#I know most people don't need to hear that but for some reason there are people who DO

[lovelytsunoda]

club tropicana | lando norris

summary: on an all inclusive holiday in ibiza, y/n finds herself falling head over feet for the charming british barman

pairing: bartender!lando norris x female! reader

warnings: reader has some crappy former friends, please do not get into a car with a barman at a shitty three star spanish resort (lowkey inspired by my 'benidorm' rewatch), cameos from carlos and fernando, im so sorry that this took me literally a month and a half to write.

club tropicana drinks are free / fun and sunshine, its enough for everyone all that's missing is the sea / but don't you worry, you can suntan

the sun beat down on the resort-goers, reflecting off the chlorinated water in the swimming pool. sunbeds were arranged around the large body of water. swimmers in the pool sat on mosaic stools underwater to order drinks at the swim up bar.

she was supposed to be on this trip with her friends. well, some friends they were. ending a friendship over text with about six weeks left in her second-to-last university semester before graduation.

and so she had gone alone, to the most affordable three-and-a-half star resort in ibiza. truth be told, she hadn't wanted to go to the party island in the first place. if she didn't leave the resort, it wouldn't even matter.

bookmarking her page, she sat her copy of dark sacred night down on the sunbed and strode towards the pool. the pool was crowded, but the swim-up seats at the bar were, unfortunately, the easiest way to get a drink at the resort.

she took a deep breath and ducked below the water, swimming over to where the bar was. she liked being underwater. all her senses were dulled, and the noise of the real world seemed to fade away.

"one vodka orange, please." her voice was quieter than intended when she sat down at the bar, and for a moment she worried that the barman couldn't hear her.

"coming right up, love." the barman was british, with a mop of curly hair and a pale yellow resort shirt that had the name 'lando' embroidered over the heart. he winked at her as he got the vodka down from a shelf behind the bar and began to mix her drink.

lando wasn't oblivious to the understated beauty of the girl in front of him, water running down her soft skin and dipping into the curve between her breasts. her wide, gentle eyes. the way the orange fabric of her swimsuit hugged her curves.

she was wearing a one-piece, a rarity in ibiza.

"so," he asks, setting the drink down in front of her. "what brings you to spain"?

he always asks, even if he doesn't care. but one thing he's noticed since he started working behind the bar is that everybody has something to say, and sometimes they just need a stranger to say it too.

kind of like the characters in that old billy joel song, the one about the piano and the man at the bar making love to his tonic and gin.

and she doesn't know what it is about lando that put her so at ease, but suddenly shes talking and talking and can't make it stop and now he knows all about the three years of friendships she forged at university and how all she had to show for it were two refunded ryanair flights and a text message saying that they 'needed space' and 'our friendship will not be continuing at this time' with no explanation of what she had done to push them away in the first place.

funny that.

"does that sound ridiculous?" she cringed. "it sounds really silly now that i've said it out loud."

"people come to ibiza for dumber reasons. i worked in benidorm for two years, and you should see the train wrecks that come through there." lando laughed, leaning against the tiled bar. "you're better off without them, if you ask me. they sound very catty."

"catty is saying it nicely." she laughed along, sipping her vodka orange.

talking with lando was easy. more so, it seemed like he genuinely cared, and that he wanted to listen. it had been a long time since she had felt like anyone wanted to listen to her. even still, the voices in her head were getting harsher and harsher.

"what are your plans for later?" lando asked, head cocked to the side. "i've got this friend, he owns a party boat company."

"lando, i'm not getting on a spanish party boat with a man i hardly know." she cringed, stomach flip-flopping. had she gotten the total wrong idea about him? he seemed like the kind of guy who would know just about everybody in ibiza, and probably half of benidorm as well. "does anything that i've just told you make you think that i would literally at all be interested?

lando raised his eyebrows. "you didn't let me finish, love. he also does nighttime stargazing tours. that far out on the water, there's nothing in the way of you, the sky and the stars. i thought that was much more up your alley. i could take you tonight if you wanted to."

she felt a pit in her stomach and cursed herself for jumping to conclusions. for a moment, the barman had looked genuinely hurt, right now, though, he looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, and expression that inevitably made her cave.

after all, she was on vacation.

and here she was, waiting in the lobby of the hotel in a low cut black halter dress. she'd done her makeup, which was a rarity. she was tempted to turn her location tracker on, but wondered who she would share it with. she could always tell the woman working reception to call her at a set time, and then the police if she didn't answer, she supposed.

lando pulled up outside in a little fiat 500, looking dapper in a collared shirt. his hair was visibly caked in gel, and he smelled like expensive cologne.

far more expensive than a barman should have been able to afford.

"are you ready for the night of your life, milady?"

she fought the blush, looking at his extended arm. no doubt he wanted her to link her arm through his. and they said that romance was dead.

"take it away, bartender."

the fiat should have felt cramped, but instead felt cozy. spanish synthpop music played on the radio, something uplifting and calming as lando drove through the cobbled ibiza streets. she looked out the window in wonder, eyes wide as the city nightlife passed them by.

all too soon, they had arrived at the dock, and lando was speaking rapid-fire spanish to another man who was leaning through the window. they laughed, and the spaniard clapped lando on the shoulder before taking a small handful of bills from him.

the barman stepped out of the fiat, crossing around the car to open her door and help her out of the little hatchback car.

"your carriage awaits." he grinned, cocking his head in the direction of the boat. "come on, i got us the best seats."

on the boat, an older dj was playing a wham! record, 'club tropicana' blaring out over the sound system.

"when does the bar open?" she asked quietly. "i'm craving something."

"in about twenty minutes, as soon as we leave port." lando replied, resting his hands on her waist. "in the meantime, can i tempt you to a dance?"

ah, why the hell not?

"hey, fernando," lando started before rattling off something in spanish. the dj nodded once before changing the record on his turntable.

spanish synthpop.

lando took her hands in his, pulling her closer for a spirited dance, his hips swinging back and forth with abandon. she fought the urge to burst out laughing as she let him pull her close. the sun was dipping low over the horizon, and down at the dock the deckhands were getting ready to leave port.

but with lando's hands burning into her skin as he lead her in something that might have vaguely resembled the tango, she had forgotten all about the fact that she was on a stargazing cruise, not a latin dance boat.

she only realized the song was over when the audience that had gathered around her and lando had started to clap. red faced and blushing, she dropped lando's hands and shyly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"i think im ready for that drink now."

lando beamed, resting his hand in the small of her back. "of course, sweetheart. vodka orange?"

"you know me so well."

lando effortlessly slid behind the bar, hands flying as he grabbed glasses and bottles and shakers. she leaned against the bar, chin in her hand as she watched him work, muscles rippling in his forearms underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt.

he winked at her as he passed her the glass. by now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and if one craned their neck up, they would be able to see a glimmering landscape of stars, uninterrupted by the muted lights on the boat.

lando came to stand behind her, his hands resting on her waist, protectively holding her body to his.

"so, be honest, this just made your trip a whole lot better, didn't it?"

despite herself, she laughed, relaxing into his touch. "yeah, it really did. thank you, lando."

"wait," he started, hand moving to her chin. "my job isn't quite done yet."

"what are you-"

she didn't get a chance to finish as the barman touched his lips to hers. they were soft. way softer than any barman's lips should be, well taken care of like the rest of the brit in front of her. she fell, no, tumbled into the kiss, feeling herself falling faster with every second that they spent lip-locked.

and she knew that there was no way that barman wasn't coming home with her. who needs return flights anyways? maybe she could just stay in ibiza and snog him for the rest of her her working life.

for now, though, she'd just settle with getting him into her hotel room.

[murmiss]

A sketch about Price's neglected daughter!y/n, and the kidnapper! Konig.

The living room was flooded with soft light. There were three people sitting on the sofas covered with burgundy plaids. Price was the first to take the most comfortable seat, sitting in his masterly manner. Next to him sat his faithful friend and comrade, Joshua, and the third person sat on a separate small sofa, wrapped in a plaid blanket-it was Megan, Price's oldest daughter. On the terry mat in front of them sat a girl of about five, the youngest daughter, who was playing concentratedly with a doll. She didn't seem to hear or react to anyone else

The girl, sitting in a separate seat, answered Joshua's questions with the same pride: "Yes, when I grow up I'll be a doctor, a surgeon! Or a-- A lawyer!"

Her father's soft laughter reached the children's ears, and the youngest daughter raised her head as well. Unconsciously, she smiled hearing her father's laughter. Joshua smiled as well, carelessly leaving his arm on the back of the couch and looking in front of him, directly at the youngest. He grimaced.

"What do the investigators say? "Mr. Brix caught up with his companion in one of the corridors of the police station. Price was pale, his hair was dirty and greasy, and there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. John's eyes were cloudy and he was clearly out of it. Not immediately reacting, Price mumbled something inaudible. Joshua stopped and tugged on his friend's shoulder to stop him. Josh's words sounded like warm encouragement, and his voice was confident: "We'll find her, buddy." Price only nodded in response.

But time only goes by. A day goes by, two days, a week, a month...Almost half a year your sister, Megan Price goes missing. Then the world turns upside down, or maybe-- And nothing's changed? You honestly don't know.

The days are monotonous and empty and the future is clouded with hopelessness. "Who am I?" is the question that keeps popping into your head for hours on end. "Who am I?" a person. "What am I for?" To live. "Who needs me?" I don't know.

It's like a dark abyss, a dragging slime or quicksand that slowly but surely drags you down. You don't feel anything, and you don't know if you've ever felt anything.

Where's mom? Where's your sister?

Nothing again. No information, no word or picture from your father, and only childish resentment.

Kindergarten. Parents pick up their children, hurriedly put on their shoes, and adjust their clothes before leaving. It's evening, but the father is still gone. Anxiously you look out the window, wishing you could see a native silhouette, but nothing but an old crow pecking at the garbage near the tank.

Lonely. Like always.

John forgot to pick you up, or more accurately, he was just with Maggie at her school's Young Poets performance. Omit that the performance ended early, and Price was just taking his daughter and her friends to a coffee shop to celebrate.

It's getting dark, and, the tutor calls Price, who arrives almost immediately. At first, he's embarrassed: gosh, he forgot about his kid! But then he seems to Forget Again, listening with fatherly warmth to Megan's newly composed poems. Sitting in the kitchen, with everyone else, you feel like you're in a family circle, with your own people, not noticing that the eyes are never on you. You babble happily, distracting your sister, "And me! Me too. ". But before you can finish, John says with a smile, "Good for you." You giggle happily in response.

But he didn't hear you.

As you get older, you notice an unfair difference: for some reason, Megan has always been treated a little more reverently. Why was that? The answer is the same. You don't know.

"Do you want a strawberry ice cream?" a gruff, wheezing voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up and see Konig standing in front of you, immediately regaining your senses.

"Yes"-you answer briefly, and seemed to fall back into your thoughts, remembering Megan.

"She's fine," Konig brings you to your senses again. He smiles like a serpent, and there is no mask on his face. His face, covered in battle scars is open for all to see, but he doesn't care.

You nod.

Konig was an acquaintance, a friend of Price's, an old-school man with a strong temper and oddities, you thought. A handsome face with strong features, but covered with scars.

When Megan disappeared, Price became completely estranged from you. Desperate, he left the service six months after she went missing, couldn't take it anymore. He was like a robot, perpetually pale and embittered, almost never speaking to you. You often feel the emptiness, wondering involuntarily: what if this is him? When once again your father walks by with glazed eyes, you call out to him, "Father?"

There is no answer.

After about a year, he almost comes around, maybe talks to you more than a couple times a week or, on rare occasions, a day. And then... He just... Notices you?

Returning after school, Price greets you with the table set. He smiles, genuinely talking to you, discussing his day. Everything seems so nice. You eat an entire plate, not immediately noticing the catch. And even noticing it not that day, but towards the end of the week, when your father happily informs you that he has enrolled you in the poets' circle.

Why poets? Oh, yeah. Megan.

He's trying to recreate Megan in you, ignoring the fact that you're a human being too. With your own opinions, desires, morals and dreams. You didn't want to go to medical school just because when Megan wanted you to, you didn't want to go to dances and poetry clubs and perform on stages like she did.

You just want to be yourself.

Megan's gonna come back like thunder in the middle of the day. Just-- Coming home after a damn 1.5 years with no explanation. She smiles adorably as her father kneels like a slug, hugging her as tightly as if she might run away. He sobs, stroking her hands gently. Not that you like being a substitute, but... The slightest bit of attention attracted.

Things get worse, and Price is like a man possessed. He drives Megan every day to the university you're already attending together because John wanted you to follow in your big sister's footsteps. Now he really forgets. He just doesn't see, even worse than when Megan disappeared. In Price's eyes, it's just the image of his oldest daughter, his pride, that's all.

"must it really be lonely?"-The voice rumbles again. You look up. You see Konig again. He's wearing a medical mask. Is he afraid of the coronavirus?

"What?" you ask after a couple seconds.

"Get in the car, I'll give you a ride home." He nods nonchalantly at a maroon car. Definitely not his, but maybe a new purchase? Or not his? Oh, but you don't care, you just hop in his car, not wanting to wait for your dad or the bus. Either way, Price doesn't care when or who you're with.

Which becomes his mistake.

"Where are we going?" you mutter as the car starts to shake over bumps and the woods thicken.

"to your new and loving home, princess."

Konig's plan was perfect from start to finish, until a damn girl got in his way: Megan got caught at the worst possible moment, completely ruining all his blunders.

Then he kidnapped her, finding no other way out of this shitty situation, and locked her in his cozy basement, which was carefully built under his house, enlarged and arranged for you. All to make his Liebe Maus, you,feel herself cozy.

Megan wasn't you, she was noisy, annoying, and that's when Konig changed his plan, day in and day out setting Megan up the way he needed her to be, and when he did, he let Megan go, determined to never, ever expose him. That day she had purposely distracted Price by calling him to a newly opened café so that Price would forget to pick up his second daughter, giving Konig every opportunity.Megan acted to Konig's advantage, and if necessary, she would help confuse everyone so that his sun would never be found.

(Just a random sketch from the notes, possible errors, quick description. at the end of the text, the main character is an adult.)

[blueraith]

"How could Vi not notice her sister is suicidal?!"

I feel like people who ask this question have a fundamentally immature understanding of depression and suicidal thoughts/actions, and how the two affect people OUTSIDE of the person suffering from these conditions. Perhaps you guys are young, and you don't know how to view this matter outside of yourselves and your own perception, but it is tragically common for people to miss seemingly "obvious" details that lead up to a loved one's suicide. "I didn't notice anything was wrong" is about one of the most common refrains you'll hear after the fact.

Let’s also remember that Vi does not actually know all of Jinx's emotional tells or signs of an impending episode. She is confused each and every time Jinx goes through one and almost always unintentionally triggers her. This because it's been SEVEN FUCKING YEARS since they've seen, spoken to, or lived together.

Neither Jinx or Vi actually know the current versions of each other very well, it's one of the reasons they keep hurting each other, and part of the tragedy of their relationship.

Look, I have depression. I've had it since I was about 15 or so. I can recall self-isolating or worse and assuming my parents or friends or a teacher would notice and rush to my aid or something.

Never happened. Because depression isn't always a very obvious condition. People mask in different ways, and not always with the conscious intention to hide their symptoms. Sometimes, people with depression mask simply because it makes it slightly easier to get through the day. Jinx's case would likely be even more difficult to spot because of the manic side of her condition.

I ended up getting the bulk of my care taken care of as an adult. Mostly because I could finally advocate for myself and I also realized that NO ONE is going to notice the more alarming symptoms of my own depression better than me.

This is not to say that you can't have a support network. Or that members of that support network WON'T spot something you've overlooked from time-to-time.

But Vi is not Jinx's support network. (Arguably Sevika is far better placed for that.) She might have gotten there eventually if Act 2 hadn't ended the way that it had, but that dream of the sisters being able to recreate their lost family was shattered and the progress they were making in getting to know each other halted at Jinx's realization that she needed to leave for Vi to move on.

I don't know, it's like some of you expect everyone in your lives or in other, unrelated media to have a 13 Reasons Why style reaction any time someone shows symptoms of suicidal thoughts or actions, or when one occurs. This is almost an absurd thing to expect out of anyone unfamiliar with what depression or suicidal thoughts actually look like. Like, if you're American, this idea that everyone everywhere is familiar with what a mental health crisis looks like is even more tragically farcical because we can't even admit that poor mental health is an aspect of mass shootings here as a society and culture.

And y'all expect the ex-con stuffed into a box since the age of 15 or so to be able to just instantly spot that her sister--again whose symptoms she's very obviously not familiar with--is going through a crisis event?

Like, damn, no one in this fandom is cut more slack than Jinx, and this entire criticism of Vi makes that more clear than any other. It's a position ironically devoid of any and all empathy, probably because y'all spent it all on Jinx, and assumes a sort of selfishness and coldness towards Vi that is in no way, shape, or form supported by canon.

It's honestly an argument that I dismiss entirely the moment a person attempts to make it. Largely because I am exhausted of how hypocritical this aspect of the famdom becomes towards Vi. Jinx's actions are a large part of the reason Vi sinks into alcoholism. She then proceeds to taunt Vi about it in the mines as if Vi's pain is nothing to her.

I NEVER hear anyone talk about that. It's almost always about how Vi should have done better. How Vi hurt Jinx. How Vi wasn't good enough.

It's some Grade A, Bonafide Bullshit™

Vi and Jinx were never going to ride off into the sunset together. If that is something you thought was going to happen and are now irrationally blaming Vi for because you're disappointed....? I don't know what to tell you. I personally thought it was pretty obvious that they were Doomed Siblings in this storyline and any potential, permanent reconciliation between them may happen in some far off sequel project or not at all.

[kurosagihater]

ahaha yes let's do this with Romeo with the current understanding i hv about him (this is very much biased)

To begin, I think I have a thing for guys who fell from grace yet still act all mighty and proud and obnoxious as if the world should be handed to them on a silver platter (and I would fucking do it if I could. You have no idea how much I want to) but they actually worked hard to get to where they at. Before I liked him I liked Izumi (enstars) and I guess that's what they both have in common. I do have a taste. I hate that they're my taste sometimes (No I don't).

To be honest I won't argue much if people say they don't like his personality. I acknowledged the fact that he chased his junior with a literal weapon, stripped them, and confined them in a cage like he's treating some animal (sorry Kaito). He got his ambition and honestly... I get it. He's not afraid to take risk and he knows how to get things done, even though some of them aren't fair to others sometimes.

I don't wanna agree with the whole pretty privilege thing but believe me when I say I will follow through with it if it's him. God it feels so fucked up for me to type that but idk how else to explain it. "So you just like him because he's pretty?" fuck idk. maybe? I would still like him even without understanding his character lmao. But tell me why I would sit in silence for a whole night staring at nothingness every time I think of his stigma? Or his bad leg?

"He complaints a lot." They're all justified in my eyes. Man got high standards and it's people around him that are incompetent (I'm kidding). But hey, time is money and he won't be wasting any.

It amaze me how he can juggle everything all at once. Taking care of his appearance, taking care of the casino, taking care of Taiga. I would've lost my mind if I were him. I can't even keep a simple routine for myself like having a decent sleep and eating schedule (it's currently midnight as I'm typing this). Whatever fuel he has to keep himself going, I need that. (Is it revenge, I wonder...). And I need to keep my priorities straight but fffuuuuuck it's so difficult.

"He's selfish." I prefer other term like goal oriented. He's strict on himself and others (but not in Luca's "hard on others hard on himself" way). On the contrary, I, myself, leans more into the selfless category, and I got hurt a lot by that. I'd look at him and deep down I wish I can be a little selfish too. Just for myself. But at the same time I'd be haunted by the guilt that hasn't even come and I'd back out so fast. I am so sorry for being a loser, Romeo.

He's neither an optimist nor pessimist—he's a realist. At least to me. And he makes me want to be a better person—as weird as that sounds since we're talking about Romeo here.

I need more of his past, please. It'd hurt me most likely but I'll take any crumbs. He might bitch a lot but he's my bitch <3 (im sorry romeo pls put the gun down)

I draw the line at people calling him ugly. You will NOT put that word in the same sentence as him IDC IDC. If anyone ever say that we will argue sorry not sorry <3

And I wish people wouldn't reduce him to like a tsundere or smth. I mean he is one but come on...

That should be all for this. I can go on and on about the things I love about Romeo bcs I'm blinded like that LOL. The easiest thing is to say I like him because he's pretty so so fucking pretty I'd give him the world in its entirety. It'll save you the trouble from hearing my (more or less nonsensical) reasonings.

tkdb fans- reblog this post with your best defense for your favorite! I'm trying to understand what everyone likes about each character :D

[owlheartt]

Something I really like about timebomb is that Ekko actually knows what he's getting into.

I'm not really seeing it get talked about but in season 1 they mention that Ekko and the firelights help people addicted to shimmer get off it and lead more fulfilling lives within the community. I should probably rewatch the scene for the exact wording (might be misremembering tbh) but that comment implies A LOT.

First: Ekko's mission is helping people where he can, he would probably try and help Jinx even if he wasn't in love with her

Second: He has experience dealing with severe mental illness as that often goes hand in hand with drug abuse, namely depression/suicidal ideation like what Jinx was exhibiting

Third: He's probably mapped out best course of action FOR dealing with this and has already figured out his own limits/boundaries. Meaning he knew what he was getting into trying to talk Jinx out of suicide, and was thus more equipped to deal with the aftermath

Fourth: He's probably helped ex members of Silco's gang. The firelights seem to have a theme of healing and repairing and recovering, so they've probably also learned to forgive. If they're mission is to rebuild the lanes into a safe space, they can't exclude people they don't like, they have to make room for them. I think they fought Silco out of necessity, and I doubt Jinx would be the first person they help who's killed one of them.

These all might be a bit of a stretch but I think it really fits. Beyond that, it shows that Ekko can ACTUALLY help Jinx. As much as unconditional love can do, Ekko has the tools for Jinx's recovery and a path ready for her. He also probably knows that her "healthy" will look different from AU Powder's "healthy." On top of that, I expect he knows how to respect her even in the middle of psychotic breaks and won't agitate her already frail mental state

[countesschewi]

This two and a half hour long video by People Make Games is probably the most comprehensive and balanced look at the whole controversy. It's a tough watch at times, but I think it's an important piece of journalism that will hopefully allow for a more nuanced discussion.

[dailymanners]

Tips and ideas for how to respond when someone is being rude to you

For personal reasons I won't get into, I have a history of just freezing when some is rude / hostile / aggressive / condescending / patronizing / etc. It's obviously not something I'm happy about at all, most people who freeze or fawn aren't happy about it and would change it if they could.

One day I confided in my co-worker, a middle aged woman in her 50's, that this is something I struggle with. Considering how confident and assertive she always struck me as, I was shocked when she told me this is also something she's struggled with.

The advice she gave me is to just memorize and practice a few broad statements or reactions that you can pull out of your pocket so to speak when someone is being rude or disrespectful to you. It's not easy if you're someone who's been conditioned to freeze or fawn, but practice helps. Practice saying these things when you're alone. Put up a sticky note next to your bed or on your bathroom mirror with these phrases and practice them when you see them. Practice saying these with a partner or trusted friend, role-play scenarios where you might need to use these phrases.

Here's a few phrases that have worked for me. The nice thing about them is that they tend to shut down the situation rather than escalating, while still letting the aggressor know that you don't find their behavior acceptable.

"Are you okay?"

This works well in professional settings, because it's not like your work place's residential bully can run to HR about you asking if they're okay (but they might if you try to retaliate and give them a taste of their own medicine). However, it still effectively sends the message "I think there's something wrong with your behavior and don't accept it". It's also not likely the response they're expecting, so it'll likely throw them off and prevent further verbal aggression.

"Could you repeat that for me? I didn't catch what you said."

This one is most effective for people you believe to actually have a conscious and might regret what they said if they actually thought about it a little more. I find that often when I do this one, when people repeat the rude/snippy/patronizing/etc thing they either shamefully stumble over their words and show some remorse, or they change altogether what they say. In the off chance they don't regret what they said and end up repeating exactly what they said, this at least buys you some time to think of a better reaction since you're no longer caught off guard by a sudden rude and snippy remark.

"Can you explain what you mean by that?"

Similar logic to the last one. Often when people are being rude/snippy/patronizing/etc they're caught up in their own emotions in that moment and didn't think it through. This is a polite and civil way of putting their rude behavior in the spotlight and making them reconsider what they said. The other advantage to this one is that in case you did misread their intentions and they meant no harm by what they said or did, this gives them an opportunity to clarify that, instead of you just feeling bad over a statement or actions they actually had no ill intentions with.

If anyone has any further examples of reactions / responses / statements that have worked for them, I'd love to hear about them. I'm new to studying the art of how to civilly yet effectively shut down bad behavior from others, so I'm always open to hearing more suggestions.

[thegempage]

thinking about. the sheer amount of stuff i make that no one will ever see

[pain-is-too-tired]

As someone who does think Octavian is over hated i think this missing a few points

1. The monsters on Octavian side weren't actually on his side. They literally turned on the Roman's as soon as they could. Everyone else knew immediately the monsters weren't there out of loyalty or allyship. So to a bunch of teens who have an army at their border, having said army have soldiers that you know aren't entirely loyal to the leader gonna make you call it out. Especially with how The Cyclops, nature spirits and others are allies and kin to chb and have been for awhile now. Octavian was grabbing anyone he could without considering who they were and if they actually care about their comrades. He reinstated a guy who he knows has killed his own in cold blood.

2. In relationship to that. Camp Jupiter might seem put together, but it sucks. I'm sorry you're never gonna see me praising a camp that turns it's children to obedient soldiers who fight eachother for higher positions and fill rampant with corruption. Again. A guy killed likely encouraged by this rising up mind set. Not saying writing wise it wouldn't ever been like this(it very much parallel to actual ancient Rome where assassinations were a fav passtime/hj) but I don't think it should be seen as good. Jason himself mentioned having cause stir for wanting to change things up. They are so strict on old ways and traditions, that old families and strong heritage gets you a head start in the way up. Why chb isn't a military based camp. Yes they train to fight, but primarily because they need to for survival, they aren't having heavy military training. You aren't forcefully stripped from your family(this is no hint that cj kids go to their mortal family much iirc) and there's no fight for power. The cabins are family more then they are barracks of some kind. They are similar to how Greece has city states. And it helps them organize based off strengths and traits. Your Head Counselor is typically someone you trust and look up to. They're mentors like an actual camp for teenagers would be. That's one the reasons Luke's betrayal hurt, he wasn't just their superior. He was their brother. Their mentor.

Also. Chb has Chiron who guides them and seen as a leader(even if he has problems sometimes but that's another thing-) and usually assist in planning and decisions.

CJ,despite having a WHOLE CITY FULL OF ADULTS RIGHT BESIDE THEM. Is still led by mostly children who, again, are drill to be obedient soldiers who can face horrid punishments if not in line. When Hazel vouched for Percy in SoN, both their lives were on the live if something happened. And again, CJ has full grown adults just living it up and sending their kids to this camp knowing full well what they'll go through. (No wander CJ has whole lot more exciles and crash outs- I'd snap too.)

3. Most Roman's hated the greeks before they even met them/knew that still around, the attack on new rome just gave them a reason to hate them more. Chb didn't even really think of the Roman's outside full mentions here and there of how they changed up the gods and myths. When we hear most complaints about Octavian(which, it's primarily about Octavian. Who, again gets too much hate in fandom, but he was blackmailing people and hating a whole group of people before they even actually gave him a reason to. They were saying graecus like it was a slur sometimes 😭) it's cause he's literally at their border with freaking catapults. And this is taking place not even a year after BoM the last thing they want is another battle with other demigods. Octavian is actively disobeying Reyna's orders, making things harder for the war against gaea, and not even his soldiers agree with him. He's demanding full loyalty out of nothing but rank and greeks don't vibe like that.

They aren't calling romans as a whole all these names. It's specifically Octavian. Who's the reason for extra stress on the camp why Gaea's close to awakening. They're calling him out for making dumb decisions and honestly acting like the trust fund kid he very likely is.

I hate how everyone at Camp Half-Blood gangs up on Octavian. Will Solace, Clarisse LaRue, Jake Mason, etc. They call him a barbarian. They call him a dirt wipe. And they're supposed to be the good guys!? No! If anything, they're just as cruel as him. Demonizing your enemies is usually what leads to a perpetual cycle of violence. No wonder Camp Jupiter and Octavian hate Camp Half-Blood, if they say stuff like this about them.

Also, Camp Jupiter has randomly assigned barracks (not segregation by godly parent like at Camp Half-Blood), and Camp Jupiter has their own fully functioning city-state in the form of New Rome! Now remind me: which Camp is so barbaric, hmm? Kind of looks like it's yours, you Greek demigods. So don't go throwing stones when you live in glass houses! You're extreme hypocrites!

And speaking of hypocrisy, you greeks have cyclopses fighting for you! And nature spirits! Octavian has two headed men and dog headed men with poleaxes; and suddenly he's the barbaric one!? You're both using outside help, help which is supernatural and (dare i say it) monstrous! You can't condemn one without condemning the other! And since I like Tyson and the cyclopses, we should really be condemning neither. But I just hate the hypocrisy of Camp Half-Blood!

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[david-watts]

quite honestly I think half of this site needs to sit through a reading of fricker. the amount of testimonial and hermeneutical injustice I see from actually multiple points is wild

[prlssprfctn]

I awfully need a fic, where Jason gets drugged by a big dose of fear toxin and starts seeing Joker's hallucination around — kind of like Bruce in Arkham Knight game, you know — and everyone is just... confused what to do with all of it?

They can't really produce antidote because it would fuck up his mind more, so he is stuck in the cave for the next 24 hours, and no one is leaving, because they can't allow Jason to go through this alone. Again.

Jason tries to put a brave face of course (god, he is THE Red Hood, one of the most influential people in the Gotham, he can't be afraid of a stupid clown–) but the more hours pass, the less he can control his fear or anxiety. Instead of pacing around like a ghost — he did that in the first four hours — he sits down on the couch, hugs himself, and starts answering to Joker?

Yeah, he knows he is not real. He understands that feeding hallucination with conversations will not help — and Dick, the ultimate expert in handling hallucinations, really, gave him some tips on what to do — but he can't just ignore it now.

He is too scared.

He remembers what comes if he flips off Joker or stops playing by his rules, alright?

"Knock, knock!"

Joker's face is as pale and terrifying as Jason remembers it to be. And maybe it is hallucination, but he still can feel his panted, hot breath on his ear.

He is alone, of course. Or not entirely alone, but others would notice if Joker was really here, right?

"Who is this?" He whispers, sensing his family tensing a little, not being sure what to expect.

Jason either argues with his hallucination or asks to stop. Or maybe just wordlessly scraps on his temples or cheek, in the place the J scar used to be, before the Lazarus Pit erased it from his body completely, leaving no traces.

"The stray dog that can't bark! Do you know why it can not bark, Jayjay?"

"I don't fucking know," he murmurs, but the fiericness with which he screamed at this man for hours now is gone; he sounds tired even to his own ears, and it is embarrassing. "Tell me."

"Because I broke its bones with a crowbar, silly!~" Joker shakes his shoulders, and Jason can practically feel the familiar ache of shattered bones. "It– Ahahah, it is too hurt to bark! It can only whine!"

Jason laughs.

His facial expression doesn't really change — he is still frowning a little — but he laughs with a painful wheeze. Joker is pleased enough to sigh dreamily in his ear.

Good job, Jason.

"What so funny?" Dick asks carefully, a patient smile on his face — he has been trying to distract him with conversations the most; Bruce prefers to keep his silence, and Tim thinks accidental physical touches help more than talking.

"He just said a joke," Jason shrugs weakily.

"Tell it to them," Joker orders. "Let us all laugh."

He doesn't really want to. But he can't disobey. He can't allow himself to die again, and–

"Knock, knock," he clears up his throat.

"Who is this?" Tim echoes, turning his chair to him, smart eyes scanning him up and down.

"The stray dog that can't bark," Jason tugs the tips of his own hair. "Do you know why it can not bark?"

Bruce tenses in his chair. He tenses in a way, Jason thinks, he already knows this joke; he has already heard it before. He almost looks as if he wants to stop him, cut mid-sentence.

But for some reason, he doesn't.

"Uh, why?" Dick tilts his head.

"Because my– its bones are broken," Jason stutters. "You know, dogs can't really bark when they are hurt? Just whine."

He can't bring himself to laugh again, even though Joker keeps giggling over and over.

"That's not funny, Jay," Tim murmurs.

"Yeah. I guess it isn't. But if I don't laugh, he'll get the crowbar again, and I really, really want to keep barking," Jason smiles.

He tries to ignore pitful glances of his family members, and the torture continues. No one breaks his bones this time, but Jason still whines when Bruce hugs him by the end of the night, pressing to his chest.

Joker is not here anymore, but Jason still can hear his taunting whisper, somewhere in the back of his head.

You will die his son.

[eunuchve]

tags: mdni, smut, dragon!morax, MONSTERFUCKING, rut/mating cycles, predator/prey, double dragon cocks, double penetration, CERVIX FUCKING, size kink, mentioning pregnancy, mating, bro has a worship kink, breeding kink hints (he's in a rut dont hold it against him) a.n: (what have i done) this is the first porn with plot I've written and I gotta say; it is damn long.... happy valentines my dears, enjoy! pairings: zhongli x afab!reader

Lord Morax is a god; but he is more than that, he is an adeptus. illuminated beast. this fact needs no introduction, everyone knows. 

so when he took leave to a remote part of liyue somewhere, unknown to even his retainers, no one dared to bat an eye. the rain has fallen heavy, the season has become damp, and the scheduled time is near; Rex Lapis will have his rut.

it didn't take long for people to figure out the reasons for his absence; not when the lord became increasingly unfocused during stately meetings a week prior or when his eyes would turn to slits with a whiff of a woman's perfume for a month’s time.

You, the lone herb picker of a local pharmacy, didn't know any better when you stumbled upon a large hollowed-out cave that wasn't supposed to be there. you are familiar with the terrains, hell, you know it like the back of your hand -- so imagine your surprise when you find a nesting dragon inside, heaving, grunting alone; its horns glowing with a bright amber before its head snapped to your directly, eyes instantly turning to slits.

at first, you stumble backwards, watching as the figure slowly but surely towers over your frame; your neck cranes to meet its molten bronze eyes. it didn't take you long to realise whose privacy you had so ungraciously barged into; your mouth dries and you dropped your basket full of violetgrass, your heart beating out of your chest before your feet finally got some sense and took running to the woods. 

'fuck fuck fuck.'

you are going to die- you are so sure you are going to die. when your feet stumble and trip over branches and air, when you can hear him gliding through the sky; undoubtedly searching for you. The sounds of his scaled body burst through the leaves of the ginkgo trees, or of his deep, rough growls that echo through the forest. With every heavy step you take, you can feel him getting closer and closer. The thrill and fear mix inside of you, your body stirs with blood coursing through you. Weirdly amid the fear you feel-- somehow excitement came into the mix; something about your life being in the mercy of a chase?

Why is he there again? Rut? So will he fuck you or will he kill you? You certainly prefer one to the other. 

Your legs continue to run, even as you trip and fall, or when you stumble upon a rock or two; searching for an exit to a nearby village or open path; but no matter how far you run you can't seem to find the correct way. Your eyes scanned all directions before your body was suddenly pinned down under a sudden force and unmoving weight.

The paws of a creature so large that it covers your entire back, its talons digging into your back. The smell of freshly dug earth and exotic spices violates your nostrils and your heart can't help but thump against your chest just a little faster. You turned your neck, finding the dragon’s face mere inches from yours; his hot breath grazing the exposed skin of your neck. 

“Please don’t kill me.” god your voice sounds so desperate; with a hint of a broken whimper- even you are embarrassed by that fact. but your god didn't seem disturbed, instead he let out a low grunt, before hissing back a reply.

"don't beg."

"...huh?"

"don't." he spat the word, seeming holding something back. "beg."

"b-but--"

he didn't let you finish, picking you up by the scruff of your neck before throwing you to his back. he flew you back somewhere, you didn't care to notice since most of the flight back you are scrambling for something to hold on to; whether it is the golden spines or his actual body.

by the time you both arrive at the entrance of the familiar cave, he has waited for you to get off his back. you inclined, of course, shakily getting a feel of the ground below, catching your breath whilst adrenaline courses through you. once you get a feel yourself, your eyes travel to him, catching his large form walking slowly to the back of the cave.

"you won't kill me?" you find yourself asking; his head then slowly turns to you before, a visible look of confusion etched on it.

"Why would I?" his deep rough voice replies. he is definitely holding something back, the way his lips parted a bit to let steam out of his mouth, the sharp teeth that are visible from them make you gulp the pooling saliva in your mouth.

"Because... cave..."

weak reasoning, you'd have to admit, but if he won't kill you then you'd have to be sure of the other possibility. "then would you fuck me?"

the look on his face deepened before his head hung low, and a soft whisper came to you for a reply. "what makes you think of that?"

"It's your- Rex Lapis it's your time of..."

embarrassed, incredibly embarrassed; that's the feeling you felt, with the heat of blood rushing to your cheek and thumping heart against your chest only enforcing the fact.

"it is time for my rut, yes," he confirmed, his gaze thrown to the floor, avoiding your figure, "but I am not one with lost senses; sleep, it is night, it will be safer to leave in the morning."

you nod weakly, shuffling your way to the walls and plopping down on the dirt before curling up. the heat in your cheeks refuses to prevail as you watch him walk back, his long tail moves with each step he takes, the tuff at the end resembling that of golden clouds.

"My lord why are you moving so far away?" you asked, instantly biting your lip the moment that question escaped your mind, realising how desperate you sounded with that pretence.

"your arousal," he states matter of factly. "you. I can smell it."

you look at him wide-eyed, your face now comparable in its heat to the sun, your lips agape.

"it's safer for you this way," he continues.

"do you not want to?" archons you are greedy aren't you. "your rut- I can.. help..."

"I doubt it." his voice is precise, he says it like it's a fact, not even letting you have a space to express your desire. "they are the size of your thigh and their length..."

"I can try." bold- now you are being too bold. the size of your thigh he said? now you can feel your ears getting heated up from the shame. your thigh now pressed together as you imagine him inside of you; a second pass and your arms no longer placed nicely on your lap, instead instinctively protecting your chest.

his gaze looms over you, his snout now only a hairsbreadth away from your neck; a long deep breath he takes is audible before he groans out a reply.

"Do not test me human," something inside of him is threatening undone, you know it, "I will breed you till your womb is full and your consciousness lost-- if that is not what you desire then stay quiet and sleep; I shall bring you the village in the morning but until then speak not of this."

you gulp, now your lips parted before you crane your neck and place a shaky kiss on his scaled cheek, the heat of his body contrasting the cold of your flesh. "... that is what I desire--"

with that your clothes are torn apart; the valuable silk you spend months of your wage on is gone and your naked skin is exposed. the cold air hardened your nipples and he took notice, his head travelling down, his long forked tongue lapping sweetly onto them, earning your strangle out a moan.

"getting aroused from a chase," he breathes out, almost teasing you; hot breath contrasts that of the cooling saliva on your perked buds, sending vibrations down your spine. "thinking you can take a dragon's cocks, wanting to be the mother of my offsprings -- what bold actions you possessed."

you let out a whine, his tongue now travelling down, ever so subtly closing down to your cunt. you pressed your thighs together; embarrassed, already feeling your arousal seeping out of you before his claws forced them wide open, earning your moan.

"you are pooling my dear," he almost chuckled, his eyes narrowed as he licked his lips, his breath now grazing your quivering folds, unexpected whimper broken out of you.

"please?"

with that word you can feel the air snap hotter, his eyes now meeting yours; his form towering over you before he chuckle, training down kisses, his tongue now making sure you are covered in his scent.

"didn't I tell you not to beg?" his claws hold your thigh open and he took a lap of your cunt, almost smiling at your taste. "do you know why my dear?"

"n-no--"

your moans escape, feeling his tongue entering you, fucking you, stimulating your walls, not letting you escape. you arched your back, biting your lips as another whimper persisted. you feel his hand moving, now pressing his claws to your other hole, expecting you to open up; and you let him, your holes now stuffed full of him before you feel his tongue slip out of you, your whine tells him as much about what you want.

"Because if you beg..." he now moves his hands to your ankles, folding you in half and you watch helplessly, his two golden cocks decorated with geometric lines and veins on either side, one on top of the other- he does not lie, the size of those things are comparable to your thigh, its length will most likely penetrate your womb- "I will answer."

he chuckles subtly, aligning his cocks to both of your holes, its weight now pressing down on you, precum leaks out of them, lubricating you further.

"i am a god, my dear; I always answer."

with that he presses his cock head to your holes, hoping both of them will ease up. you moan his title out, causing him to snap his head to you, making him greedy.

Your little groan and hiss only help you muster up the strength to let loose, feeling your holes easing up before they let his cockheads in, making your chest heave.

he grunts against your neck; and you feel his teeth subtly tracing your shoulder, little nips that satiate his hunger, burying his head in its crook.

"Celestia." the way you feel around the tip of his cock is incomparable; the dragon finds himself clenching down his jaw, controlling his urges to slam you down to its hilt. "you are made for me my dear."

he grabs a hold of your hips, and you feel him sliding you down. you let out a low moan, your back still arched as you feel him inside of you more and more. the burn from the stretch doesn't scare you, even if you feel like you are being split in two- you only know the pleasure that waits for you not so out of reach.

not even halfway and you already feel him brushing against your cervix, your broken moan coupled with the way you rolled your hips almost makes him snap. his other cock too now deep inside of you- almost too deep; you feel the pressure against your throat, feeling his cocks twitch, almost making you jolt, your hand searching from his arm, nails now digging into his scales.

he looks at you, his parted lips letting out steam before his uneven breathing stops to let him speak. "I shall move now."

you look at him, biting your lips and nod firmly, affirming your readiness. you feel him trying to go out of you, your cunt and hole tightening around him, almost hungry before he slams into you, earning your cry of pleasure.

it persists; he goes out of you before he slips inside, messaging your walls before they tightened around him again, hungrily seeking him, your face now fucked out with pleasure, feeling him abuse your holes.

"I'm not even all the way in my dear." he almost smirks, you can see it. before you know it, you suddenly feel him picking you up, your walls being freed from his cocks, suddenly empty and you whine; letting him flip you to your stomach and holding your ass up in the air.

he marvels at the sight, seeing both of your holes gape yet clench down on nothing, it almost made him giddy.

"my beautiful follower," he mused, his claws now digging into your flesh before you feel his cocks lining up with your holes again; embarrassingly you can feel your cunt relaxing, ready to take him in once more. "will you be my mate now darling?"

"yes!" your desperation stays, you want him inside you so bad, "please Rex Lapis please!"

you didn't know what did, but you certainly awaken something in him. he brings you up in the air before slamming you down on his cocks, your walls now taking him fully, your stomach bulging out with his shape. your breath knocks out of you; you can feel him all the way in your womb, your hand can't help but trace the raised flesh, your spine almost shivering from the sensation.

"keep begging."

that sounds like an order; even your now fucked out brain knows that. so like the good follower you are you follow that order.

"Please make me your mate," you choke out, his slow rhythms that know your breath slowly but surely going faster, brushing up against all your pleasure spots, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. "please please please please I wanna- I want--"

he chuckles, the way you mewl your pleas, the way your warm flesh tightens around him; he can even feel your walls hungrily sucking him in so nicely. in his mind he is thanking Celestia; because fuck, you are a masterpiece.

"a human could die from this," he grunts out, going in and out of you with an inhuman pace, your cunt and hole loosening with his movements. "not you my dear; you are made for me."

you whine from his statement, the bludge he created only drives you to the edge, feeling something inside of you tightening, your nails digging into his scaled flesh, your face supported by his nose. "R-rex Lapis i- my-- i'm--"

"you want to cum my dear?" he almost teases you with the question, his cock brushing, bullying your g spot, making you dig your nails further, your head could only nod desperately at his question. "hold it, you could only cum when I do."

you whine out with his order, and he lets out a subtle groaning with it, chuckling at your reaction. his hand moves down, large talons brushing against your hard clit, teasing the nub; knowing exactly what it will make you do.

you wrapped your arm around his neck, his golden mane brushing against your flesh so softly; and your tug your face on them, muffling out your long moan and desperate cries.

"fuck- please lord mo- morax- r-rex lapis please- i want- i wanna- please please please-"

he kept his word, his face moving and kissing your neck, feeling you move your pelvis to fit him better, your inside hungrily brushing against his shaft. his brow knits, he feels himself almost coming undone.

"now."

with a final thrust, he fills both of your holes with white ropes of cum, you yourself arching your back, feeling your orgasm hits you harder than ever before. he hear your pants before he coils around you, closing gaps between the two of your while still being inside of you, wrapped up by your own warmth.

"i shall make the wedding preparation after the season's over," he breath out; your mind finally able to join the sentence together before you move your head, repeating the most important word again.

"wedding..."

"of course my dear," he kisses you, his snout pressed against your jaw before he tugs his head onto your collar bone. his hand travels to your stomach, rubbing the visible buldge that only grows with his cum, almost making look pregnant.

"the little ones will be coming soon."

[argentconflagration]

when the subject of "why do people believe things that are seriously wrong and harmful" comes up it feels like you kinda hear one of two perspectives:

"oh, that's easy! it's because they're fundamentally Bad people who want to hurt others and choose their beliefs to justify that! :) hope this helps"

or

"they just don't have access to the same information we do. look at this person who was raised in a cult! don't you feel sorry for her?"

and like, yes, fine, some people were in fact raised in cults, but what i wish people would understand is that the bulk of it is just normal human flaws, like:

they want to believe stuff that makes them feel smart and cool and like they've figured everything out (you also do this)

they want to believe stuff that makes them feel like their emotions are justified and grounded in reality, and that the people they want to hurt deserve to be hurt (you also do this)

they form conclusions before they've processed all the relevant information, and cling to that first impression even when new info comes to light (you also do this)

they pick up beliefs from the people around them because they want to be liked and fit in, not because the beliefs are good or true (you also do this)

they come up with reasons that the stuff that benefits them (and the people they like and identify with) is actually overwhelmingly best for everyone and obviously the right thing to do (you also do this)

they pay more attention to stuff that supports what they already believe and avoid looking in places that might show them otherwise (you also do this)

they listen to people who talk like 'one of them' and ignore others (you also do this)

they come up with reasons to dismiss people with conflicting viewpoints as obviously in bad faith or ignorant or a shill or evil (you also do this)

they fail to take their own beliefs seriously sometimes, and take their beliefs way too seriously other times, in a selective way that lets them do the things they already wanted to do (you also do this)

the very ways they construct the ideas of 'knowledge' and 'wisdom' and 'belief' and 'understanding' are biased so that what they don't want to believe comes under lots of scrutiny and what they do want to believe receives less (you also do this)

you, dear reader, are presumably right about everything and were correct to die on every hill you've ever died on, but the difference between you and someone who's wrong about important stuff doesn't look like "well they're inherently evil and i'm not", it probably looks like a combination of:

natural environment (they would have been exposed to different information than you regardless of their choices)

being in the right place at the right time (your particular profile of flaws and virtues happened to be what was needed to lead you to the right conclusions, they had the opposite experience)

random luck (you doubled down on what felt right to believe but wasn't, but it turned out to be inconsequential, or even right for different reasons, while they doubled down on what turned out to be a horrible mistake distorting their entire worldview)

you do less of the things in the previous list, and over time the difference between you and them adds up

and, look, i also do these things. the nicest and most thoughtful people i've ever met do these things. if you meet someone who never does any of these things, i dunno, give them a fucking medal or something.

i know you're doing your best. we're all doing our best.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Mercy Kill | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This was the fic that got the most votes in the poll I ran recently, so here it is. I'm glad yall picked this one, cause I was really excited to write it!

Also, there is something wrong and I cannot tag people properly right now for some reason. So, if you are on my tallest and happen upon this fic, I'm sorry! I don't know what the fuck is going on 😭

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: PTSD, Hydra, blood, violence, minor reader injury, Bucky injury, angsty shit

“But if I could talk to him, if I could just see him-” you pled, “just for a minute! Please, he needs me and-”

But Bucky’s doctor remained steadfast. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to move out of your way. Behind him sat the door to Bucky’s room, the door you hadn’t been allowed to enter for hours now. Bucky was only feet away, but you couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t check on him. Couldn’t hold his hand. 

Anxiety rendered your hands completely numb. The urgent need to see him, to take care of him, to reassure him vibrated inside your chest. Every second that passed, every second that Bucky sat alone in his room in the medbay filled you with dread. Bucky needed you. You always swore you’d be there for him no matter what. But no amount of begging could get you through that door. 

The mental image of him lying in his hospital bed all by himself threatened to make your throat close. Bucky didn’t like the medbay; his PTSD reared its ugly head each time he stepped foot in the white, sterile environment. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, of pain and suffering and agony. And he didn’t like doctors, didn’t trust them. Not after he suffered so severely at the hands of Hydra’s “medical” team. 

Every time he required treatment after a mission, he refused. He fought and clawed against the gloved hands that tried to guide him onto a gurney. And only when you calmly and kindly begged him to allow the doctors to take a look at him did he relent. But he held you tight as a vice grip the entire time. The sensation of your hand in his was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling. With you there by his side, he found a sliver of safety amongst the white coats that poked and prodded him. 

Today, however, was different. 

Things didn’t go as smoothly as you or Bucky had hoped. And your many calls for backup went unanswered. It looked like this would be the last mission for you and Bucky. Like you’d return home in matching body bags.

But just as he was overwhelmed by Hydra operatives, completely swarmed and swallowed by their agents- the backup team arrived. Hope bloomed anew as you heard their leader’s voice in your comm, announcing that they’d breach the door in the next few seconds. And they did. They helped you take down every last Hydra agent, freeing Bucky from their clutches. 

But before you could rush to his bloodied side, a few members of the backup team whisked him away. They loaded Bucky onto their jet and set off toward the compound, leaving you and the rest of their team behind. No one listened to your pleas, your desperate insistence. They assured you that Bucky would be fine, that they’d get him the medical care he needed. But he needed you, too. He needed you to sit with him, to hold his hand. 

No such luck. 

As you boarded the jet that brought you and Bucky to the mission site, you kicked yourself for not demanding that you accompany him. It felt like you failed him, like you couldn’t keep your word. He deserved better from you. He deserved to have his anchor there by his side when the flashbacks gripped him by the throat. But you swore to yourself that you’d visit him in the medbay as soon as you landed. That you’d sit by his bedside and hold his hand.

But you didn’t- you couldn’t.

“Our new policy says no visitors,” Bucky’s doctor said. 

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” you insisted. “I’ll sign forms, I’ll wear a visitor’s badge, I’ll-”

“No exceptions.”

Even if Bucky’s hearing hadn’t gotten a boost from the serum, you were certain he ‘d be able to hear you fighting with his doctor.  

“This is ridiculous- since when?”  Passersby gave you judgmental sideways looks, but you paid them no mind. “Every doctor and nurse here knows that he needs me. That he isn’t comfortable around doctors- he has PTSD. Please, I always sit with him-”

“Not anymore.” The doctor nodded at a security guard who took you gruffly by the arm and escorted you out. 

It didn’t make any sense. Every hospital allowed visitors. And even though the medbay wasn’t exactly your standard general hospital, they operated by most of the same rules. The always allowed visitors- sometimes two at a time. Their patients needed to see family and friends- needed a support system. And you were Bucky’s. But they stole you from his side for something as insignificant as a policy change.

With your hopes of being there for Bucky dashed, you pulled out your phone; the screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes. Bucky’s number sat the very top of your ‘favorites’ list, just as it had since you became friends. With a shaking hand, you pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Until finally, Bucky’s voicemail answered. 

“You’ve reached James Barnes. Leave a message.”

“Hey, Buck,” you sniffled. “I guess you might be sleeping. Um, I had it out with your doctor in the hall, but he wouldn’t let me see you. Something about a-” you rolled your eyes, “a policy change or something. So, just… just let them take care of you, okay? I know how you feel about doctors, I know you’re probably scared- but you need to let them treat you. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe here. And you can call or text me any time- we can facetime. Whatever you need. I’ll see you when you get out, okay? Call me.”

But he didn’t. 

Without Bucky around, your world didn’t fall into place the way it was supposed to. Everything around you felt off kilter. Disjointed. Like you’d been dropped into a universe in which you didn’t belong. Part of you was used to this feeling by now. Every time Bucky went off on a mission that didn’t include you, you found yourself in this same, fragmented reality.

But this version was far worse. Because Bucky wasn’t away, he was here; he was only a few floors away from you. But you couldn’t see him. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how uncomfortable he was. How scared and alone and miserable. He was hurt- he needed rest. But you were certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the medbay. Not with his near-pathological fear of medical treatment. 

Two days passed without you taking notice. Meetings came and went without your attendance. You missed training sessions and team dinners. None of it mattered, not without Bucky. He was all you thought about. All you cared about. Every absent thought, every passing notion revolved around him. He was in good hands in the medbay, you knew he was. But you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him. From spiraling.

Was he getting enough sleep? Was he allowing the doctors and nurses to care for him? Was he eating? Was he having panic attacks? You found yourself afflicted by the not knowing. By the unanswered questions. On any normal day, you knew about everything going on in Bucky’s life, every thought populating his mind. But now, you were adrift in a dark see of uncertainty. 

It didn’t help that your every attempt at contact with Bucky came up empty. Hundreds of texts went unanswered. A myriad of voicemails garnered no response. He was radio silent; it made you nauseous. He should’ve been able to text back, right? To, at the very least, give your messages a thumbs up or a heart? It was out of character- completelyunheard of- for him to not answer you. 

What if he was worse off than you thought? Was he physically incapable of even using his phone? Was he comatose? Was he dying? The possibilities were endless. Nauseating. Horrifying. Each scenario you imagined was far worse than the last. Far scarier. Far deadlier. And calls to the medbay offered no insight. You urged them to give you an update on his condition, to provide you with proof of life. But they refused.

You supposed that went against their new policy, too.

The anxiety, the worry, kept you wide awake. But even if you could sleep, you wouldn’t dare. Closing your eyes brought with it the possibility that you could miss correspondence from Bucky. Or his doctor. And you weren’t going to risk it. Hell, you even brought your phone with you into the shower. Just in case. It had been two days since you last saw Bucky. Since you last heard his voice. You wouldn’t dream of missing a call from him. 

Twice a day, you cleaned and redressed the stitches holding your side closed and appraised the butterfly stitches above your brow. Everything inside of you ached to trade places with Bucky. To swap your minor injuries for his.

He’d gotten the large brunt of the onslaught when the ambush descended on the two of you. He’d drowned in a sea of Hydra operatives as they stole his weapons and beat him within an inch of his life. He was strong, yes, but he was still only one man. And taking on throngs of Hydra’s mercenaries without a single weapon was difficult- even for him. You did your best to provide support from the sidelines, to take out as many of his attackers as you could. But it wasn’t enough. Not until the backup team arrived did the horde of Hydra agents fall.

 And now, Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. Without you. 

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to hurt anymore. To bleed. He didn’t deserve to be in this line of work. Every other week, his assignments involved Hydra. And every other week, he was forced to retraumatize himself. Forced to see things he never wanted to see again. Forced to come face to face with people who hurt him, tortured him, treated him like an object.

For him, you wished nothing but ease. Warmth. A soft, slow life filled with love and gentle hands and safety. He never should’ve been forced to continue this kind of work. To put himself in harm’s way. To sacrifice his mental health over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He did everything he could to build back his body and mind. To recover from the horrors he endured. And yet, here he was, being forced to risk his progress and peace of mind, all for a world that hated him.

On the third day of Bucky’s absence, your body begged for sleep. For a respite from the worry. For a meal that didn’t consist of Doritos and Gatorade. But you didn’t have the energy or the attention required to assemble a decent lunch. When Bucky got out of the medbay, you told yourself, the two of you would have a nice dinner together. You’d share his bed with him as you often did. And you’d both find solace in the arms of the other.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to spin class?” 

Nat’s voice yanked you out of your spiral, scaring you half to death. She leaned against the wall nearest your bed, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

Nat took in the scene before her. You laid sprawled out on your bed, resembling roadkill. Your head rested where your feet should’ve been, and your feet leaned against the headboard. Your arms were stretched wide against the bedspread like a dead starfish. And your gaze rested firmly on your phone, as though you were waiting for a call.

“What?” You eyed her for a moment before dropping your head back to your mattress. “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You need to get out of this room,” Nat gave your shoulder a gentle shake. “And you need to stop moping. Your life can’t come to a screeching halt because Bucky’s hurt.”

“I know…” But Bucky was your life- or at least, a very, very big part of it. 

She was right, though. You knew she was right. 

But it wasn’t just that he was hurt. It wasn’t just that he was alone. Of course, those were both massive, contributing factors. But it was the missing him. It was the not seeing him, the not talking to him. The not knowing if he was scared and panicked and lonely. The two of you were inseparable; being without him felt like losing a part of yourself. Like half of your heart was missing. 

An unsettling cold seemed to worm its way under your skin without Bucky around. The world was a darker, utterly freezing place. No number of sweatshirts or blankets could keep the chill from biting at your skin. No heating pad could stop the frequent shivers. Somehow, your insides fell to subzero, Siberian temperatures. But after a while, you didn’t care anymore. You stopped trying to rid your body of the piercing, bitter cold. Only Bucky could do that. And he wasn’t coming back to you any time soon.

“It just sucks,” you groaned. A small shiver rocketed up your spine.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s dead.”

“I’m talking about the whole policy change thing in the medbay. It’s bullshit. Bucky needs me,” you let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, when did they put that in place? And why? It doesn’t even make sense.”

Nat furrowed her brow, “policy change?”

“Yeah, the new rule that doesn’t allow any visitors,” 

“Oh. Right. That.” Nat threw her gaze to the window. Cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know why they’d do that. But yeah, it sucks. Anyway,” she took a seat on your bed, “if you get changed, we can still make it to cycle. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

You shook your head against the mattress. “You should go without me. I haven’t slept at all the last few nights- I barely have the energy to breathe. I can’t even fathom taking a spin class right now.” 

It was the truth. You didn’t have it in you to spend an hour burning calories you desperately needed. To waste your limited energy on something so trivial. But if you were completely honest with Nat, you’d tell her that the class would force you to focus on something other than your phone. And if you missed a call or text from Bucky because of something as stupid as a workout class, you’d lose your mind.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Nat sighed. “We can-”

“Hey!” Hill leaned against your doorframe, dressed in her workout clothes. “Are you guys ready for class?”

Nat stood and took a few steps in maria’s direction. “Well, I am. But she’s not coming with us.”

A frown pulled Maria’s features downward, “What? Why not?”

“She wants to stay here and wallow about Barnes,” Nat told her. 

“They’re not letting me visit him in the medbay,” you groaned in Maria’s direction. “And I haven’t heard from him at all. So, I’m just-”

Confusion pulled Maria’s brows together. “But he got out of the medbay,” she said. “Yesterday.”

The energy you claimed not to have sprung forth all at once. In a matter of seconds, you were standing upright and crossing the room toward Maria; the quick nature of it all made you a little dizzy. 

“What do you mean he got out?”

She was shocked by your intensity, “Um, I mean, he was released-”

“Released to where?” you demanded. “Like, they transferred him to another hospital? Or-”

“No, released as in discharged,” she said. “They let him leave around six-thirty last night.”

Last night? If Bucky was released last night, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he sent you a text or dropped by your room? Was he that depleted? That worse for wear? The suffocating worry rushed back in full force. But you didn’t care about the crushing weight on your chest or the restriction of your windpipe. Bucky was back. He was healed enough to be released. And he was right down the hall.

Before Nat and Maria could stop you, you took off like a bat out of hell. Clumsy steps carried you down the hall and sent you careening into passersby every few feet. They mumbled curses under their breath and told you watch where you were going, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Stopping wasn’t an option, not when Bucky was finally within reach once again.

As you screeched to a halt outside his door, you raised your fist to knock frantically against the wood. But before your knuckles could strike the door’s surface, you recoiled. There was a very substantial possibility that he was sleeping. He was hurt, after all. And he needed his rest. Instead of a boisterous, borderline-obnoxious knock, you opted to lightly tap the wood with your knuckles. If Bucky was awake, he’d hear it. 

But no answer came. After a few moments, you gave the door another gentle knock. Again, nothing. If he was asleep, there was no telling when you’d see him. He could be asleep for half the day, and you’d have to wait as long to reunite with him. Would it be too pushy to just let yourself in? Bucky was used to it by now- you both were. If one of you was already asleep, the other would often let themselves in and crawl into bed. It was just what you did; it was commonplace within your friendship. 

And though you didn’t want to disturb him, your selfish side won out. Your hand found the doorknob and gave it a slow turn- but it didn’t fully give way. It stopped after twisting only a few millimeters. Locked. 

“He needs to rest,” Nat called from down the hall. “I don’t think you should bother him- just let him sleep it off.”

Again, she was right.  

And so, with slumped shoulders and shattered hopes, you dragged yourself back to your room. Once you’d collapsed onto your bed, you snagged your phone from its resting place and fired off a few quick messages to Bucky.

“Hey, Hill said they released you from the medbay!”

“I just dropped by your room but got no answer. Call me when you wake up :)”

“I don’t wanna disturb you or anything, but I miss you, Buck.”

The hours inched by with no response from Bucky. You did your best to avoid staring at your phone, reminding yourself that a watched pot never boils. But you couldn’t help yourself. Every few seconds, you had to sneak a peek at the screen in search of Bucky’s name. And every time, you found yourself disappointed. Broken-hearted, really. 

Of course, this wasn’t the longest you’d ever gone without seeing Bucky. Many past missions stole him from your side for weeks at a time- sometimes even months. But the complete and utter lack of communication was new. No matter how dangerous a mission got, not matter how risky it was- you both still found a way to contact the other. Whether it was a short “I’m okay” text or a seconds-long phone call, a quick correspondence from the battlefield provided a reassurance that was desperately, desperately needed.

Sitting at home while your best friend faced life-threatening danger was never easy. When Bucky was away, you tore off every fingernail, biting them down until they bled. And anytime it was you on the frontlines while Bucky rode the bench, he started climbing the walls; he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until you got home. 

The two of you simply weren’t meant to be apart.

Without those reassuring texts, you felt yourself losing your mind. You did your best to hook your nails in, to fight and claw to retain your grip on your sanity. But you didn’t have it in you. And so, your nails fell by the wayside. In only a matter of minutes, your fingers were reduced to a bloody horror scene. Every cuticle was in tatters, every quick exposed. Your hands throbbed and stung, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

Four more days passed without word from Bucky. You texted. You knocked on his door. You called. You even slipped a note or two under his door. And still, nothing.

The worry slowly devoured you, one piece at a time. With your sanity long gone and your optimism dashed, nothing remained but pure, undiluted panic. And though you already decimated your nails, you gnawed at them anyway, digging your teeth into any free piece of flesh you could find. You wondered if this was how things were going to be forever. Would Bucky ever return to you? Or would you always feel this empty, aching void? 

On the seventh night without Bucky, you didn’t have it in you to even lay on your bed. You knew it would take what little life you had left to heave yourself up onto the mattress. And the effort simply wasn’t worth it. Had there ever before been anyone this pathetic? This broken and utterly hopeless? 

“What are you doing?” Nat loomed over you, taking in the scene. She found you lying face down on your bedroom floor, utterly despondent. “You didn’t want to lay in your bed? It’s almost midnight, you should-”

“I still haven’t heard from him,” you muttered into the carpet. “Why haven’t I heard from him?’

Nat knelt down next to you and gave your shoulder a tug, rolling you onto your back. 

“Hi,” she gave you a wave.

“Hi.” You didn’t wave back- you didn’t have the energy.

Nat gave you a long look. She noted your messy hair, your limp body, the dark circles under your eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you don’t look so good.” 

“I don’t feel so good, either,” you shrugged. “I think I might be dying.”

Nat eyed you with pity. She knew how deeply you cared about Bucky. How much he meant to you. And she knew just how hard you were taking his injury and subsequent absence. For the past week, she hadn’t seen you eat anything other than a few chips here and there. She knew for certain you hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep. And the bloody splotches where your nails used to be sent up a litany of red flags. 

“I’m so… I’m so worried about him, Nat,” tears trailed down your face. “This is so unlike him- we never go this long without speaking.”

Nat stoked your arm a bit, “I know.”

“What if he’s not okay? He could be dying, and we wouldn’t have any idea.”

She gave your hand a squeeze, “Come on, don’t think like that. I’m sure he’s alright-”

You shook your head, “I keep calling down to the medbay. I keep telling them that there’s something wrong- that they need to check on Bucky. But his doctor is…” you gave a frustrated huff. “He’s being weird. It’s like he’s being evasive, or something. I don’t know why he isn’t more worried- I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

Nat let out a long, heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. This was the moment she’d hoped to avoid, the moment she dreaded all week. 

“Alright, um, I wasn’t supposed to say anything- I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. But…” She gave you another long, sympathetic look. “You’re very obviously not okay. And I think that, if I don’t tell you the truth, you might actually die-”

Suddenly, you bolted upright. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky’s fine.”

Your shoulder’s slumped forward and you ran a hand down your face. Nat had no proof to back up her claim. No evidence. “But how do you know-”

“Because I’ve gone to see him,” Nat said, just above a whisper. “Multiple times.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Nat was allowed to see him? But you weren’t? Of course, Nat and Bucky were friends. But they weren’t nearly as close and you and Bucky- hell, you didn’t think anyone had ever been as close as you and Bucky.  

Nat continued. “He’s a little banged up, but he’s alright. He’s just been hanging out in his room. Reading. Watching tv. That kind of stuff.”

The confirmation that Bucky was, in fact, okay helped you breathe a little easier. The pounding headache pulsating behind your eyes relented a bit, the knots in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. But you didn’t find ease. Not yet. 

“But why didn’t he-”

Nat didn’t want to say it. She didn’t wanna tear you apart and burn your world. She didn’t want to be your personal messenger of destruction. But one look at you and your pitiful, heartbroken form gave her the resolve to be honest. You deserved honesty. 

“Because he’s mad at you.”

It was the most preposterous thing Nat could’ve said. Not once over the course of your entire friendship had Bucky ever been mad at you. Sure, he pretended to be mad when you snuck a bite of his dessert or beat him at cards. But he never got mad at you for real. 

But, you told yourself, there’s a first time for everything. 

You knew you were capable of fucking up. Of committing transgressions against others. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Bucky angry enough to completely ignore you like this. You racked your brain, shaking loose its contents in search of anything that might warrant the coldest shoulder you’d ever experienced. But you found nothing. 

It didn’t matter, though. If Bucky felt slighted, if he felt like you hurt him in some way- who were you to say that you hadn’t? Who were you to claim innocence?

“What? Why?” You looked to Nat for help. “What did I do?”

“Something about a broken promise,” Nat shrugged. “But that’s all I’ll say. This isn’t any of my business. And I-”

A long silence filled the room as you thought about this new revelation. Nat’s words allowed you to look back on the past week with a new perspective. You saw things in a new light, a new context.

“So, there wasn’t a policy change-”

Nat gave a somber shake of her head. “He just… he didn’t want to see you.”

And just like that, Nat gutted you. You could’ve sworn she ripped out your still-beating heart with her bare hands and splattered the carpet with your blood. 

He didn’t want to see you.

He didn’t want to see you.

The words reverberated inside your inside your skull. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into you time and time again, leaving you breathless and aching. Over the course of the last week, you thought you’d reached the deepest pit of despair, the darkest possible recesses of agony. But you were wrong. There were deeper and darker, more excruciating places- and you found yourself in the depths of the most miserable, agonizing one of all.

“I was able to visit him in the medbay. So was Sam,” she told you. “He wasn’t all alone like you thought. He had us there with him to make sure he was doing okay. I mean he still struggled- you’re definitely better at giving him peace of mind than I am- but…” 

Nat gave a shake of her head, clearing from her mind the image of Bucky having a massive panic attack in the medbay. His raspy inhales, his shaking hands, his wide, vacant eyes. Flashbacks plagued him each and every day down in the medbay. Medication didn’t touch his violent, soul-crushing episodes of PTSD. And Sam and Nat found themselves at a loss. 

They did their best to be there for him, to help him find ease and comfort. But there was something missing. And that something was you. Nat even suggested to Sam that they sneak you into Bucky’s room. She proposed that, just maybe, Bucky’s need for your reassurances would outweigh his anger. And maybe upon seeing you, he’d drop his grievances and allow you to help him wade through the dark, choppy waters. 

But super soldier senses be damned, Bucky overheard her idea; he vetoed it immediately.

“And his doctor seemed so unconcerned on the phone because he knows that Bucky’s fine- he checks on Bucky every day.” Nat let out a sigh of relief, as though she’d been holding her breath for days. “So, at the very least, you know Bucky’s okay. And now, you kind of know what’s going on. Do you want me to-”

Nat didn’t get to finish her sentence. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure. Because before she could get the rest of the words out, you were gone. The panic coursing through your veins reinvigorated your depleted body, carrying you frantically in the direction of Bucky’s room. 

Your knuckles struck his door before your feet came to a stop. 

“Buck. Buck, it’s me-” you pounded on his door. “Can we please talk? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silence. 

Your knuckles stung against the wood, but you paid them no mind. “Please! I just want to- please, let me apologize.” 

No answer. 

“Buck, I’m…” Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your lungs burned from lack of oxygen. A crushing ache settled into every fiber of your being. And your strong knocks deflated into weak, pitiful pats. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so…”

He wasn’t going to answer. You knew he wasn’t. But some part of you didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you’d lost Bucky- possibly forever. A tidal wave of weakness launched itself at you, robbing your body of the faux strength granted by the adrenaline. 

Your hands found purchase against the opposite wall and guided you clumsily to the floor. With your back propped against the wall and your knees tucked into your chest, you stared at Bucky’s door. Waiting. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. Eventually, he’d have to return to work or visit the kitchen. And when he did, you’d be ready.

Because no matter how grim it all seemed-no matter how soul-crushingly hopeless your situation- you had to try. Bucky was worth it. Your friendship was worth it. Of course, if he told you to fuck off and never speak to him again, it would hurt. It would destroy you. But at least you’d never have to wonder. If you didn’t try, the not-knowing, the what-ifs wouldn’t haunt you in the middle of the night. 

You didn’t care if the odds were egregiously stacked against you. If there was any chance at reconciliation, you were going to do everything in your power to make it happen. 

It didn’t matter if you had to wait hours, days, weeks- you’d be there. You’d sleep in the hall, eat in the hall. Whatever it took. You’d wait a lifetime. 

Lucky for you, a lifetime wasn’t required. Because after only four and a half hours, Bucky’s door opened. And for the first time in a week, you caught a glimpse of your best friend.

He was unshaven, his facial hair a little longer than normal. The gash on his forehead was almost completely healed. And the bruises that used to stain his cheek and jaw were nowhere to be seen. The knuckles of his right hand, though, retained their dark purples and inky blues. And the skin under his eyes matched; you knew instantly he hadn’t been sleeping. 

But he looked so good, so beautiful. They way his hair fell in his eyes. The worn sweatshirt- the sweatshirt you gave him. Had he always been this perfect? This breathtaking? Of course, he had. It was stupid of you to even ask.

Seeing him again was like being saved from drowning. Like the first gulp of air after being swept away by a rogue riptide. Your lungs filled to capacity for the first time in a week. Your muscles released their hardened knots. And the ever-encroaching sense of biting cold vanished. In its place grew the warmest, most comforting summer. 

Somehow, he didn’t even notice you sitting across hall. You knew he must’ve thought he’d waited you out. That you were long gone by now. But he clearly underestimated your stubbornness. Your determination. Your love for him. 

The door was only open wide enough to allow him to place a tray of used dishes on the floor. And in the few seconds it took for him to do so, you launched into action.

“Hey!”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with you for a moment. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn he looked happy to see you. Relieved to see you. 

His momentary pause gave you just enough time to rush to his door. You placed your hand along the frame, curling your fingers inside the jamb. If Bucky wanted to slam the door and shut you out, he’d have to crush your hand in the process. And no matter how angry he was with you, he’d never hurt you. 

He let out an exasperated huff at the site of your strategically place hand. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to applaud you for. The quick wit and sharp thinking that he so admired about you. 

“Buck, can we please talk?” you pled. “Whatever I did, whatever promise I broke-”

A sigh deflated his chest, “You talked to Nat.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry,” the words fell frantically, wildly out of your mouth. “I’ve never been sorrier in my life. I’d never, ever want to hurt you-”

“That’s the problem.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense. As though it made any sense at all.

You wiped a few stray tears from your cheek, “What does that mean?”

With a huff, Bucky encircled your wrist with his fingers and pulled you inside. He didn’t like the looks the passersby shot your direction. The way they ogled and whispered as though witnessing a car wreck on the highway. 

Finally, after the longest week of your life, Bucky granted you entry to your favorite place. He did so begrudgingly, but you didn’t care. This room felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t the furnishings or the design that you loved so much; both were rather sparse. It was the memories. The countless nights spent watching movies in Bucky’s bed. The laughter, the tears, the deep heart to heart talks. 

When Bucky first moved in, he didn’t leave this room for quite some time- not even for meals. And that was how you first got him to trust you. Every day, you gently knocked on his door and delivered breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and snacks. It was your way of welcoming him to the building, of making him feel comfortable in a new place with new people. And of course, you couldn’t let the soft-spoken man with the kind blue eyes starve to death.

It took him weeks- maybe months- to finally invite you in. And once he finally did, all bets were off. The two of you became inseparable from that moment on, spending nearly every night in this room, seeking the comforts of one another.

But this moment was nothing like those of the past. This was awkward. Cold. Quiet. The tension hanging in the air grew so thick, so heavy that you wondered if your lungs might actually collapse.  You waited for Bucky to speak first. And waited. And waited. And waited. But he didn’t say a word. He simply leaned against the wall, avoiding your eyeline. 

Finally, the uncomfortable, permeating silence pushed you to speak.

“I’m- I don’t understand what’s going on. I just know that I fucked up somehow. And I know-” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know I said this a million times already, but I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this and make it up to you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky considered your words for a while, letting the silence drag on as he mulled over your sentiment. He knew you were serious, knew you meant what you said. But it was too late.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “And you broke it.” 

Truth be told, you’d made him a lot of promises over the course of your friendship. Promises to give him the pickle spear that came with your sandwich at the deli. To watch all of Game of Thrones with him without spoiling anything. To listen, to be open-minded, to never judge him for his past. You promised to always be there when the nightmares tore him to shreds and to be honest with him when he needed to hear the truth. You promised to be kind to him, to protect him. To remind him of his goodness when his demons called him a monster.

And above all else, you promised to never, ever hurt him. You took these promises upon yourself without Bucky even asking. And as far as you knew, you’d kept them all. 

“Which promise? I don’t-”

“What’s my worst fear?” Bucky asked. His tone calm, like he was asking you trivia questions about himself.  “The thing that scares me more than anything else? The thing that keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it?”

And without skipping a beat, you answered, “Being taken by Hydra again.”

Your eyes opened wide. It was then that the puzzle pieces fell into place. 

A guttural sound burst from your lips. It was haunted and broken, like a wounded animal’s final cry of pain before surrender. It ripped through the room and echoed off the walls; Bucky flinched as the sound barreled into him. Your nose burned, warning you of oncoming tears. Both of your hands clapped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of sorrow and shame. The attempt was unsuccessful.

And the deepest, darkest pit of guilt opened inside your stomach. 

The promise. That promise.

“When I told you about that fear- my greatest fear,” Bucky continued. “I asked you to make me a promise. Do you-” his voice wavered ever so slightly. He did his damnedest to fight it, to build a blockade against the oncoming emotion. But his eyes grew glassy with tears, anyway. “Do you remember what that promise was?” 

Even with his enhanced senses, Bucky struggled to hear your thin, hollow whisper.

“That I’d kill you…” you rasped. “If you were ever at risk of being taken by Hydra again, I’d kill you.”

The memory of your latest mission with Bucky barreled into you like a train. 

He was overwhelmed- buried- by the deluge of Hydra operatives. They came at him from every possible angle, swarming him before he even had a chance to react. Even with his super-human strength, he was no match for the volume, the sheer barrage of assailants. Seconds after they descended upon him, his weapons were lost, ripped from his hands and thrown far out of reach. He didn’t have enough room to breathe, let alone fight. Knives plunged into his flesh, setting loose a river of crimson. And heavy batons pummeled his face and head, leaving him dizzy. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt them pulling him, dragging him toward a doorway. Toward an unknown, and certainly horrific, fate. But through it all, he managed to call to you- to scream to you- one phrase. 

“Do it!” he begged. “Do it! DO IT!” 

The pain, the sheer terror in his voice, sent a flurry of goosebumps rushing over your skin. The head trauma you received only moments before left you dazed, and the knife wound in your side made breathing almost impossible. Blood oozed down the side of your face and painted your vision red. But you found the wherewithal to aim and shoot- at everyone except Bucky.

“Oh, Buck, I’m…” you stumbled back a few paces, the sheer weight of your guilt knocking you off balance. Your back crashed against the nearest wall with a thud. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hot bile rose in the back of your throat, saliva coated the inside of your mouth. You forced greedy inhales through your nose, hoping to stave off the nausea. “I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. You wondered if he was even breathing. He just stood there with a broken, tormented look on his face. He didn’t allow himself to blink, didn’t allow the tears gathering along his lash line to fall. He simply curled his metal fingers into a tight fist before spreading them wide again. Over and over and over again. It was a subconscious act, an anxious tendency he often displayed when his mind grew dark and uninhabitable. And, more often than not, it was your cue to step in. To rush to his side and save him from the torment. 

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were the last person he wanted to see- he’d made that abundantly clear. And even if he wanted to you hold his hand as you always did, you couldn’t move. The guilt weighed you down, turning your feet into blocks of cement.

“I know- I know I said that I’d do it, but I…” A fresh wave of tears crested over your lash line and flooded your cheeks. “I couldn’t.”

“You promised,” Bucky’s voice was so anguished, so despondent. “You swore to me that you could- that you would.”

“The backup team was in my ear,” your words dripped with deperation. “I heard them in my comm- I knew they were there, I knew they were only a few feet away-”

“But I didn’t!” he erupted. “My comm fell out- I had no idea they were there! I thought-” His voice splintered; his rage shattered, setting free a tsunami of despair. “I thought I was going back!” 

And finally, his tears broke through. They saturated his skin in seconds as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his beard. Shivers rippled up and down his body. Goosebumps covered his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Just the thought of being dragged back to Hydra doused him in a cold sweat.

His shaking hand swiped at the tear tracks dripping down his cheeks. He would’ve given anything for a hug from you. For your reassuring, comforting words. But he couldn’t find it in him to ask. Couldn’t find it in him to allow you so close. And so, he forced the tightness in his chest to relent, to accept the voracious inhales he pulled into his lungs. He couldn’t surrender to the panic attack looming on the horizon- not yet.

It was confusing, his need to touch you. His craving for your comforts. You’d betrayed him, hadn’t you? You’d broken your promise to him and almost fed him to Hydra’s meat grinder. But it wasn’t that black and white- he wasn’t sure it ever was. No, this situation lived deep in a gray area, never giving Bucky a cut and dry solution. And deep down, he knew it. He knew you never would have allowed him to be taken. He knew you had your reasons for leaving him alive. But anger was easier. Betrayal was easier. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know- I know for sure it’s not enough”, the shame dragged your eyes down to the floor. “But I’m so sorry.” 

What could you do, what could you possibly say to fix this? Nothing could ever make it okay. Nothing could ever heal what you did- or didn’t do.

“It was… it was selfish of me,” you admitted. “I just hoped you could hang on for a few more seconds until backup came in. Cause I- I wanted you to come home with me. That’s all I could think about. Just getting you home safe. I didn’t even consider k-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “Doing that to you. But it’s- I was wrong. I made you a promise. And I broke it. And if you ended up back at Hydra,” you took a deep breath. The truth was ugly, hard to swallow. It poked at your throat like a mouthful of push pins. “If you ended up back at Hydra, it would be my fault.”

Only silence followed. 

Bucky hated the heartbreak in your voice, the tears streaming down your face. He hated seeing you in pain. The urge to wrap you in a bearhug yanked at his muscles, desperately trying to drag him in your direction. But he couldn’t, could he? He was mad at you- he was supposed to be mad at you. Once again, the strange, conflicting emotions needled at him. All week long, he forced the gray area behind a wall and chose, instead, to live in the black and white. To lean into anger. To side with the demons calling you a traitor and a liar. 

But now that you were finally here, standing in front of him, the voices quieted. It was just the two of you, together. You weren’t the villain he’d painted you to be. You weren’t heartless. You weren’t evil. Hell, this whole thing would’ve been a lot easier if you were. And jus like that, Bucky found himself smack dab in the middle of the gray area he tried so desperately to fight.

“I understand why you’re mad, Buck. It’s-”

“I’m not. I- I was mad. Now, I’m just,,,” he gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on inside my head.”

“I get it. And if you don’t,” you cleared your throat, fighting against the words that tasted so vile. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get that, too. This was a- a really major breach of your trust. We always say that we have each other’s backs, but I didn’t…” You used the collar of your sweatshirt to wipe the tears running down your neck. “I didn’t have yours. So, if you want to be done with me after this, I-”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. I’m-” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’m just- I’m confused. Cause I genuinely wanted you to shoot me in the head back there. I wanted you to mercy kill me.” 

The words tore through you.

“But now,” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t. Because everything turned out okay. And I’m here. With you. But I…” He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. “I almost wasn’t. I was almost there. With them. Again.”

All you could do was nod. What were you supposed to say to that? Nothing you had to offer could assuage his deep-seated, stomach-turning terror. You could never understand what he went through. Could never imagine the horrors. And it never even crossed your mind to put a contingency plan in place for yourself. To ask your closest friend to kill you in order to save you. You’d never understand that level of desperation. 

“I don’t care about dying,” he shrugged. “I’m not scared of death anymore. I wished for- I prayed for death when I was-” he cleared his throat. “When I was there. I would’ve welcomed it.”

The mental image nearly brought you to your knees.

“I’m just scared of being their prisoner again. I’m scared of the torture, and the blood, and the-the…” His breathing grew shallow and erratic. His voice faltered. “The way they fucked with my mind.” Anxious tremors rendered his hands unsteady. And his attempts to wipe away the tears fell short. “And the killing, and the pain, and the-”

He was losing his battle against the fear. Against the spiral. It grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him downward, plunging him the darkest, most hopeless recesses of his mind. He found himself lost, adrift in the deepest, most sinister sea. The ice-cold waves crested over him endlessly, nearly drowning him with each thin breath he took.

But the sensation of your hand in his dragged him to shore. With the warmth of your touch, he found his way back. He returned to his body. He always knew you were his saving grace, his life preserver. 

But holding Bucky’s hand didn’t feel quite right. Not after what you did. Especially because, deep down, you knew this was partly selfish. Knew that you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers braided with yours. But who were you to relish in it? Who were you to make this about you, and your needs? 

And so, when he finally found his way back to the present, when he finally breathed evenly, you freed his hand from yours and gave him his space. 

“Thanks for that…” he ran a hand down his face, still recovering from his trip to hell. Still needing you. 

“Yeah. Of course- anytime.” You already missed his touch. But you refused to reach for him again- not unless he needed it. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and balled them into fists.

“I just- I’m never going back there. I can’t,” he said after a while. “And I get it- you didn’t want to kill me. I wouldn’t want to kill you, either. But I’d choose a bullet between the eyes over being their chew toy. Every single time. Cause it’s…” he absentmindedly let his hand drift to his face, to the scar the sat atop his cheek bone. The scar left behind by the device they used to wipe his mind over and over and over. “It’s worse than death.”

The vitriol burning in your chest smoldered and scalded your soul. You’d never hated anyone- never detested anyone- as much as you hated yourself. You were supposed to protect Bucky. You were supposed to be there for him. You were supposed to be the person he could trust no matter what. But you failed him. He was completely terrified. Retraumatized. All because of you.

Bucky rubbed at a hard, tense knot in his shoulder, “But you’re my best friend, and-”

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You should be able to trust me. But you can’t. Cause I’m selfish.”

“I do trust you,” he said, almost immediately. There was something in his voice- offense, maybe? Like he took your self-flagellation personally. “You’re smart. You- you knew back up was down the hall. You knew I’d be okay. And now that I’m home, I know you made the right call. I was-” He pulled his vibranium hand into a right fist. “I was just really scared, you know?”

He flashed back to the moment the Hydra agents descended. To the moment the encapsulated him completely. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Bodies swarmed his vision. Voices deafened him. And the coppery smell of blood- his blood- filled his nostrils. He felt his boots sliding across the concrete floor. And deep down, he knew they planned to drag him out. To make him theirs once again. 

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind.

“Um, what I was going to say,” he continued, “is that you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have iced you out. I shouldn’t have lied to you- I shouldn’t have made Nat lie to you.” He gave a heavy, remorseful sigh, “I should’ve talked to you. You deserved better from me.”

“No- no, you deserved better from me.” You couldn’t believe his ridiculous sentiment. “You shouldn’t be apologizing- you honestly should’ve kicked my ass for this.” 

If he’d wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, to show you even a fraction of the pain Hydra put him through, you’d let him. He deserved some revenge, some retribution, against you. And if he wanted to act on it, you wouldn’t fight back. You’d sit perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to beat you black and blue. To drag a knife through your flesh. To break your bones and steal your will to live. 

But you knew he’d never do anything like that- and he’d never want to. He wouldn’t even slam your fingers in the door.

“I never want you to be scared like that ever again, Buck. I never want you to go through something like that- I should’ve…” Saying it didn’t seem right. The words had razor sharp edges that carved into your throat as you spoke. “I should’ve done what you asked. And if this ever happens again,” You paused, banishing the oncoming flood of emotion. “I’ll do- I’ll do what you asked me to do. What I promised you I’d do.”

The words kicked the floodgates wide open. Another wounded, rasping sound escaped from your throat. And the sheer volume of tears threatened to drown you. Promising to end Bucky’s life was hard, but something about this second round was worse. More painful, somehow. A weak, wobbling sensation made your knees unsteady. And your face fell into your hands. 

But Bucky was at your side in the blink of an eye. He rested his hands on your shoulder, unsure of how much physical contact to make after a week of silence and hurt. He let his thumbs sweep over your clavicles every few seconds, waiting for the storm to pass. And when the clouds finally parted, he gently pulled your palms from your face. 

He cradled one of your hands in both of his, ensuring that you couldn’t slip away this time. “I’m not asking that of you anymore- I can’t ask that of you.” He freed one of his hands for only a moment, and only to angle your chin upward. He needed your eyes to meet his, needed you to know that he was serious. “It’s not fair for me to put you in that position.”

“No, Buck, it’s- it’s fine,” your voice wavered. “I can-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week,” he shrugged, “cause I- I haven’t been sleeping…”

Of course, he hadn’t been sleeping. Of course, the nightmares returned in full force. He’d worked so hard to correct his sleep schedule, to find a way to get the rest he needed. It just so happened that the cure-all to his sleep-related woes was you. He trusted you. Knew he was safe with you. He felt at home with you. Sleep came easy with you by his side. 

But his recent assault by Hydra’s forces left him almost irreparably shaken. And his misguided anger pushed you from his side. Together, it was a recipe for sleepless, tormented nights full of flashbacks and panic attacks.

“I realized that I never should’ve put that on you- I never should’ve asked you to make me that stupid promise.” Bucky wanted to go back in time and throttle his past self. “And I shouldn’t have been mad at you. But I- I had a lot going on, you know?” He squeezed your hand tighter, as though searching for an anchor. “All of my old wounds were ripped open again and I was so fucking miserable and scared and…” He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Wasn’t proud of the way he handled things. And though he was working hard in his therapy sessions, his coping mechanisms were still scant. “I needed to feel something other than fear. So, I chose anger. And I directed it at you.”  

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You tried to take a step in the opposite direction, to put some space between the two of you. You didn’t deserve to have him so close, to hold his hand. But he held firm. He wasn’t going to release your hand- not now, maybe not ever. “You asked me to make a promise- a big, important promise- and I broke it. You’re allowed to be upset with me-”

“But it wasn’t fair to you- none of this was fair to you.” He kicked himself for ever asking you for something so heavy. So burdensome. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you to make that promise. The way it must’ve hung over your head. If you asked that of me, I’d…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, “It would eat me alive.”

And he was right- it had. 

Promising to kill him, in turn, killed you. It devoured you from the inside out, feasting on every moment of joy, every restful Sunday, every waking moment. Your promise to him came with sharp, jagged teeth that dug into your soul day in and day out. And while Bucky found peace in knowing that you may end his life one day, it brought you nothing but pain. Torture. Endless heartache. The darkest, heaviest storm clouds sat just above your head, shielding you from all sunlight, all warmth. 

While Bucky slept soundly next to you each night, you laid awake, wondering when it would happen. If it would happen. How it would happen. Your appetite vanished. Your stomach tied itself into knots. And on more than one occasion, your doctor had to increase the dosage of your anxiety medication. Because no matter how many pills you popped, the weight of your promise sat on your chest like lead.

Each time you and Bucky boarded the jet for a mission, you wondered if it would be the last time you ever saw him alive. If you’d be forced to kill him in only a few hours. 

And you knew, deep down, that if it was your bullet that sent Bucky to his grave, you’d never be able to live with yourself. That your very next bullet would find a home in your chest. 

This dark, heartbreaking promise directly contradicted the first- and most important promise- you’d ever made him. Late one night, back when the two of you first started spending time together, Bucky found himself at the bottom of a pit. His PTSD snatched the reigns and nearly drove him off a cliff.

Flashback after violent flashback rocked his mind and stripped his body of all strength. He was weak, hollow, completely spent. And just as you tried to smooth the hair out of his red-rimmed eyes, he flinched. He yanked himself backward, hoping to avoid whatever blow he thought you might strike against him. He forced his shoulders into a corner and tucked his face to the side, hiding from the pain he so often anticipated. And it broke you. It was then that you promised- that you swore to him- you’d never hurt him under any circumstance. 

And killing him seemed to you like a violation of that promise.

“It makes sense, though,” you said, pushing back against his all too generous rationalizations. “It makes sense that you’d ask me to- to do that. And I don’t want you going back there, either. So, I guess if I…” A sharp pain twisted through your stomach. “If I knew that we were alone. And there was no back up. And you only had two options: Hydra’s prisoner or death- I guess I’d…” Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, “If it meant saving you from them, I’d choose death for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?” He wiped a stray tear from your chin. “I’m not holding you to that anymore. And I’m talking to Rhodes tomorrow. I’m gonna see if we can do away doing these two-person missions,” he said. “Cause they’re pretty impractical and risky, if you ask me. It’s safer when there’s a group of us, you know?”

You gave him a small nod, still too overcome by the anguish coursing through your veins.

Finally- mercifully- Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body. In an instant, your arms snaked their way around his back and pulled him ever closer. You’d missed him so intensely- so severely- it was like experiencing withdrawal. You could practically feel your body breaking down without him by your side. And he felt that same emptiness, that same aching void. He was convinced that he was never supposed to exist without you next to him. That he didn’t really live until he met you. The two of you were a package deal, two halves of a whole. 

After witnessing Bucky’s attempted abduction by Hydra, spending a week without him was a living hell. You needed to see him, speak to him, touch him. You needed to know that he was there. That he was okay. That he was home. You needed the confirmation that he made it out alive. But he’d disappeared from your life. And part of you wondered if he really was safe and sound in his room down the hall. Or if your mind made it all up just to save you the pain of losing him.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you held each other. This was what Bucky needed all week. You were what he needed. The residual fear and torment brought on by his latest Hydra encounter seemed to fizzle out as you buried your face in his chest. It didn’t vanish completely- he feared it never would- but you put it on mute. You helped him breathe easy again. 

After was felt like half an hour, you unwillingly unwound yourself from Bucky’s battered body. 

“It’s late. I should get out of your hair,” you couldn’t mask your disappointment. “I know you said you haven’t been sleeping. But you’re still healing. So, you should probably try and get some rest-”

He nodded, but didn’t even attempt to hide just how much he hated the idea of your absence. 

And though you knew you should leave, you couldn’t find the will to move toward the door. Nor did Bucky try to show you out. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Leaving soft touches against the other’s skin. Relishing in the reunion.

“Um, you could stay,” Bucky finally said. “If you want.”

You hadn’t even considered it. He was going to need time to deal with everything. To sit with what happened to him. And you felt that your presence would only make it more difficult. Sure, he wasn’t mad at you. But did he really want you sleeping in his bed like you used to?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Would it-” you pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt as uncertainty got the better of you. “Would that be okay?”

Bucky gave a fervent nod. “I want you to. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” He cupped your cheek in his massive hand, examining the dark circles under your tired eyes. “Plus, Nat said you haven’t slept all week. So, I thought we could both get some rest. Together.”

He took your hand and led you to his bed, the bed you’d shared with him so many times before. The bed you’d curled up in almost every night. The bed in which you’d watched countless black and white movies. The bed you’d tossed and turned in every night after promising to end Bucky’s life. But with the offending promise lifted from your tired shoulders, you crawled under the familiar covers and breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky took you in his arms, molding his body around yours as he so often did. And with him lying safely next to you, you thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t keep your promise.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

What about reader x yandere bat family (platonic) but reader gave up on the family super fast like damian joined the family attacked the reader with the sword reader got hurt next time damian tried it he got throwen into a wall by reader with reader saying that is it I am leaving this shit family and sure jason might be bat mans greatest failure am I (reader) bruce waynes greatest failure!!!

Ahhh! I love this, I would honestly do the same as well! Like you neglect me then don't discipline your newest addition when he attacks me??

It has been six months since you left the manor, what did they expect? Honestly you were only waiting until you turned legal age to move out. Though you wouldn't lie and say you were still clinging onto the hope that they'll love you.

You've left your angst behind, what good is hating someone who doesn't remember you exist? You've made peace with it, you know you're loved by friends and the people who truly matter.

Saying that, it is befuddling when you hear a knock on the door at two in the morning and it's Red Hood there with take-out from Batburger. You aren't surprised or concerned they found your address, they're world's greatest detectives for a reason after all. If anything you're confused as to why one of them pays a visit.

Red Hood had taken your silence upon opening the door as a welcome and limps slightly into your apartment and collapses on the worn down couch. All while you stand at the open door, flabbergasted. Whether it's at the nerve of him to invite himself in or at the fact he's hear, injured, in costume and has take-away like it's an average night you can't decide.

You settle with both.

You hear him grunt and you quickly close the door and walk over to him, eyes narrowed. He looks at you, judgmentally. His helmet thrown into a corner of the room and a burger in his hands. Some of the sauce drips onto the couch and he swipes it up with his hand.

"You look like shit." Is all he says and you have to refrain yourself from punching him. If anything he looks like shit! You just woke up!

"What are you doing here." You ask, you weren't going to get into a petty argument over a comment from a stranger you once knew.

"Takin' ya back to the manor, duh." He says as if it was obvious and he takes another bite of his burger. You blank, what does he mean by that? Is he serious? Does he actually believe you want to go? Maybe he has amnesia and thought you two got along and you didn't blow up at the family and slap Tim? Either way you can't let him continue thinking like that.

"No. The fuck is wrong with you? Why would I go to a stranger's place?" The last part causes Jason to snap his head to you, his eyes narrowing.

"Strangers? We're you're family." You scoff at that, how much head trauma does he have? "Absolutely not. Do you not remember the whole blow up I had a couple months ago?"

"Mistakes happen."

... What? Mistakes happen? It wasn't a mistake! It doesn't matter how he meant it. Neglecting someone for most of their life isn't a mistake. That person then blowing up and leaving because they were mistreated isn't a mistake.

"Excuse me? Mistakes happen? Fucking get out of my apartment!" Okay, you lied earlier, you're still in your teenage angst phase - though it's definitely justified.

Jason sighs as if he's talking to a toddler who wanted a toy they couldn't have.

"Don't be so emotional. Your blow up earned our respect and we want you back. We let you play pretend for a couple months and now you need to get out of fantasy land and return home to your family."

Your jaw drops, what else could it do? You just heard the most insane thing come out of a stoic man's mouth. He was completely serious. Delusional. Utterly delusional.

"You prick! I don't think you understand. You guys fucked up and I don't want anything to do with your family- hey! Listen to me you zombie!" Jason was back to eating his burger, ignoring you. He throws a wrapped burger at you and you fumble with it.

You bite the inside of your cheek, he's more of a child then anyone you know! You throw the burger back down onto the table and glare at Jason.

"You don't get it. Of course you don't. Batman failed you, someone who you had a "co-workers" type relationship. You are Batman's biggest failure. But Bruce, he failed me. I am his biggest failure. I was forgotten about, looked down upon, left out, I suffered. And you know what's amazing? You were able to get revenge and end up loved but me, I couldn't get revenge, I'm not a villain of any kind! You say you and the family respect me so act like it and leave me be. I want nothing to do with any of you guys. Get out of my apartment and never return-"

Before you could finish Jason stands up and heads to the bathroom and takes a medkit out. You narrow your eyes, your fists clenched into balls and frustrated tears start to build in your eyes.

"Heard ya loud and clear so don't throw a tantrum! Just found it dumb how you think that." He states as he walks back to the couch and opens the medkit. "Now, care to tend to your older brother's wounds?"

You want to scream, cry, curse and stab this man in the face a million times. Instead you walk over and grab out disinfectant, you hate that you're doing this but you won't let him get an infection from his wounds.

You start to tend to his wounds and he speaks up again. "I get it. I do. We fucked up and it affected your childhood, we all had it rough and you didn't deserve that. But, give us a chance, you're a Wayne by blood, you won't be able to stay away from Gotham so why not live nicely in the manor? You could finally have what you wanted, you could finally have a family."

"Three big brothers, two younger brothers, an older sister, a dad! Don't you want to be loved by us? Don't you want our protection? We went through your diaries, we read every word. How you wished you could go to one of our rooms when you have a nightmare, how you wish for movie nights, how you want to be able to call us your family. Let us show you we had a change of heart, that we do want that with you now - that we always did but couldn't see it. Let us be your closest group-"

You slap him. What else was there to do? Tears pour down your cheeks.

"I thought I told Alfred to get rid of them..." You mutter. You never planned for them to read your diaries, to know your wants.

You hear Jason sigh before the sound of him pressing a button on his communicator, it's the last thing before your vision fades to black. He wishes he didn't have to resort to using the sticky device he stuck to your shirt when he threw the burger but it was clear you weren't listening.

Waking up with a pounding headache and no memories of last night is usually something that happens when people get wasted but you don't drink - you're underaged.

You groan as you open your eyes and take in your surroundings. It's a fancy bedroom - too fancy, too big. There's a picture hung up of the Wayne family with a picture of you taped to it to make it seem like you were in the picture.

You immediately panic and sit up, the bed is too big, the lights are too bright, the whole room is too much. You stand up and make your way to the door and put your ear against it for noise. You hear footsteps approaching and run back to bed and pretend to still be asleep.

The door opens and you hear a deep chuckle - Bruce's chuckle. He stalks over to the bed and gently runs a hand through your hair.

"Honey, I know you're awake. Don't be afraid, Dad's here now..." He coos. You open your eyes and move away from him, he frowns and sighs slightly. "I'm sorry, I know we should have gotten you back home sooner you just looked like you were having so much fun..."

He was acting like you living on your own was just a play-pretend? That you genuinely did it for fun? What is his problem?!

"Let me go! I swear to god Bruce, if you don't let me go I'll claw your eyes out!" You yell, Bruce tuts and shakes his head. "It's Dad to you. Now stop throwing a tantrum and come along, brunch is ready - you slept through breakfast."

With that he pulls you up from the bed and gently rests his hand between your shoulder blades and leads you downstairs to the dining room where everyone is; The head of the table reserved from Bruce, on the left it goes Dick, Tim, Cass and on the right it goes Jason, Duke, Damian, other end of the table.

You're led by Bruce and sit at the end of the table next to Damian who doesn't look at you and Cass who stares at you intently.

The stares from the others makes you want to vomit. Dick looks at you with pure adoration like he's looking at a defenseless puppy, Jason looks at you like how you'd look at a cute video of an animal, Tim looks at you calculatingly and Duke looks at you with a faint smile, his eyes a mix of emotions you don't want to decipher.

When Damian finally looks up it isn't with an irritated look, it's one of protectiveness, possessiveness and something akin to anger and guilt mixed together.

Clearly you've somehow imbedded yourself into their hearts, or atleast a version of you they created in their heads imbedded itself into their hearts and they weren't going to let you go any time soon.