-“

“Peckish?” he interrupts, a smirk on his face. “I don’t think that means exactly what you think it means. How much BBC have you been watching lately?”

“Fine! Gaunt! You’re looking pretty gaunt for my super soldier, and I at least know how to fix that, so can we go make a ridiculously big breakfast?”

This had been a routine weekend ritual for the two of you, so you fall naturally into your roles in the kitchen, moving around each other to prepare your typical feast. Bucky is on waffle duty, in addition to making coffee and cutting up strawberries and bananas. You take care of scrambled eggs and frying up sausages and thick slices of tomato. The two of you know your timings, and you’re placing everything on the table around the same time.

He looks at the different dishes laid across the table, studying them. You watch his face, reaching slowly to spear a waffle with your fork. “Bucky? Everything alright?”

“Hmm?” He blinks and shakes his head before looking at you. “Of course, just… been a long time.”

You smile, but it’s a sad smile. He’s here now, but it doesn’t erase the weeks of pain your heart crawled through day by day, alone at this table, in this kitchen, in your bedroom, in this home you’d built with him.

“Tell me what you read this week,” he says, starting to pile food on his own plate.

And then you two fall into your rhythm. In your job as a literary agent, you read incessantly, and in a relationship with a man who turned out to be quite a book nerd, you’d established that you didn’t talk about books every night so you could have some off time from your job at the end of each day, but he was an eager listener each Saturday morning, and at the end of the week you always had an array to talk over with him. He would take seconds, and often thirds, while you spoke, and today was a dive back into that.

After an hour, the two of you cleared up the table, put the food away, did the dishes. As you do, Bucky eyes are on you constantly, and he takes any opportunity to touch you that the mundane tasks afford, a hand on your back as you pass each other putting things away, fingers brushing your skin when you hand him dishes, standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink.

As you close the cupboard, you turn and find Bucky moving to press you up against the counter, his arms bracing the marble edge on either side of you, and he slots his lips over yours, kissing you with a hunger that takes your breath away, and your fingers take desperate purchase clinging to the green t-shirt he’d thrown on with a pair of sweats.

When you finally break away to gulp in a lungful of air, he nips down your neck, then spins you around to face the counter and kneels behind you, yanking down your shorts and underwear with both hands, and you lean forward against the counter as he forces you to swiftly step out of them. Then he’s nudging your legs apart and burying his face into the apex of your legs, first biting at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, making you keen. Bucky makes one slow, torturous lick along your folds before going at your core with abandon, licking, sucking, slipping his tongue into your pussy, teasing your clit, bringing you to the edge. He backs off completely, and you whimper. “Bucky, no! More!”

He chuckles darkly, caressing the round curves of your hips. “More?”

“Need you. So close.”

He picks up again, but slowly, teasing you more, making you a whimpering mess, desperate for him. Your legs tremble, and you push back against his face, urging him to push you into waves of ecstasy.

Suddenly he backs off again, but he stands quickly, turns you around, and pushes you up onto the counter. He pushes his pants down, and you wrap your legs around him. Bucky sinks into you, but doesn’t move yet, instead demanding more kisses. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Take me back to bed,” you finally gasp out against his lips.

He nods and lifts you off the counter while keeping his cock inside you and takes you back to the bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you shuck your own clothes off, tossing them to the side, while he hastily removes his own and joins you on the bed. You push him down onto his back and straddle his hips. His hands move smoothly up your thighs as you reach down and guide his cock into your slick folds. You sink down slowly, and you both moan at the sensation. You close your eyes, but you can feel he’s watching your face. Your move your hands down to twine with his at your hips, and you gradually begin to move above him, raising and lowering yourself unhurriedly.

Since the very beginning taking Bucky as your lover, it’s always undulated between fast and slow, but with passion burning steadily through all of it. His every move, every touch, has always felt more intentional and cherished than everyone who came before. It consumed you in those early days, and he’s consuming you again now.

After a few minutes though, Bucky is not satisfied with the pace, and he sits up to take more control. With your faces close again, his hands move your hips up and down more quickly, setting a blistering pace, racing to another climax for you both, and you’ve no complaint, head falling back. He plants hot kisses along the column of your throat, his hands moving up your back, kneading, almost pinching the flesh as he clutches and clings to your shoulder blades.

He can feel you clenching down on him, knows your close, and he brings his metal hand around to reach down where your bodies meet in the thrusts, and rubs the small, tight circles over your swollen bud. Just another moment, and you let out a sob as another orgasm rolls over you, pulling him over the edge with you as your walls constrict around him. He grunts and holds you down, rocking your hips together back and forth as he shoots his hot sperm inside your womb.

You’re both breathless as he lays back, pulling you down to rest on his chest.

As your pulses return to normal, you place your hand over his heart, humming in contentment. But then you frown, noting that the skin you were so used to running hotter than anyone else because he’s got that super soldier serum running through his veins is still cooler than it’s supposed to be.

“What is it?” he asks, sensing your mood shift.

“Maybe we should call Dr. Banner and ask him to run a physical.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel the hesitance.

“I’m worried is all, Buck. You’re cold, and you’re never cold, and then the lack of healing with your wounds, I think something strange is going on.”

“Something strange is going on,” he admits, “but no Banner, not yet.”

You shake your head and push away, sitting up to look at him, “Why not?”

He earnestly sits up and cups your cheek for a moment, eyes seeking understanding in yours. “I can’t do it – no, I won’t do it again. I just got to a place in my life where I finally felt almost normal, and I don’t want to return to being be the oddity to everyone while I’m putting things back together.”

“What about Steve? He knows you better than anyone.”

He shakes his head. “Not even Steve. I’m not my old self yet, and Steve has seen me broken too many times, I can’t do that to him again. Maybe in a few days.”

You sigh.

“I know you’re worried,” he continues, “but please don’t. I still can’t tell you what happened, but I knew I had to get home, but it took me so long to remember how and to remember why. Someone said promise and I remembered I’d made you a promise. When I got here and you opened the door, when you put your hand on my arm and then I felt your wedding ring, another piece – quite a few pieces actually, it’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop last night. Every touch put more pieces back into place. I’ll figure this out, but I can’t do this to Steve again.”

You chew the inside of your lip. “He’d want to know.”

“That punk doesn’t get to have everything he wants all the time.”

The comment draws a smile to your face again. Bucky rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m getting more clear pieces all the time; I just don’t know how they all fit together yet.”

“Okay.”

“Besides, you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pull away again, searching his eyes.

Now he is the one with a small smile on his face. “Steve doesn’t know me better than anyone. You do.”

Another kiss.

You melt. You understand. You trust him. You agree. 

Unfortunately, you don’t know what you don’t know. Neither does Bucky.

You spend the rest of the day wrapped up again in each other, the night as well.

Sunday passes much as Saturday had – eating, talking, more sex than you had on the honeymoon. He’s seemingly insatiable, and you’re no less desperate, but also no match for his stamina.

Monday he lets you work, but only just. He convinces you to set up shop in the living room, where he promises to behave, he just wants to be near you, and your heart can’t deny him. He is always near you, almost constantly touching you in some way whether it’s one of you leaning against the other on the couch, holding your feet in his lap, sitting at the table and your knees touching. He lets you read manuscripts, but not for long before exacting more than proximity or the innocent touches from your body. You’re so intoxicated in his return you can’t think of denying him. Even during the night, you sleep more than he does (you always have), and as you drift in and out of consciousness, it’s to the feeling of his hands or his lips on your skin, waxing again between innocent and carnal.

Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Tuesday so many of your bones and muscles ache that you draw yourself a hot bath, unable to sleep and waking earlier than you had planned. The sex has been desperate and rough and frequent, and so the bruises on your body seemed natural.

When you step out of the tub, you happen to look over your shoulder in the mirror and see there are a couple of bruises that had bloomed on your back that were much darker than any you’ve had before. You just frown, finish drying off, and get dressed. Part of you longs to go back to bed and back to sleep, but you want to check in and see if you can’t get a few hours of work done. You do call off for the afternoon, and Bucky joins you for an afternoon nap.

You awaken with a gasp. It’s dark outside and Bucky has you on your back, planted between your thighs, his cock thrusting into you the action that woke you up. You clutch at his shoulders, letting him carry you away in the pursuit of more pleasure. He pulls you later into the kitchen to eat, but you’re still so tired that Bucky insists on returning you right back to bed after. You drift off, but not before he’s exacted another orgasm from your body, with his lips on your clit.  

The next morning, you look at the bruises on your back again. They’re still just as black, but now two of them look like they’re starting to open up like wounds. Your stomach floods with dread, and you call for Bucky, trying to keep the edge of panic out of your voice.

When he enters the bathroom, in the mirror you see there’s something that flashes in his eyes when his eyes first take in the planes of your back, but you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone too quickly. You want to ask, but you’re also too afraid to know what it could be.  

“I…” he starts, then swallows almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking I would go to the store. I’ll get something from the pharmacy for that, but I think we should get you back to bed.”

You’re so bone tired you don’t protest, and even your worry is swept away by your exhaustion. He tucks you in, and you’re already beginning to fall asleep again.

Another long rest seems to help, and you’re able to pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. The clock reads that it’s early afternoon, but Bucky is still out. You warm up some soup, toast some bread, and curl up on the couch with your modest meal. You switch the television on and stream some of your favorite reality show; it’s engaging enough to pull your mind a little from worrying about Bucky’s extended absence.

There’s a soft plop, and Alpine has suddenly appeared on the other end of the couch. You extend your right hand out, and she stalks over, nuzzles her head against your hand, and climbs right into your lap as if she hasn’t been absent for days.

You chuckle. “Where were you, you little minx?” It wasn’t uncommon for her to come and go on her own adventures in and out of the home, but she rarely left for so long. “Bucky’s been back since Friday night, and you’ve missed him completely!”

She settles down and purrs as you start petting her, seemingly oblivious to your inquiry and revelation. You turn your attention – as best you can – back to the screen.

Bucky was only supposed to be going to the store, two stores at best, but many episodes later, he’s still not back, and you can’t even contact him because you realize you two haven’t even got him sorted out with a new phone since he’s come back from the dead.

It's dark when you finally hear a key in the lock, and you’re fully alert again, turning to watch him enter, disturbing Alpine asleep in your lap, and she jumps down and darts away.

“Bucky!”

His back to you, he methodically closes and locks the door. When he turns back around, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes are wary. His whole demeanor is tense with dread. He moves slowly toward you.

Adrenaline floods your veins, relieved that he’s back, but worried at his state. “Where were you?” you ask, noting he has returned empty handed. “You were gone for so long.”

He sits down next to you on the couch, positioning himself to face you, never taking his eyes off of you.

“James, talk to me. You’ve got me scared to death.”

He opens his mouth at that, then closes it again. You move closer and take one of his hands in both of yours, pulling it into your lap. “Dying moves lower and lower on the list of bad things that could happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m already dead.”

The blood rushes in your ears, and your heart stops.

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

A bitter laugh falls from your lips, jumpstarting your breathing again. “A bit late with you talking like that. What happened? Where did you go? Why are you saying this?”

“I told you the other day that pieces were coming back.”

“Right, go on.”

“The marks on your back, they reminded me of a very old piece I didn’t even know was there.”

You nod slowly.

“When I was just a boy, my grandmother’s older sister, my mom’s aunt – so my great Aunt Ida, she came from Sweden to live with family here in the States after her husband died. They didn’t have any children of their own, and my grandmother had written to her and convinced her to come live with her in Brooklyn, because she’d have all of us around.”

Bucky rolls his left shoulder, something you’d noted he would do when he got uncomfortably nervous. You don’t push him, but just wait. He rubs his left hand up and down his leg, then continues.

“Aunt Ida liked to tell stories and read books – got me into books, actually. When my sister was around, she’d tell harmless stories, fairytales and stuff, but a couple of times when it was just me, I’d ask if she knew any scary stories, and she played along, teasing me, get me going. The last time, she told me this old folktale I’d never heard of before or since. She told me about there were souls who were killed but refused to die, souls who were either so tormented in life or who had tormented others so much that they could never be laid to rest.

“She got lost in the tale and before she realized what she was saying, she joked that her husband never wanted to leave Sweden, for years he knew my gran had wanted her to come to America, and she said she was surprised he hadn’t already risen from his grave and followed her to New York. She said it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down. My gran overheard that from the doorway though and screamed and scolded Aunt Ida for suggesting such a thing.

“A couple of weeks later Aunt Ida got pretty ill, I saw her only once more before she died, and she had the same kind of black bruise on her arm that I saw on your back today. Only once did I see my gran draw the two together – I wasn’t supposed to be close by, but I was down the hall when the doctor made a final house call to look over Ida, and my mom had to pull her out of the room. She was hysterical, saying it was this creature I’d never heard the name of before, that it was Ida’s husband, come to pull her away, but I couldn’t remember the name she used.

“But when I saw your bruises, and the way they were opening up like hers, I remembered everything about Aunt Ida and that story. I went to the library. I wasn’t sure where to start, except I figured folklore always starts with roots of truth somewhere in its distant past, so I pulled books on Swedish and Nordic folktales and got to reading.  

“Then I found it. They’re called gengångare, and I know I am one.”

“No!” You had let him go on for some time, fascinated and horrified, not even sure what you would’ve interjected previously, but this you couldn’t believe or agree with.

“I must be. No, don’t cry,” he says, bringing his vibranium fingers up to gently brush away the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “It explains everything: you said I died, and I’ve remembered a lot about my life before the incident, but almost nothing after, only scattered pieces that are so much slower to come and foggier than my actual life. It explains why my body isn’t the same as it was – I ignored every time you said my skin was colder, didn’t want to think my body wasn’t healing, but I’m not feeling any pain with those injuries either. I’ve been so desperate to touch you, to please you, because the heat and the physical sensations – especially the pleasure – I can feel something of that.”

He pauses, his expression changing slightly before he continues. “It explains why loose ends from my past have turned up dead in these past weeks.”

You have to move away from him, have to think. This is too much.

You stand abruptly from the couch and start pacing, but you only manage to take a step or two before you sway and have to steady yourself with a hand on the mantle so you don’t fall. Bucky is at your side in an instant. He’s calling your name, but you feel so lightheaded, and it sounds like he’s miles away instead of right next to you, holding your arm.

You blink and try to shake your head to clear it.

The cool vibranium of his hand is suddenly on your face, pressing against your forehead, then your cheek, your neck, and your cheek again. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.

You remember his enhanced hand can register temperatures.

He scoops you up bridal style into his arms and takes you to the bed you share for the last time.

“The gengångare went after souls,” he continues to explain, “trying to pinch and pull at their life, whether to steal them away into death or try to just pull some life back into their own souls, they couldn’t seem to control their draw fully one way or the other.”

Bucky seats you on the edge of the bed, and you remain quiet. Truly, what could you say?

He plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t fight him when he reaches for the hem of your shirt to pull it up and over your head. He turns your body so he can examine your back again, and his breath hitches. When you turn back and meet his eyes again, your heart sinks because his are full of resignation.

“I should have known it was too good for us to be happy. Taken from you after our honeymoon, brought back in a cursed state, doomed to lose you.”

“What now?

He lifts his own shirt up over his head and lets it drop to the floor.

“You’ll be consumed by what loves you. Ruined.”

He steps out of his boots, unbuckles his belt, and unfastens his jeans, sliding them to the floor.

Another tear slips slowly down your cheek, and he falls to his knees in front of you, fingers brushing the tears away. Then his fingers continue trailing down your neck and ghosting over the lace trim of your bra over the swell of your breast, making you shiver, terror and yet desire for him surging through your veins.

“You’re still so beautiful here at the end,” he whispers, his other hand smoothing up your leg.

Not knowing what else to do, your hands reach out and cup his face, drawing him to your lips. He kisses you so deliberately.

Bucky releases the clasp of your bra, you shrug it off your shoulders, and he pulls it away, tossed onto the floor in the heap with the rest. He pushes you back further on the bed and lays you down gently. The places you know those horrific bruise wounds should be feel numb against the sheets. He draws your panties down, discarding them as well.

Worshipping you as he has so many times, he hovers over your body, kissing your neck, your heaving chest, your breasts, while the skilled fingers of the assassin delve into your folds, drawing the wetness from the heat there, touching you in the way he knows your body craves. His fingers slip into you while his thumb rubs over your clit. He finds the tender spot within your pussy so easily, and you moan and whimper, one hand clutching his shoulder, the other tangling into the sheets.

You can only manage a short scream with your release, and though he was slow in the first stages, now he’s feral, wasting no time kneeling between your thighs and plunging his cock into you. It jerks you, but he pays no attention. He’s chasing with abandon now, both hands gripping your hips as he thrusts in earnest, bottoming out with tremendous force each time. The fullness, the force, it’s so much pain and pleasure with each stroke that you sob, clinging to him as another orgasm washes over you. His face is buried in your neck, and he cries out, his own climax coming soon after as your walls contract around his full cock. He pumps you full of his seed, moving until he’s empty, everything and every emotion poured from him into you.

He drops onto you, his energy fully spent. Once he’s recovered enough, he moves off of you, rolling to the side, and pulling you with him, chest to chest, face to face. His vibranium arm holds you close, and his other hand gently pushes some of your hair out of your face.

You look at him for a moment, but you can feel you’re slipping out of consciousness. So tired.

“Don’t be afraid. Dying is much easier than living.”

His blue eyes, darker than you’ve ever seen them before, are the last thing you see.

He whispers quietly to you in the dark as you fade away. He wouldn’t let Steve see him like this. He’d pulled you away from life, he wouldn’t do it to another now that he knew. He would return to Russia, so fitting to go to where so much else went wrong for him, and vanish in Siberia, waste away where he would never be a danger ever again.

Then after a while, he falls silent, wanting to hear the rest of your heartbeats while they last.

Then finally, he murmurs his goodbye.

“Sleep well, my love.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Writer commentary available here as part of the 2023 Dark Forest Fest

More detailed author notes...

First, LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN (I've got some very old HP fandom days under my belt from many years ago, just not attached to this tumblr account). Just kidding. I lost my masterlist, and so I'm going back through my fics and saw that Into Dust actually almost hit 9k.

Second, Into Dust was only a slightly dark fic, but this was a. dark. plot. I was stoked to write something for spooky season, and when I got the line part of the prompt, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, so I... knew I wanted to go into some uncharted territory. This year I've been turning toward discovering my own ancestral heritage instead of just "being American." My ancestry DNA test reports that I'm a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT of Swedish - like almost half my ancestry. I've had an affinity for Sweden for ages - have friends who moved there, have been able to visit once myself and completely fell in love, half the stuff I own is from Ikea, etc, etc.

So with this, I was initially thinking, what's a folktale or fairytale or halloween thing that I could use that's not totally overdone... but then I thought, wait, I'm trying to learn more about my Swedish heritage anyway, so why not see if there are some creepy awesome SWEDISH folklore elements I could research and explore. I googled "Swedish folklore monsters" and started combing through different top 10/top 5/top 15/top 20 lists, and this Gengångare came up across most of them, and the concept intrigued me. I think I stayed true to about 90% of what my deeper digging led me to. Anyway... if anyone is more interested, let me know/send me an ask/whatever and I can share more of what I found and catalogued away.

[seadragon-sailing]

@spoocysfunhouse Anon here! I know I could easily DM you this question but I thought it'd be more fun to ask you here on the blog. I hope you don't mind if I poke your brain a little

Is Silver a member of the crew in your story? I see him interacting with both the main cast crew and your oc's.

Did he ever face trial for what he did in the film? How does Silver work in your timeline?

Share some of the good tea if you please.

I’m really excited for this one, y’all! I’m totally open to people sending Asks about the story I’ve got going on for this blog!  Continuities are really fluid here when it comes to outside interactions, but for the actual plot, I’ve got some good tea to spill.  I sort of latched onto the idea that the story starts with the Hispaniola still on its way back to Bristol, but it’s being attacked by pirates.  Basically like an alternate universe where it takes place at the end of the movie, and in the opening of the PC game.  

Only Silver would participate in fighting off the pirates because I think– based on what the sources I read about the ending of the Treasure Island book said– Silver convinced Dr. Livesey that he was on their side and would help at any opportunity he could when they left the island, and he got a cut of the money.  In short, he fits into my story as part of the main cast crew until they return to Bristol, where I’m assuming he does go to trial since he needed Jim as a witness.  My guess is that Silver got to go back to work as the ship's cook, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the crew unanimously agreed that they’d rather avoid the risk of Silver poisoning them, so they just keep him walking around to help with other tasks.

As for the interactions with my OCs…

Four pirates and a disgruntled captain are gonna be pretty guarded once the dust settles.  Especially when it finally clicks with both Silver and Ben Gunn that Captain Ippuki and his crew aren’t the kind of pirates they thought they were all along. And something tells me that the civilians and sailor aboard are going to probably have some trust issues after the whole "hiring pirates unknowingly" thing.

[forestdeath1]

Hello! I was going to put this in my previous ask, but I realized it probably deserved its own so you can answer privately if you wish.

Your astrology analysis is brilliant. I love Sirius’s and I love Walburga’s so so so much. I was curious, how do you work them up? Do you have past knowledge or is there a website you use and then you just embellish to fit it into each character’s lives better? I ask bc there’s a bunch of HP Ocs I’ve been working on in my own expansion of Wizarding Greece. I’ve only found one site that’s good, but I don’t think I could find it. Theres also the thought that maybe I’d need to write out their personalities and how they change and pinpoint a birthdate for a zodiac sign that way. What do you think?

Hi!!! Thanks a lot!!

With Sirius it was easy — we know his birth date. Plus, for me he’s 100% a Scorpio ascendant, so it was pretty easy. I picked an approximate time using online rectification. Someone on Tumblr who knows more about astrology once told me they think Sirius has a different ascendant, but I don't care, for me, he’s Scorpio rising 😁 I don't take astrology THAT seriously.

With Walburga and Orion, it was harder — because we have their birth year and their "character", and I had to make it all fit.

With Walburga, I always knew I wanted her to be a Taurus, but a Taurus with challenging aspects. I wanted her Sun in the 10th house, and I considered a few other options, so those were the limits that reduced my search time. Plus, I was looking for an unstable and challenging moon — there weren’t many options (to my unprofessional eye, I’m sure professionals can think of many more options!!!). I settled on Scorpio, which narrowed it down to almost two days. Then I just built a chart online for each possible date/time, but there weren’t many options left. Leo ascendant and the sun in the 10th house, and many aspects fit very well. Since I’m not a professional, that was enough for me 😁

As for my completely original characters, I don’t worry about dates/aspects. I just come up with their sun sign and sometimes their moon, after developing their character. And I just know how the signs generally look in different planets, and I always read more online ofc! It’s also important to consider aspects and houses, but I’m too lazy to do it for OCs.

If you just need to choose, you can assume all aspects are fine, forget about houses, and just match OCs characters with star signs based on the main descriptions of the sun, moon, and ascendant.

[lostinfantasyworlds]

Get to know your fic writer!

# 1, 4, and 16 😊

Hi Liz!! Thank you so much for the asks ❤️🥰

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

I enjoy writing both, and so far 8/9 of my published works are one shots, but I think I prefer writing multi-chapter. It’s fun to build a world and plot out a whole story with arcs and foreshadowing and plot twists etc. I love taking the reader on a journey and having people follow along with each chapter waiting to see what happens next.

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Almost always through music or photographs😊. Occasionally real life.

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

It’s funny because I see most fic writers talk about having tons and tons of WIPs/ideas, but I get overwhelmed SO easily, especially when it comes to writing, that I actually try to actively limit ideas until I’ve fully finished my current project 😅.

As in…unless an idea bursts into my brain and starts writing itself, I won’t do anything more than maybe jot down a quick note to come back to later. If I’m actively working on a multi-chapter fic, I engross myself so fully into that world that I can’t handle jumping around too much. And it stresses me out to have too many full-on WIPs that I’ve actually started writing scenes for and plan to finish.

Anyways, to go back to the main question, I have 2 main WIPs that I’m aiming to get published this year. If It Kills Me is where my current focus is, and then The First and Last I’m hoping to publish this summer.

I have 5 total multi-chapter "official" WIPs (meaning I’ve actually written full scenes and have done plotting work), which includes the 2 I just mentioned, and 2 that are kind of “on hold”, meaning I’m not sure when/if I’ll get back to them because I haven’t had any inspiration to work on them for a long time.

Then I have 3 other one shot WIPs that I actually intend to post at some point (hopefully this year but we’ll see). And a handful that I’ve jotted down some paragraphs for but am not overly passionate about ever publishing so I don't really count them.

TL;DR (sorry for the rambling🤣): 5 multi-chapter (2 active, 1 to dive into later this year, and 2 on hold) and 3 one shots.

--

I think I already shared info on all of my main WIPS a few months ago, so I’ll share one of my vague ideas that I jotted down but I don’t consider an “official” WIP yet:

InuKag AU based loosely around Aragorn and Arwen’s backstory in Lord of the Rings (the appendix story from the books but I'd also draw from the movies). I’m still debating switching the roles so that Inuyasha is the one in Arwen’s position (immortal, demons are planning to leave earth behind and he has to decide whether to go with them or not…it could definitely fit better in some ways). BUT I think I pretty much settled on having Kagome in Arwen’s position and having it be that since she is a priestess who protects the shikon jewel, it grants her immortality. So there would be the whole "choosing a mortal life" conflict, along with some kind of epic adventure where InuKag have to save the world together.

I've been wanting to write some kind of feudal AU, and am hoping to use that setting for this story, but it might turn more into an abstract fantasy world like Middle Earth. We'll see!

Thank you so much again for the asks @liz8080 !! ❤️

Get to know your fic writer asks

[okthatsgreat]

hi hello!! i’ve just finished catching up on the last few OPDDMH chapters, and i have BRAIN ROT!! this is one of the only fics that’s managed to grab my attention and intrigue so completely while i’m not fixated on the media it’s from. i love the concept and i’m OBSESSED with the worldbuilding, especially the DR company and the characterization of the previous game characters outside of the simulation. it’s a wonderful fic, something i never knew i needed after the V3 ending

as someone who was always incredibly attached to THH, i was wondering if there was any lore about the first season survivors that you had, stuff that probably won’t be a thing in the fic? or really just anything you wanted to share? i just adore the way they’re written so much 

AAAAAA💥💥💥💥💥 THANK YOU <33 WHAT THE HELL THATS SO SWEET THANK YOU I REALLY APPRECIATE IT :] <33 tysm!!!

ILL RANT A LOT UNDER THE READ MORE!! :D

OKAY! THH SURVIVOR LORE!! ive got little bits and pieces floating around inside my brain of what theyre up to so ill share what i can >:)))

the six of them were the very first group of survivors to emerge from the virtual reality, so automatically they are practically SENSATIONS in the public's eye. unlike other groups of survivors, who have one or two people each group who usually get discarded by both danganronpa and the general audience (for example, akane), season one is exceptional in the fact that all six of them are heavily publicised and glorified. not to mention, danganronpa takes any opportunity they can to throw the six of them back into the main story because audiences are very receptive towards them, meaning they have been in and out of that simulator extremely often, even if they aren't actually in the killing game. This is also why none of them are as old as they should actually be.

they would consider each other relatively close, but in the way that they are the only possible other people who could understand and relate to what they've gone through. not only that, but most of the time they get to spend together is through business meetings and professional events, which unfortunately puts a bit of a strain on their relationships. it's been a long while since they've all hung out together for non-business reasons!! that and none of them really live close to each other LMFAO. i like to imagine that they had really clung onto each other the first few years they were out of the simulator but eventually HAD to drift, not even by choice but more so because they just don't have time or the ability.

but those first couple of years out of the simulator, when they were the only six people in the world who could possibly understand what they had gone through in that killing game?? oh man they would have relied on each other for everything. i mentioned briefly in the story that makoto had this very revealing moment during those first couple of days out of the simulator where he practically told the others his entire backstory just because he felt so disconnected from those memories-- i imagine it was similar for a few other survivors!! those six likely know a LOT about each other, or at least the fake backstories they had been given.

i like to keep little tidbits of info for the other three survivors that arent super in this story just in the back of my mind whenever they make an appearance!! they've all got their own shit theyve gotta handle lmfaoooo. yasuhiro travels a LOT, mostly because danganronpa has him do liveshows with his fortune telling that has gotten progressively more and more fake and manufactured. he's never in one spot, because danganronpa thinks it "fits his character" to always be on the run, and i imagine yasuhiro growing vveeerrryyy tired of this. let that man SETTLE! he's had ZERO opportunities to think about his own personal life because everything he does and everywhere he goes is hand picked by a media team, even if his entire brand is being carefree and going where the wind takes him. the thh survivors definitely make jokes all of the time about how they need to plant a gps on him because he is never in the same city he was an hour ago lmao

aoi is a VERY famous survivor and usually doesnt return to the simulator for killing games but rather to make brief cameo appearances. shes a spokeswoman and definitely helped to maintain the "we love danganronpa! nothing bad every happens with the danganronpa company!" persona during the early days. i honestly imagine that aoi had been used for promotional things quite a lot during those first few years, alongside makoto, just because she was smart about what to say around the company. nowadays she is still very much used for interviews and promotional material, and i also see her as somebody danganronpa frequently asks to chat with the younger seasons to encourage them since makoto is HELLA busy. shes also got a little kid!! a little toddler thats she raising :) which is another reason she hasnt been asked back to the simulators to participate in a killing game (or at least if she has, its been brief). this isnt to say that she CANT be asked back, which both makoto and byakuya knows and is why they briefly argue about it in regards to the safety of their class. aoi is literally one of the only survivors allowed to start a family and you just KNOW the press would NOT leave her tf alone about it HGFJDS

i imagine toko has drifted the most from the group!! she stays closer to komaru and the people from udg, out of convenience and also for comfort. shes probably the least involved in promotional material compared to the other five but she is certainly involved with things behind the scenes. shes also most definitely a victim of danganronpas shitty therapy and suffers quite a lot because of it. danganronpa knows not to get her in front of cameras because they cant guarantee what she'll say compared to the others, meaning toko gets by relatively unscathed by the media except for when she is asked back in the simulator. and i imagine toko getting asked back QUITE frequently, and not just for cameo roles. in this universe UDG is a spinoff of sorts, and that series has definitely continued with toko and komaru frequently involved. while the other five survivors are invited back into the simulator mostly to observe the killing game and then say a few lines about the future foundation and hope, toko gets asked back to SURVIVE shit. which does GREAT things for her mental health probably maybe

makoto byakuya and kyoko we are learning about!!! >:) teehee THANK YOU SM I LOVE QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!! SORRY IF THIS WAS WAY TOO LONG LOL

[imsoglitter]

Hi kate! Idk if you’ll see this or answer but I wanted to send bc I’ve been following u for awhile and see u as sort of a big sibling/mentor that reminds me that it gets better and one day everything will be okay :’) do u have advice on how to move on? I’m femme and had my first ever kinda relationship w a butch and it was nice but they abandoned me on my bday celebration after blowing up on me saying that I was too high maintenance, materialistic, sparkly, and pink and my emotions were “too much to process” and “my presence was unhealthy” 6 months later they’re engaged to another femme who is more slow living and earthy. sucked a lot bc from day 1 they said I WASNT too much and that they would never leave. Idk I’m not sad I dont wish I was the soon wife but I’m convinced now that I’ll never find anyone bc all butches/mascs at the end of the day want that & I’ll be alone 4evr. I noticed all of my butch/femm couple friends are kinda same the same (earthy, natural, no glitz or glamour, etc). Feeling v high femme camp antics essay rn and having trouble coping. I tried changing my aesthetic and being minimalist but it put in deep depression so idk what to do. I’m unlikeable to all the ppl I’m attracted to but fitting in to be likable makes me want to kms. Any thoughts or ideas?? Hope this doesn’t come off as trauma dumping 😖

Hi anon! I don't know if I'm the right person to answer this bc I'm definitely a lazy femme who doesn't have the energy to be high femme, and the advice I'm going to give you is something you've probably heard a million times before.

If someone dislikes you enough to dump you on your birthday, you are better off without them. This goes for any other special occasion as well. The first time I got dumped, they very politely waited until I got back from a special trip I was on so it wouldn't be ruined, and I'm really glad for that. It made everything amicable and we're still penpals to this day. It sounds like your ex was bad at communicating the problems they were having in the relationship, given the blowup, and reacted pretty immaturely tbh. That's not the kind of person you want to spend your life with. (I'm also very wary of people who get married after less than a year of knowing each other, but that's a separate issue)

Honestly the best advice I can give you, and you're probably going to hate this, is take a break from looking for a sexual/romantic relationship. Focus on the other relationships in your life, whether they're with friends or family or even coworkers. And spend time with yourself. Definitely don't change everything about yourself to be with someone because you're going to have to live with yourself your whole life. The most important person to like you is going to be yourself. If you want to change think about expanding rather than dumping everything and picking something new.

And on the topic of finding someone who will love you the way you are, your best goal is to be patient, and to take action when you feel ready. Don't settle with someone who tolerates you or you'll end up like my parents (bad). And if you feel like there's potential, don't be afraid to make the first move. Pining is fun until it's not anymore so it's better to skip that part sometimes lol

Practical speaking here's my advice:

Delete your dating apps for a while

Get yourself a vibrator

Go to the movies by yourself

Pick up a new physical hobby like gardening or woodworking or cooking, something you can touch

If you hate your new hobby drop it and try something else

Try a new restaurant you've never been to before

Go for a walk/sit in a park weather permitting and birdwatch

And if you're seriously suicidal, take inventory of yourself and see if you can come up with a plan to avoid that headspace. Therapy and meds helped for me, but the main thing was moving out of a toxic environment. Plus I'm not stupid enough to pretend that therapy fixes everything all the time

I guess I'm saying you should date yourself, but trying to not make it sound super corny lol. I hope this helps and I hope you can figure out how to get out of your rut. I'm rooting for you!

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Eight // Wanda Maximoff

chapter seven | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter nine

author’s note: Y/C/N = your cousin’s name, also this is later than I wanted today but i’ve been super busy so sorry for that! Also, I’ll be responding to comments from the last one as soon as I’m free. Enjoy 😊

"...okay, so now use the water to dilute the colour."

I did as Wanda said, dipping my brush in the glass of water and diluting the watercolour I was using, but I must have used too much because it made the paint run and then the paper started to get too damp to hold together.

Wanda facepalmed, sighing as I smiled sheepishly.

"My bad...?"

She glared playfully before ripping a page from her sketchbook. "Try again, milaya (darling). And use less water this time."

I squinted in the sun as I glanced at her. "Can't you just accept I'm not very good at painting? Or art in general?"

She shook her head, taking the torn page from my grasp and replacing it with a new one. "No way. You're not getting out of it that easily. It's not hard, I promise!"

I groaned lightheartedly. "You said that about drawing. And about using acrylics. And about using chalk."

"And I'm saying it about this, now c'mon, try again," she encouraged with an amused smile before returning to her own painting.

We were sat in my garden, hanging out and making the most of the lovely day we were having. The Spring breeze was getting warmer as we transitioned into Summer and it was a nice change of pace from the usual bad weather we had. So nice that Wanda wanted to do some painting and also teach me how to. But art was never my strong suit and I'm sure she knew that but still proceeded to try anyway.

Sketching out the tree before us for the third time today, I attempted to provide an outline that I could eventually fill in with green watercolours. Unlike Wanda though, it wasn't fun. My eyes veered over to her and I smiled to myself as I admired the look of concentration on her face – her 'art' look, I dubbed it. It was this very specific expression she got whenever she worked on a painting or drawing, and it always reminded me of that first time I saw it, after we met in the stationary store and when she took me back to her room. Absolutely wonderful.

"I don't hear a pencil moving," she said, not looking up but beginning to smile.

"That's because I'm looking for... what did you call it?" I racked my brain, thinking back to the day in the store when she talked about inspiration. "Vdokhoventi?"

A sharp exhale escaped her lips as she finally lifted her gaze to meet mine. Attempting not to laugh, she tilted her head adorably. "Vdokhnoveniye."

I quirked a brow. "Is that not what I said?"

She giggled, shaking her head. "Definitely not."

I grinned, shrugging. "Well, that's what I meant."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not it, so eyes on your page."

"Oh, how dearly mistaken you are, love," I said quietly, leaning close and giving her a knowing smile.

She looked up, expression softening with a smile. Her eyes were heavenly, pupils dilated as she squinted in the sun, and they flickered to my lips before she settled on nudging me in the shoulder slightly. I snickered, leaning my head on her shoulder since everybody thought we were as close as best friends, so it wouldn't look suspicious. She sighed contently, letting me watch as she moved her paintbrush, painting a flower that was peeking through the grass we were sat on.

I could have stayed there forever, in that moment, sitting with Wanda and watching her paint under the sun. But of course, all good things come to an end when you don't want them to.

"Y/N, dear," I heard my father call, and when I looked up, I saw him approaching Wanda and I from the direction of our house.

Straightening up, I watched as he attempted to sit on the grass, but his legs were too long and he struggled to cross them. With a hearty chuckle, he stretched them out, slightly bent, and leaned on his hands.

"I'm getting too old for this, ladies," he said humorously, making Wanda and I smile.

"What d'you need, dad?" I asked, raising my brows.

"I just wanted to check in and see if you were ready for tonight," he said casually, making me furrow my brows. He seemed to notice my confusion, prompting, "Tonight? Your cousin's birthday party?"

"My cousin's what-now?"

He sighed, massaging the point between his brows. "Y/C/N? They organised this months ago. We're all expected to be there." His glanced to Wanda. "You, too, dear."

Wanda hummed, pulling her gaze from her painting and looking to my dad. "Yes, I'm aware. Got my dress ready and everything."

My eyes snapped to Wanda's with surprise. "You knew about this?!"

"You should be more like her," my dad muttered, as Wanda smiled with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

I looked back to my father. "I was planning on helping Y/B/N with his manuscript tonight."

My dad waved his hand. "I've already talked to him. He's agreed to work on it before the party starts so you're both on time."

I groaned, already tired at the sound of yet another party. Did it ever end?

"Don't be late," he ordered, though his voice was anything but stern. Cue another groan. He smiled before looking to Wanda's painting. "Wow, that's great, dear. Apparently you've got Y/N here attempting to do the same?"

Wanda chuckled as she handed him my several failed attempts. "Key word being 'attempting'."

He accepted the pages and stifled a smile of amusement. "Wow... maybe you should stick to writing, Y/N."

I ripped the pages from his grasp. "Cheers, dad, really."

He laughed before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. "It's all in good faith, dear. Now remember. Don't be late tonight, okay?"

I sighed, which he took as my response, before pushing himself off the grass with a grumble. Dusting his trousers, he nodded to Wanda and I before leaving us be.

"You could've told me I had yet another party to attend tonight," I told Wanda with narrowed eyes.

She shrugged, smiling helplessly. "I thought you knew."

I laid back on the grass with a dramatic sigh. "I just don't understand why our life revolves around extravagant parties, balls and dinners."

"That's just how it is, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said with a warm smile.

I looked up at the sky, raising my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, though my heart fluttered at one of the many nicknames she called me in Russian. "I'd rather live in the middle of nowhere. Where nobody expects anything of me and there's no stupid parties to attend."

She rested a hand on my leg before laying beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder. I relaxed my head on hers, appreciating how well we fit together.

"Same here," she agreed, making me gasp playfully.

"What? Don't you love the glitz and glamour?"

She laughed quietly. "I do, but I like the peace and quiet more."

I breathed out, fingertips brushing hers. "Maybe I can be a little late tonight... accidentally run over time so I don't have to stay as long."

Her fingers tugged on mine between us as a warning. "No. I'll be left alone and I'll be bored. And when I'm bored, I drink."

It was my turn to laugh. "You won't be alone, Wanda. You'll have Pietro."

She shifted so she was no longer leaning on my shoulder but instead tilting her head to look my way. "I want you."

I turned my head and gave her a small, promising smile. "I'll try to be on time."

She quirked a brow. "Try? You will."

My eyes flittered away, ready to argue otherwise, but she sat up and grabbed her paintbrush. I sat up, too, ready to tell her I would try, but I flinched when she flicked water towards me from the tip of it.

"Are you serious?" I asked, wiping the water from my eyelids with tongue-in-cheek.

She chuckled and I grabbed my paintbrush and did the same, watching her squirm when it flicked on her face.

Suppressed smile on her face, she wiped away the water and glared with dazzling eyes. "You shouldn't start what you can't finish, milaya (darling)."

Smiling from ear to ear, I quirked a brow devilishly. "Oh?"

"You're so lucky we're in front of people," she said lowly, leaning close enough to be platonic, but her hand slipped under my dress and creeped up my leg, making me involuntarily shiver. "Or you would be in serious trouble."

I stopped her hand from going any higher, the rings on her fingers cold enough for me to not melt under her touch. "I highly doubt that, love."

She held my gaze, intoxicating and mesmerising all at once. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Don't test me then. You heard your father. Don't be late."

I exhaled, licking my lips. "Fine. I won't be."

—

Later that afternoon, I found myself sat in my brother's study as the two of us worked on his latest manuscript together. It was a love story, his (my) specialty, and I was helping him to sort out his sentence structure when he decided to question me.

"Will you entertain me for a moment?" he asked randomly, making me look up from the pages.

"I'll probably regret it, but go on," I said jokingly, before looking back down and adding some notes to the paper.

His chair creaked as he leaned back, eyes watching me thoughtfully. "Are you in a secret relationship?"

I almost choked on my spit as he asked this, heart dropping to my stomach with panic. He couldn't know about Wanda, right? We'd been so careful.

Thankfully, I played it off well as I merely glanced his way before distracting myself with note-taking.

"Why would you think that, Y/B/N?" I asked like he was insane.

He shrugged in my peripheral. "I don't know... I've been wondering for a while. You've just loosened up so much more. And you're not as uptight as you usually are."

"Cheers," I said sarcastically.

He leaned forward, head resting in his palm. "This all happened right about the time I met Wanda..."

I swallowed hard, quirking a brow at him to play down my panic.

"I saw you with Pietro the other week," he continued, and I could finally breathe when I realised what he was insinuating. "I'm happy if you're happy, Y/N, but I'm not a fan of you sleeping with my publisher."

At that thought, I shuddered and proceeded to shove Y/B/N on the arm. "Don't say that. And I would never."

Just your fiancé, I thought guiltily.

"Good," he said with relief, straightening up. "Because you're not supposed to do that until you get married."

I rolled my eyes dismissively in response, but wondered if that still applied in a world where one was not allowed to marry the person they loved.

Y/B/N gave me a reassuring glance. "Look, I'm okay with it, I guess. But I'd appreciate the heads up so I can give him a stern talking to."

Realising there was a hint of mirth in his voice, I looked up and gave him a warning look. "Don't you dare."

He laughed, patting me on the back, to which I shrugged off with annoyance.

"It's the Maximoff charm," he commented knowingly. "The twins have that effect on people, don't they? Wanda sure has it on me."

A short silence fell after he said that and I chewed on my lip curiously, unable to stop myself from speaking until it was too late.

"Is her love reciprocated?"

He looked down to me from his daydream, no doubt of Wanda. "Pardon?"

Knowing there was no backing down from the conversation now, I avoided his eyes. "The engagement between you both was arranged... you're clearly in love with her, but is it returned?"

His lips twitched into a frown. "I'd hope so."

I hummed, diverting my attention away from him and to the pen in my hand.

"Why? Did she say something?" he asked, voice laden with worry.

"Of course not," I reassured him.

"But you'd tell me if she did?" he asked eagerly.

I looked his way and saw him peering down at me, hanging onto my response. I nodded lamely, which seemed to put him at ease as he sank into his chair with relief.

We spent the next few hours working on the manuscript without a hitch, but I noticed the time and realised the party was already in full swing. Wanda's words came to mind and I hoped she wouldn't be too annoyed at my lateness.

"We're wrapping it up now, don't worry," Y/B/N said, noticing me check the clock. "Thanks for the help. I'm gonna get this to my editor tomorrow. Your amendments should help make the process go a lot smoothly."

I hummed in response, feeling a heaviness settle on my shoulders as he mentioned his editor. It was always the same routine – I helped him with his manuscript, he got it edited, got his book published and got all the credit. And I was stuck in the same position, wishing I could do the same.

"What is it?" he asked with a sigh, sensing my mood.

Playing with the corner of the manuscript, I met his gaze. "I help you with your writing, but I never get anything from it."

"You get to help me," he pointed out, not seeing the issue. "Isn't that enough?"

Pietro's offer came to mind as I said, "What if I wrote my own book? And got published with my name on the cover?"

He squinted as he studied me, trying to find the humour in my words. Letting out a laugh, he shook his head.

"Y/N, that's absurd."

I raised my eyebrows hopefully. "I mean, is it? Would that be so bad?"

He pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. Resting a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a condescending look.

"I'm saying this because I care," he said, making me feel like crap. "But yes."

As if I didn't already know the answer, I asked, "Why?"

He motioned with his hand like it was obvious. "Because. People would look at you differently. You'd be undesirable. You know men don't like smart women. I'm just looking out for you as your brother."

I looked away, the bitterness at his words stinging more than usual. "Well, I like smart women."

Thinking I was joking, he chuckled. "Don't go saying things like that. One might misinterpret."

My teeth pressed into my lower lip hard, trying to contain my frustration.

"You can do this every now and then," he said, referring to the manuscript, "but any more isn't possible. Besides, two authors in one family? That's insane."

I forced a smile, but I wondered if his last comment was the real reason he wouldn't let me at least try to get published.

"Anyway, never mind that," he said indifferently. "We should probably head out. Dad is not going to be pleased. Especially since I promised we wouldn't be late."

I nodded, sliding my chair out and wanting to be anywhere but here right now. "Yeah, come on."

He gave me a sneaky smile. "Can't wait to see Pietro?"

I slapped him on the arm before standing up, ignoring his laughter. Nothing to make an already-depressing night worse than going to a party you didn't care for.

—

Wanda Maximoff was a very difficult drunk to be around, I'd learnt that the hard way.

As soon as Y/B/N and I rolled up to my cousin's house, a third of the guests were drunk and the rest were tipsy. A typical Y/L/N get-together. Y/B/N was instantly dragged away by some family whilst I was quick to make myself scarce, attempting to find Wanda. But the place was bustling with people and there were way too many rooms to check.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

"If you're expecting a brand new fountain pen, you won't find it in there," I teased, making him jump.

He sighed when he looked my way, realising it was me. "I know that. But there's nothing better here to do, so I may as well know what freebies we'll be getting by the end of it."

I smirked. "Anything good?"

He shrugged, seeming disappointed. "Just some chocolate and perfume samples."

Holding back a smile, I said, "How tragic."

"If you're looking for my sister, she's over there," he said, nodding behind me. "You'll love this one."

"What do you mean?" I asked, brows knitted with confusion, before turning around and following his gaze.

Wanda was indeed stood on the other side of the dining room and I could just about make her out between idle guests. She was chatting to some woman, hands moving erratically and with expression, a grin on her lips.

"What is she doing?" I asked unsurely, tearing my eyes from her and looking to Pietro.

He was withholding laughter as he answered, "Sometimes, dear Y/N, my beloved twin sister gets drunk when she's–"

"Bored," I finished, remembering what she told me this morning. My face dropped as I mumbled, "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh indeed," Pietro said, grinning at his sister's dismay. "Drunk Wanda is a very truthful Wanda. So, any secrets of hers will most definitely be revealed tonight."

Pietro was too caught up in his own amusement to notice my eyes widening.

"One of our servants made me a platter a few years ago," Pietro explained, oblivious to my panic. "It was a delicious cheese platter, the cheese having been imported from France. Then, Wanda proceeded to eat it without telling me. When I asked if she did, she lied. And I only discovered she lied because she got drunk a few weeks later and bragged about how good the cheese was."

Continuing to ramble, though this time in Russian, Pietro complained about said incident, though I wasn't listening as I watched Wanda talk to the woman enthusiastically. I could only imagine what secrets she was sharing.

"Pietro!" I cut him off, earning his attention. "Shouldn't you do something? To stop Wanda?"

The cheese platter story long forgotten, his grin reappeared on his lips. "Nah, it's funny watching her make a fool of herself."

I gave him a look of disbelief before looking back to Wanda, who was laughing at something by herself. The woman she was speaking to seemed partially confused, but smiled to be polite. I gulped, before shaking my head.

"I'm not that mean," I said to Pietro before making a move to stop her.

Pietro booed me playfully, but I ignored him and approached the drunk brunette, managing to catch her conversation.

"–and they're usually such catty bitch–"

"Wanda!" I immediately cut her off, bumping into her side slightly to get her attention. "There you are!"

Green eyes widened with excitement as they met mine. "Y/N! You're here!"

Ignoring her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close before looking to the guest she was talking with.

"My apologies for her behaviour," I said with an awkward smile, hoping Wanda hadn't revealed anything suspicious.

"No need to apologise, dear," the woman said with an amused smile. "Wanda here was telling me all about how lovely of a sister-in-law you are. Or will be."

Wanda grinned, looking to me and leaning in so close that her nose brushed my cheek. "Yeah, she is," she continued to the woman, though her eyes were on mine. "She's sweet, not like other people make out their sister-in-laws to be."

My face was warm as I cleared my throat and smiled once more to the woman. "If you'll excuse Wanda and I."

The woman barely got out a nod before I dragged Wanda away, trying to keep her lips away from my neck (she was also an extremely clingy drunk). Tugging her into the bathroom down the hall, I closed the door behind us and released a breath of relief, grateful for the escape from guests.

"You look very sexy when you're worried," Wanda complimented, stepping forward and smiling dazedly.

"Wanda–"

She placed her hand on my jaw, moving closer so that her lips were grazing mine as she mumbled, "You came late, milaya (darling). But I still love you."

I'd like to say that I had the willpower to push her away and scold her for acting so obvious about us before, but my lips went numb as she captured them between hers. I could taste the alcohol on her lips as she moved them against mine, making me dizzy and forgetting what I was going to say. Her thumb caressed my jaw and I relaxed under her touch, hands resting on her chest. When she tried to part my lips with her tongue, I seemed to come to my senses.

"Wanda, you're drunk," I muttered, pushing her back gently.

She chased down my mouth again, sucking on my lip and tilting my head back so she could have better access. I tried not to let her win as I kissed her briefly before pulling away. Clouded hazel eyes met mine with a matching smirk.

"You're such a tease," she whispered, her accent thicker than usual and making my stomach flip uncontrollably. Her thumb traced my lips as she continued, "You shouldn't do that when I already know how you taste, moya lyubov' (my love)."

The way she was staring at me made me flustered in place, and she seemed to notice her effect on me as she winked my way.

Shaking my head and trying not to let her win, I said, "Look, Wanda. I'm sorry for being late. But did you really have to get drunk?"

She shrugged, leaning her weight on my shoulder with her hand. "If you hadn't kept me waiting, then I wouldn't have."

I sighed, looking to her apologetically. "I didn't realise the time."

A permanent troublesome smile was fixed on her lips as she watched me.

"Your brother told me how you can be when you get drunk," I said with mild concern, hoping she'd register my seriousness. "You need to be careful, Wanda. We can't have people finding out about us."

"It seems to me," she began agonisingly slowly, lacing her arms around my shoulders, "that you'll have to watch me all night to make sure I don't do anything out of line."

Determined not to play into her teasing, I maintained her gaze with a stern stare. "It seems I'll have to."

She bit her lip, eyes flickering between mine, before leaning further into my ear. In a whispered voice, she said, "That means you can't leave my side, printsessa (princess)."

I clenched my jaw, ready to agree, but a gasp escaped my lips as hers sucked on my earlobe, teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin. Stupid Wanda and her stupid flirting and stupid attractiveness.

"Wanda!" I scolded, though my cheeks were flushed as I pushed her away gently.

She laughed adorably, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "What?"

"You have to behave," I told her, swallowing hard and trying not to let her teasing smile get to me. "You can't do this out there. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed in a way that wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

I rolled my eyes before grabbing her hand and leading her back outside the bathroom, returning to the party. I wasn't planning on leaving her side for the rest of the evening, even if Y/B/N wanted to be with her. The last thing I wanted was for her cute drunken self to reveal something she couldn't take back.

To my relief, she kind of behaved after that. There were times when she would get a little too touchy to be platonic, but a quick stare set her straight. Y/B/N wasn't around much, as when he did join us, he was immediately pulled away by some family friends who wanted to discuss his books. For once, I was glad he was an author, afraid of what would happen if Wanda got too comfortable in his presence.

At one point though, he was able to join Wanda, Pietro and I at a standing table, relief flooding his expression when nobody called after him. His arm wrapped around Wanda's waist and he kissed the top of her head, making me look the other way with distaste. She scrunched her nose up at the action before distracting herself with a drink. I gave her a knowing look, having told her earlier to stop with the alcohol. She pretended not to see me.

"Sorry I've not been able to spend time with you tonight," he said to Wanda, oblivious to her tipsy state.

"It's almost like it's your birthday and not your cousin's," Pietro joked, smiling at him.

My brother chuckled. "I guess. They just all wanna talk about my manuscript."

"Ah, yes, the reason you were late, right?" Wanda asked, eyes falling to mine.

"I'm sorry," my brother apologised, assuming it was him she was speaking to.

"You were helping him, too, right?" Pietro asked, looking to me curiously. "Maybe I'll finally get a glance at your work."

I narrowed my eyes at him, having figured he'd put the subject to rest after last time. He merely grinned in response, finding joy in messing with me, just like his sister. Before I could say anything, my brother beat me to it.

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

So he was jealous. Wow.

"You don't need to hide your relationship, y'know," he continued when I didn't respond, looking to Pietro.

The silver-haired publisher choked on his drink as he looked to my brother, clearly very amused.

"I know you're together," Y/B/N said with agitation. "Everybody does. And don't get me wrong, Pietro, I respect you as a publisher."

I groaned quietly, closing my eyes with embarrassment. When I opened them, Pietro was watching my brother with an entertained smile, meanwhile, Wanda was looking between them with a twitching frown.

"But if you're going to date my sister, you should do it the right way," my brother continued stupidly. "It's not appropriate to have whatever this is." He motioned between us with his hands. "It's wrong."

I jumped when Wanda's hand slipped to my arse, squeezing it gently. Thankfully, our backs were to a wall so nobody would have noticed behind us, but I instantly glared at her and removed her hand. She gave me a cunning smile, not bothered by the consequences.

"...and if you're sleeping together like I suspect," Y/B/N was saying, making me flush with humiliation, "know that our friendship is at breaking point. I can't have that blatant disrespect in my life."

Wanda continued to attempt to grab my arse, making me slap her hand away several times, all whilst trying to manage whatever conversation was happening right now.

"I can't believe you just said that," I finally spoke up, managing to keep Wanda at bay long enough. "You're such an idiot, Y/B/N! I told you I wasn't with Pietro!"

Pietro tried not to laugh as he met my brother's intimidating stare. "I value our friendship, too, Y/B/N. Which is why I can promise you I have no... relations... with your sister. I don't like her like that, I can assure you."

Wanda snorted with amusement, before hiding behind a glass of wine when everyone looked her way.

Y/B/N seemed embarrassed as he cleared his throat. "Oh."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, oh!"

"I guess I should apologise," he said awkwardly, looking to Pietro. "I–"

"No apology necessary," Pietro cut him off, raising a hand. "I am thankful for the entertainment however."

"I'm gonna go literally anywhere else," I dismissed myself, unable to take the uncomfortable situation any longer.

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away. To my surprise, Wanda trailed after, falling into step with me.

I glanced at her unhappily, quirking a brow. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, don't be mad at me because your brother's an idiot," she said with a wag of her hand.

I gave her a suggestive look. "I told you to behave."

She pressed her lips together in a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry... Y/B/N was talking about you and Pietro and I– well, I don't like sharing, remember?"

The improper glint in her eye as she stopped before me, watching with amusement, made me feel warm all of a sudden. That day when she first told me that and we proceeded to make love flashed to mind, and she seemed to know as she had a mischievous look on her face.

Clearing my throat, I pointed a finger her way. "Behave."

I should have known by the devilish look in her eyes that she wouldn't.

[zutaraplatter]

Avatar: The Last Airbender Critique

There are already a million of posts like this one, and I might be saying things that’ve already been said a million times but I’ve recently become reheated about the ATLA ending and wanted to let it out -_- No one asked, this is true, and this may or may not be a way to stall from this final project I still have to complete, but here’s 10 things I didn't like and/or would change about the show that likely shouldn’t need changing because they should have been done in the first place.

1. Katara should have apologized to Sokka after TSR

It should have happened and it didn't. In my canon-avoiding mind, Katara and Sokka have a heartfelt conversation where she apologizes for the awful things she said, Sokka says he forgives her and he's sorry if he wasn't as there for her as much as he should have been, which he follows up with "but I'm happy you listened to Aang and took his advice," leading into my next point

2. Katara should have said that not killing Yon Rha was her choice

And thats why it was the right one. Not because Aang already said it was wrong. No no. It was the right choice because that's what she chose. I love my mom to death and can't imagine losing her in any way, let alone the way Katara did. And I can't say for sure that if I was in her shoes that I know what I would have done f that yes I do I would have killed that motherfucker. But I also know that if Katara decided not to kill him, then that was one of two correct choices because they were Katara's choices to make. Not Aang's or anyone else's and this should have been clarified. I know it's a kids show but I said what I said. Next point.

3. Katara should have said more after telling Aang she was unsure at the Ember Island Players

Katara hasn't had any trouble saying how she feels, especially when it comes to helping others and making them feel better, whether she was right or wrong. But she holds back or overly softens blows and seems to even shrivel up at times when it comes to Aang. And me no likey. I had a boyfriend who I adored and admired and just genuinely looked up to. I'm also a shy and anxious person who hates confrontation, but because I loved him, I never refrained from telling him when he was wrong. I might have been a little shaky about it but I did it tho because when you want to be with someone you walk through the grass and stomp through the mud. And I personally feel like either in that moment or later on in an added scene that Katara should have voiced to Aang how unheard and disrespected she felt about his words before TSR and his actions on the balcony. I hate being uncomfortable and my secondhand embarrassment is toxic but I would love to see a scene of this. I always imagined Katara saying stuff like "But I'm not you Aang, and I'm not an Air Nomad," or "Zuko could understand why I needed to go, and I'd hoped you would too," or...I'm out of ideas but you get the idea. And you know what, I know I'm a hard Zutara shipper, but them having this conversation would honestly make me respect their relationship a whole lot more should it be believably written to end on a good note (I don't see how it could be but hey I'm an open minded person and I did think they were cute together once upon a time). Basically, all I'm saying is that Katara is no small voice and she should have been written that way when with Aang. Boyfriends can make you shy but should never make you weak. Period. Next point.

4. No rock! ONLY GROWTH!!!!!!!!!!!

I still squint my eyes whenever I remember that rock that unblocked Aang's chakra. What even was that? The laziest writing possible in my opinion. That's what. And Aang deserved better. What should have happened should have been that Aang started to lose to Ozai. And then as Ozai's about to deliver the finishing blow, Aang has flashbacks of everyone he's trying to save and honor, ending with a very prominent flashback of Katara with the guru's disembodied voice reminding Aang to let go of his attachments to become all he needs to be...then BOOM! Baby boy is back on his feet, chakra unblocked, he kicks Ozai's ass, I'm crying hysterically on the floor, as are the rest of us, and he wins. Then at the end of the series, instead of a kiss, he gives Katara an apology. She accepts, everyone else comes to join them on the balcony, cinematic group hug, camera pan into the sun. I don't know lol. Basically what I'm saying is that Aang did not deserve some deus ex machina. He deserved to grow and become his best self like everyone else got to.

5. Aang should have heard differently in The Storm

Katara is a very fate-minded person and this is when I saw potential for her to become a toxic character in regards to Aang. When he admits that he ran away from home 100 years ago, Katara tells him that that was basically a good thing because he was meant to be here and now. Like...no? What Aang did, though understandable for someone so young, was still wrong. Yes he would have maybe been killed but I'm like 10000000% sure they had a plan to protect and evacuate the literal avatar. And what was technically "meant to be" was a new avatar. But hey, what's done is done and kicking Aang while he's down is a no-no in this household. But that doesn't change the fact that Aang needed and deserved honesty. Maybe the fisherman could have said this, I don't know, but I feel like Aang should have been told by someone that although running away was wrong, it's a blessing he and Appa were able to survive and be able to help save the world now with his amazing friends found-family. Maybe this is too harsh, and maybe even outright wrong, but I felt like Aang deserved a truer answer here to support and comfort him.

6. MAILEE!!!!

Do I even need to go into detail?

7. Spiritual sigh*

Don't make me go into detail -_- I will say though that although Aang and Katara are both amazing individuals capable of earth shattering things, they were not a healthy fit for one another. This is evident in the original series and especially in their children from LOK. They both deserved the best but better than one another.

8. ZUTARAAAAAAA

This is a Zutara blog you KNEW this was coming, as it should. There's just too much. There's too damn much. I would give a real paragraph to this too, but, I mean, there's already so much proving that this was the pair. Fics, metas, rants, this site. Scroll through my blog or any of the ATLA related blogs I follow and...dude. These two were meant to be together and I'll mourn the narrative brilliance WASTED for no good reason every day for the rest of my life. No reason these two shouldn't be married with three kids. sob. I will take this part to say thank you to the amazing fic writers that gave Katara, Zuko, Mai, and Aang what they deserved that the writers didn't have the guts to give them themselves. Next point tho.

9. AANG AND ONJI

Good God almighty. Why not this? WHY NOT THIS? I'm putting on my bullet proof vest and I'm going to say this; Aanji is cuter than Zutara. Now before you scorn me or whatever, let me explain. Zutara for me is like steak. No. Chicken parmesan. I like chicken parmesan better. The point though is that Zutara is savory. You know? I don't see them as cute, I see them as Obviously. Aanji on the other hand is like a bag of my favorite candy. They are like a brownie. A cookie. Girl Scout Samoas!...I don't know what words are anymore. This post got way out of hand. I guess what I'm saying is that for Zutara, I scream, but for Aanji, I squeal. I hope that makes sense. But here's the main point I want to make. Onji never knew who Aang really was. And Aang was always, at his core, himself. She very obviously had a crush on Aang for his personality and that was crazy cute and frankly preferable to Katara's "I...guess he is." (you know exactly what I'm talking about) Anyway, I kept wanting more of them together. I wish all the time that we'd gotten to see her again, with a more fleshed out character and all. And in the way that I imagine the show should have gone, she could have been the perfect love interest for Aang, during this episode or way later, even in the comics! Another WASTED opportunity for greatness and I will, again, never recover T-T

10. Iroh get your ass back here

Maybe this is a misguided critique but I hated that Iroh just left Zuko alone in the fire nation at the end of the series. Baby was in trouble in every sense of the word and Iroh was just like "See ya! You got this nephew." I'm expected to believe that? I'm expected to accept that? No no no. He should have at least stayed for a few years to help Zuko stay upright and, you know, alive. And by "upright" I don't mean "good." I just mean been there to support him because Lord knows he needed it, at least in the beginning of his reign. It was cute that Iroh was able to settle down with his own teashop after all those years of violence and mourning and running and this and that. I was more than happy for him for being able to have that peace finally. But I still think it could have waited a little while longer so he could support Zuko.

That's it I guess. I know not everything I've said makes the most sense in one way or another, but I enjoyed putting it together all the same. Thank you for reading and have a great day. I'll go finish my final now.

(Edited for a typo)

[morgue-ratt]

slashers + daemons because I love his dark materials I put too much thought into this please enjoy

Edited to include Jesse Cromeans, Bubba Sawyer, Tommy Hewitt and Freddy

Billy Loomis- Chameleon. Just makes sense, I don't know.

Stu Macher- I don't think Stu's daemon wouldn't have settled yet but I think she would be a ferret. Until then, she just copies others around her. You can always tell who Stu's favorite person in the room is, their daemons match.

Micheal Myers- you know how you're not supposed to let house cats roam free because their impact on the natural ecosystem of the neighborhood is actually pretty devastating? Is that not essentially the plot of every halloween movie? Ok so now imagine Micheal Myers doing his usual thing except this times he accompanied by a black house cat. She's big though, at least the size of a maine coon.

Jason Vorhees- I spent so long trying to figure this one out. And I'm still not sure but I think a firefly would fit. And as an added bonus, she'd be hard to see so when Jason's chasing after counselors they're even more afraid because holy shit this dude doesn't have a daemon what the fuck. Her name's something like Joyce. When Jason comes back from the dead, Joyce isn't with him. Pamela's daemon would be a bear, just maybe a little sized down.

Asa Emory- Bug man has a bug soul. A brown recluse spider; deadly but not as recognizable as others. I don't think I have to explain this, he's already established as a spider. Her name is Emily.

Lester Sinclare- This is an easy one; she's a racoon named Karrie.

Vincent Sinclare- Vincent's daemon is a very large crow named Perseus. He's blind in one eye and he has a stronger voice than Vincent but he doesn't really talk much. There are perches set up all over Vincent's studio and the museum. Perseus settled before Bo's daemon and after he did Vincent started drawing him, a lot. Vincent probably has a crow shaped wax seal somewhere.

Bo Sinclare- Snake. Eastern Copperheads are native in Louisiana and pretty poisonous. She's usually coiled around one of Bo's wrists to cover up his scars. Definitely went through a phase where he kept her farther away than he should have, just far enough to feel off.

Jesse Chromeans— Ok my instinct here is a peacock but those aren’t all that dangerous (to my knowledge) so I’m gonna go with! A king cobra. Flashy, dangerous, deadly. Much like Mr Chromeans. I really really want her to be named James but probably not, probably something like Isla or Nyx.

Freddy Krueger— I’m of the opinion that after Freddy died, he lost his daemon. Resurrection isn’t really discussed in the books but after someone dies their daemon disappears so it stands to reason that if someone were to be reanimated they wouldn’t have one. I know Freddy is essentially supernatural though, it’s also stated in the books that ghosts don’t have daemons at all. That being said, in life I’d see Freddy with a mongoose. Kinda cute, could leer in children because it isn’t outwardly threatening. I’ve decided her name is Genevieve.

Bubba Sawyer— Bubba gets hippo, because apparently they consume human flesh. I’d say like. A little one though because I’m pretty sure daemons have size limits. Her name is Jezebel, Bella for short.

Thomas Hewitt- Tommy gets a vulture who doesn’t speak much but when she does has a light voice that’s nice to listen to.

[radiowallet]

DVD Commentary ask:

I know it’s a little bit longer than 500 words but can you tell me about ‘The Blanket’ from ‘Tied’?

I think that’s my absolute favourite piece so far from that series 💚🖤

Ellie! Your favorite! Really? *my heart*

The Blanket is interesting piece because it was a prompt and I don't usually expect those to fit as seamlessly into the main story as that one did. The original ask was for the the first time someone referred to First as Grogu's mom in front of Din.

My original plan for that prompt had been to go full tooth-sweet fluff and set it after Grogu comes home from the hospital. Have the three of them out somewhere, running errands or at the park. It would have a lot of blushing, stammering Din and equally flustered First because technically her name isn't on the adoption papers, so, no, she's not mom and it would have ended all cute and fuzzy like.

BUT- I kept coming back to one very specific part of the prompt- Din's reaction. I kept thinking about how, at the heart of this thing I’ve created, this story is Din’s. This is his journey from lonely, workaholic, cocky surgeon to not-so-lonely but still cocky surgeon. What would it be like for him to have something so obvious be presented to him in an arena where he couldn’t grumble and stomp off? What would that look like and how would he react?

Once I decided it was going to be from Din's pov and focus on his reaction, I KNEW I had to stay within the hospital, and I knew First couldn't be there, but again, this slid so perfectly into what I have already planned for Grogu's time in the NICU.

A few things that I'll touch on that I was really proud of:

He swaps out the rocker someone had moved next to the baby, switching it out for a hard backed chair, settling in and sliding the cover off his tablet.

This was so intentional- Din is not there to relax with his kid. He is not. (Stubborn man). Also it was my nod that First had been there. She would prefer something comfortable like the rocker.

a dad and a mom sitting together, hands clasped, heads resting against one another.

The very thing Grogu doesn't have. Yet. This was symmetry that I was hoping would mirror the only other baby in the NICU. Zero next of kin show up for Grogu. He’s truly alone, but...not really.

At this point Din is spending a lot of his free time with Grogu. What he's reading, the medical journals on his tablet, are actually research articles about the treatment of preemies. He's actively looking for ways to help the little guy, even if he doesn't really want to admit it. The internal struggle was important to me, him talking to the incubator then getting mad at himself. I really wanted to drive home that he feels connected, but he just can't admit it to himself yet.

“It’s a good sample size, and the results skew positive, kid. I’ll show this one to Peli. Maybe she’ll actually listen to me this time.”

In the medical world, another specialty giving their opinion on a case is a huge faux pas. Din is an asshole for doing this. Din does not care.

Then the family comes up to talk to him. This can happen from time to time, especially in a NICU. There's a camaraderie from going through something like that, watching your child go through something like that. I especially love how I still managed to work flustered Din in. He is in such denial at this point, he has no idea how to verbalize how he feels about Grogu, and to be fair, the situation is odd.

Then they bring up First.

NOW, I can't say much because SPOILERS but things are not well for them currently. There is some...tension.

You must have been taking care to sneak them in around his own trips to the NICU- he hadn’t seen you outside of the OR in weeks. Not since- well- Din frowns,

Not a lot of people caught this because I threw it in so casually, but it was intentional and there is definitely more to come here.

THEN THE M-WORD GETS DROPPED!

And Din's brain literally stops working.

Her words stop him short, and Din can only nod, unable to form words around the lump in his throat, watching as the couple goes back to their own corner of the room.

I love Din’s reaction here. I love showing emotions through small little movements. It’s my favorite thing to do as a writer. He can’t even think a thought in his head. All this very intelligent man can do is nod and swallow because, yeah, he wants that. He wants Grogu and First and this is first time really recognizing that thought in his own head, even if it is happening in a very clumsy way. 

he perfect shade of mossy green, the same color sitting atop the kid’s head, was a blanket ready and waiting for a baby that may never need it.

The blanket is just a cute nod to the fact that a lot of surgeons do exercises to keep up dexterity. First knits. A lot. It helps relax her after a long day. She has homemade blankets and hats and scarves all over her apartment. Bringing them to the babies was a no brainer. Grogu was the only one who got a special color though. <3

Director’s Cut Ask Game - Come ask me about a scene

[youre-on-your-ownkid]

I owe you an explanation so hi. also I'm not copy pasting this so @i-dont-like-a-gold-rush hi to you too

basically, ever since the word about my offline school reopening started, I started to have anxiety attacks at the most random of thoughts. I thought I was over the whole new school thingy but apparently not... it's easier to talk to people over text and calls. just when I was starting to get used to these people, a huge change occurs again and suddenly I have to meet them and act like I'm one of them.

but I still calmed myself down by saying that mom and dad would never allow me to go, cause there were transportation (buses haven't started) and covid issues. that is, until that day I was talking to you, and our teacher suddenly told us that we have to come to real school to give our exams. it's compulsary. those giving it online will be evaluated, but not given marks because apparently, the minute offline school starts, they think we're gonna start cheating.

anyway I blanked for a second, the next thing I knew I was deleting all the apps on my phone. I've always been the kind of person to prioritize grades over everything idek why I do it but yeah. so the fact that I might not get marks for the work I do just shocked me. also it started to sink in, that not only do I have to now go compulsorily to school, but the first thing I'll do when I get there is give an exam. and I'm reallyyyy not good under pressure. then all my incomplete work started floating in my mind and I just flipped completely. I don't know why it mattered so much to me, but I think the marks thing was the last screw for moi.

I left the meeting, feeling like I was about to throw up (which I didn't, cause I hadn't eaten breakfast that day) and just paced around the room trying to breathe but I couldn't. it was a full on panic attack, and I forgot all the tips I had read about them earlier when I used to have them regularly. my brother wasn't home that day either, though I doubt he would have been of help. so when I finally started to breath after 30 minutes or so, I was in too much of a shock to register what I had done.

immediately after, I got called into a class representatives meeting about somebody acting out, and for some reason I was the only one who could talk to him so I didn't really have time to recover. the others kept talking about school and my head kept spinning and spinning and spinning. I think the only way I calmed down was by listening to music afterwards? and that's when I installed discord and tumblr again.

so yeah. there you have it.

Oh god omg, I'm not disclosing your name or stuff cause ik you wanted to stay anon. Ok so yeah I totally get why you freaked out, I've always prioritized grades too. I mean you toh got the news of offline classes and uninstalled... Maine toh online exams ke pehle hi uninstall kar diya Tumblr and discord from my phone lmao.

Also I get the changing schools and settling down stuff. I've literally changed 3 schools in my life... So yeah it does take time to fit in but I'm sure you're gonna be ok. Just, look I know you're a very good student, I don't need to see your report card for that, so I'm sure you don't have to worry about work load when offline school reopens. But j get the part about pretending to be alright... Cause yeah school toh jate hai padhne ke liye but we do need friends... And it's kinda hard for you considering you've never interacted with them in what, 2 years? But yeah, just, don't worry. Everything will work out perfectly fine... I mean, all of them will like you, I'm sureee. I mean, you must've seemed tolerable enough to make you my friend so eh. But yeah, don't worry, it's gonna work out. -;-

Also like, WHAT IS IT WITH THE FUCKING GOVERNMENT NOT VAXXING US YET FORCING US TO SCHOOL PHYSICALLY SMH, FUCK THEM.

Also, final note before I probably log off from the tab: @i-dont-like-a-gold-rush here ya go

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Well I didn’t think I loved fics/stories where you insert yourself or whatever, but then I read your Snowed In story and 😍 Can I beg for a Geralt x fem!reader story with either hurt/comfort or where one of them is in danger and the other has to save them? Some good angsty feels that eventually get resolved haha ❤️❤️ Thank you, talented benevolent writer!

😭💖TYSM?!?!?!?! Ask and ye shall receive! I went Hurt/Comfort. like, hard. Idk what happened honestly. It kinda fits both tho come to think of it?

Pairing: Geralt x reader established relationship (didn’t find a spot that made sense to gender anything so I left it neutral if that's okay?)

Warnings: shit... a lot. canon consistent gore/violence, big-time major character injury, mentions of panic, mentions of blood/wounds, pain meds, dismembering a dead monster? hmu if there's more, I wanna keep yall’s mental health safe

__________

You scrambled over a fallen tree, scraping your shins to hell but you didn't care. Geralt's order to stay hidden went out the window as soon as you'd heard a “FUCK” and blood curdling bubbly breaths.  

You burst into the clearing and had to cover your mouth to stifle a scream. The beast he'd been contracted to kill had a taloned foot wrapped around Geralt's torso as it tried to stumble into the woods. One of his swords was sticking out of the creature's neck, blood slowly trickling down what was exposed of the blade. 

You clenched your jaw and slowly pushed the air from your lungs, you couldn't afford to panic. The long blood trail leading to a wound on your witcher's leg churned your stomach, but it also meant you didn't have time to be weak. 

You crept behind the beast, getting as close as you dared before lunging for the sword. Your hands closed on the hilt, slick with blood, and ripped the blade through what you hoped were the main blood vessels in this creature. Before it could react you brought the blade across the leg clutching Geralt, severing it at a knuckle with some luck as it crashed to the ground. To be absolutely sure, you drove the sword through the creature's skull before you clambered over its corpse to get to Geralt. 

His eyes were glazed and he was breathing heavily as he pawed at the severed claw still stuck in his thigh. You felt panic threaten to drag you into its depths but held your ground yet again. Falling to your knees at his side you swatted his hands away, earning a confused grunt as you took a knife out of his belt. You changed your mind upon looking at the wound. The talon would have to stay until you could drag him back to camp, just in case it nicked an artery. 

"Hold it still." You ordered, placing Geralt's hand around it. He obeyed, growling as you cut away the rest of the appendage. 

"I know." You whispered to hide your fear from him, "I'm sorry." 

You had to snap the bone but soon it was a manageable size. You cut his pant leg away, ripping the fabric to tie the claw in place so you could focus on moving 250 pounds of nearly dead weight. 

"Y/N… y/n take it out." Geralt was trying to sit up, which you took advantage of by crouching next to him and hoisting his arm over your shoulder. 

"Fuck you." You grunted as you stood, hauling him clumsily after you, "It stays till I'm sure." 

For once Geralt didn't argue and that worried you more than the blood. 

When you'd finally fought through the underbrush and back to camp you were mostly carrying him. You did your best to set him down gently, but he grunted in pain regardless.

You threw useless items out of the way as you dug into packs for supplies, tossing the bandages at him, gathering everything else, including all his potions, and staggering back to where you'd left him. 

You couldn't stifle the trembling of your hands, as much as you didn't want Geralt to see how shaken you were. From the angle the talon was sticking out above his knee, it didn't look like you were in as much trouble as you'd thought, but you readied the suture kit and popped open a couple healing potions just to be prepared. 

"Okay, I'm gonna pull it out. Are you ready?"

Geralt wasn't looking at you but at least his eyes were open when he nodded. 

You straddled the lower half of his leg to keep it still before tugging the claw out as slowly as you dared. No rush of blood followed and you let out a sob of relief. 

As you moved to kneel at his side, your tears broke through the dam you’d hastily put up to function as you worked. You felt Geralt's hand at your hip as you washed the wound, dabbing away at the torn flesh with a cloth before pouring a potion over it. You couldn't look at him, not till you were done. Your tears splashed over the now drying blood covering the rest of his leg as you stitched away and wrapped him in bandages. Only when you sat back, exhausted but finished, did you realize you were sobbing. 

You wiped at your nose with a bloody sleeve and pawed at your tears, "H-hows the pain?" 

Geralt's voice was just above a whisper, "I've had worse." His hand at your waist gave you a gentle squeeze. 

You rummaged through his potions box, "Not what I asked." Your voice was raw and sharper than you'd intended. 

"Y/N, it's okay. I'm okay." There was a plea for you to breathe behind his words but you were still too soaked in adrenaline to calm down. 

You unscrewed the bottle of poppy milk, raising the dropper to his lips. He let you squeeze a few drops under his tongue, eyes, and hand never leaving you. You wanted to clean up the utter disaster you'd left in your wake, but leaving his side simply wasn't an option.  Instead, you grabbed a soft pack and leaned it against a nearby tree before gently dragging Geralt the three or so feet to it. You settled behind him, your back to the pack and his back to you, before wrapping your arms under his and around his ribs. His head rested against your collarbone and you pressed a kiss to his hair. 

"I'm here," he whispered, laying a hand over your own and rubbing his thumb back and forth over your knuckles, "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry." 

You took a deep shaky breath, "It was dragging you away…" 

"I'm sorry. It would have died in a couple minutes." 

You tightened your hold on him, "Don't… don't make light of it. I thought you were dead." 

"M'not dead... Promise." 

You almost laughed, forcing air out your nose in a half-hearted attempt. 

He turned his head to look at you, the glassiness of shock now replaced with the cloudiness of the pain remedy, "I'd never die on you." 

You kissed his forehead, trying to hold back fresh tears of a different kind, "You say that as if you have a choice." 

He frowned, trying to put his words together in his foggy state, "No, I love you too much to leave you."