#MAN SHOULD NOT HAVE TO PROVE HIMSELF WORTHY

[easypeasylindyvesey]

is the ‘tremendous amount of confidence in jimmy’ in the room with us???

[plumsdoll]

Enchanted

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky finally found his missing piece and it was you. He knew from the first moment he saw you.

Word counts: 2.8k

Warning: FLUFF. Cursing. Congressman Barnes era. Mentioned and described about anxiety. Bucky mourned Steve. Reader have long hair. Reader didn't have any specific age but look like in 20s or 30s. The story took place before Thunderbolts*. No beta read.

Notes: Hi~! this is my first Bucky Barnes fanfiction ever!! I've been hiding for sometime until I had a courage to write my own Bucky Barnes fanfiction! and English is not my first language so if you find any mistake I hope you don't mind. I hope everyone enjoy my work and if you do, it would be more than thankful to know your thoughts! Please enjoy!

P.S. Anxiety is very serious. I—myself—am dealing with it and I want more people to be aware of it and be aware of people who is dealing with it. And 333 rule is really helpful for anyone who's encountering anxiety. Thank you so much!

Nightmares were gone.

He was finally free. No more fighting. No more carrying guilt like a shadow that followed him everywhere. No more reminiscing of distressing bygone days. Eventually, Bucky could choose to live the life he always wanted. But…why did he still feel empty inside? A missing piece lingered in his heart, one he couldn't quite name.

This missing piece was considerable. It kept Bucky in an uneasy episode. It was difficult enough to be a man out of time in the modern world. He was drained to keep up with current political predicament as a congressman. And not to mention cutting-edge technology which was really helpful but confusing. It was different. Everything was different without Steve. Maybe the void, the missing space was Steve, the space that was impossible to fill.

Every day was the same. He woke up at 6 a.m., or earlier if he couldn't sleep, and went for a walk to clear his mind before going to work. He still didn't fully understand the modern protocols of Congress. It was significantly changed after the war—as it should. Sometimes he called Sam to keep in touch. It helped—talking with Sam—but still, it couldn't fill the emptiness inside him.

It had been bothering him a whole lot lately. He never felt like that before. He couldn't work, couldn't keep focused. His mind wandered around like a puppy that lost its owner. What was happening to him? He was always able to suppress the feeling but not this time. He felt like it was near, but what is it?

Bucky shook his head before keeping focused on his bowtie—the damn bowtie. One of the disadvantages of being a congressman were social events. He couldn't avoid it under any circumstances now that he merely had the position for six months.

It was ironic. He used to love social events, he was the one who dragged Steve to the fair but look at him now, whining about how he hated it. Maybe he had to admit that he was too old for this.

Bucky exhaled before checking himself in the mirror for one last time, stared at his figure and thought about how far he had come. Evidence of viability was written all over his face. He couldn't deny it but it was what made him who he is today. Maybe he was finally ready—like he always told himself—but he never was. It scared him every time he thought about it. The thought of how he was never going to fit in. Even though everything was better, however, the hungry eyes were fixed on him. It was a mind game in the sealed room. He had to prove himself that he was worthy. Of what— he didn't know. It was just that he felt like he had to prove himself that he was no longer the person who was once the most feared individual on the planet. Bucky told himself one last time—He's not him. He's James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky was being dragged from one conversation to another. He met countless people that he didn't even have time to remember. Throughout the entire encounter, he avoided any eye contact that followed him everywhere like he was a sculpture in the museum for people to extract the gist. He was forcing laughter and faking smiles. People seemed to be amazed that he was genuinely a normal person and learned of what he thought, he could hear them thinking; He's not what we have read in the museum!

The fifth champagne didn't help in this situation. He was looking around to find an excuse for a moment before someone asked him about his time as the Winter Soldier. The question caught him off guard and left him momentarily speechless. He wasn't prepared for the question and the fact that it had done something to him. The storm of feelings crawled back expeditiously and ultimately it caught on his throat. Bucky started to feel overwhelmed amongst people who shot questions perpetually at him. Everything around him seemed blurry and he couldn't keep focused. His heart was beating faster, he was grasping for some air but the air suddenly was heavy to breathe in. His grip faltered and the champagne flute in his hand dropped to the floor. The champagne splashed on the marble, some droplets caught on the margin of dresses and tailored pants, then someone made a joke;

“Oh, it seems like congressman Barnes is already sloshed.” And they laughed. Bucky shot a look at the person who said it but she didn't seem to notice.

“Excuse me, I need a moment.” Bucky declared before broke his way out of the group of people who circled around him. He found a place where there were not many people around. He grabbed the marble pillar to help him stand straight. His legs went limp, it felt like if he loses his grip he would outright fall to the ground. Bucky was trying to breathe slowly before turning his face to focus on his vicinity.

“Ok. 333 rule, come on.” Bucky said before looking around the room.

“Three things I can see…the red cocktail dress…ummm congressman Gary? Man, where the hell have you been all night. That's definitely a pre-tied bowtie. God, I hate pre-tied…and…” Bucky shifted his eyes from congressman Gary to the person who he was talking to. It was you.

“The white satin dress on the most beautiful woman I've…ever seen.” Everything around him stopped all at once. His eyes fixed on you and only you. He captured every possible detail that he could see. Your perfectly curled hair rested on your exposed shoulders. Your sweet eyes. Lovely nose. Irresistible lips. He was wonderstruck by your beauty across the room. Everything went black and white but you shone golden radiant through the room and gave them light. You were an oasis in the desert. The rainbow after the storm. The first snow of winter. The missing piece in his heart. Bucky knew at that moment that he couldn't lose you. You were the one who he was missing dearly even though you never met.

Bucky saw you excused yourself from congressman Gary. His consciousness was back and then he was starting to follow his heart. His legs, instantly, had the strength to walk again. He followed you to the bar and sat at the adequate distance. He ordered something strong to encourage himself. There was only you and him at the bar. It was quite awkward even though he thought you didn't even notice him. You didn't say anything and he was too anxious to speak. There was no conversation going on between you for a short while, somehow Bucky didn't feel uneasy in this situation. He felt relaxed and easier to breathe now that he had your company.

“It’s intense, isn't it? This endless abyss” You broke the silence. He wasn't fully looking at your direction because he wasn't sure if you were talking to him or not.

“I'm talking to you, congressman Barnes.” You giggled when he startled before facing you. He swore your voice was so sweet like a bird chirping in the crisp morning.

“Oh, umm, yes. Yes, it is.” He cleared his voice after and changed his focus to the glass in front of him. He didn't know what to say. He cursed to himself; You can't lose her, James Buchanan Barnes. Fucking do something! Say something!

“You—”

“You—”

You looked at each other for a second or two before his eyes went wide and you laughed simultaneously. He looked at you, threw your head back and laughed at him. He felt embarrassed but in a good way. How long has it been since he courted someone? He felt petrified at the idea of it. His body went numb and he didn't want to move too fast. It was a strange feeling when he thought that you were at most in your 20s or 30s but now he's an old man who was 110 years old merely last month. It wasn't like in the 1940s anymore and it suddenly scared him.

“You, first.” Your voice broke through his thoughts.

“Oh, no. There's nothing—”

“Oh, come on. If you want to court me. Here's your chance. Is that what you called it in your days? Court?” You laughed again and then his face turned red. He tried to hide it by sipping the whiskey in his hand but it was still obviously in the exposed light at the bar.

“It’s not and I wasn't trying to court you.” He tried to hide his smile but he hated to admit that those times when he was out on the mission was easier than trying to not swoon at your presence. His hand was meddling with the rocks glass, fingers playing with the beads around it. Your eyes followed his fingers, it sent heat through your body.

“Who are you, by the way. I never saw you anywhere.” Bucky shot a question to keep the conversation going but it was also his genuine question too. He never saw you at any other social events that he went to. Nothing could escape his eagle-eye and surely not even a pretty little thing like you. You would be the first in the room that caught his attention.

“Maybe I was there but you never saw me.”

“That's impossible.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot that you were a spy.” You lifted your hand up and did the O shape around your eye. Bucky chuckled and licked his lips. He knew at that moment that you were going to be the death of him. Gosh, it must have been too long since he's falling head over heels for someone. It's a strange feeling that he willingly submitted to.

“No. I mean—I don't think if I ever saw you, I'm going to let you out of my sight that easily.” Suddenly, the world stopped again. You exchanged eye contact across the adequate space. It felt too far, he needed to get closer to hold you. The piano caught his ears and the idea came into his mind. He needed to make a move and it had to be a move that he was familiar with.

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand to you. You laughed because you thought it was a joke but then you looked at him and there was nothing playful written on his face. You looked at the group of people standing, no one was dancing along the music. You looked at him again.

Fuck it.

The moment you took his hand was something new entirely. The feeling was overwhelming but in a good way. There was something that you didn't know how to describe. It was like lightning—a magnet that pulled you closer. He led you in the center of the room. Everyone was looking. You could see their bewildered eyes staring. Your heart was beating fast. It was a ludicrous idea and you liked it but now you weren't entirely sure.

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. You looked up at him and met his piercing blue eyes. His vibranium arm guided your hands to rest on his shoulders. The coldness of the material sent shivers through you. He rested the arm on your waist and started to move.

“Don't be scared. Just follow me.” Bucky started to sway and lead you to smooth movement. You were restricted at first but then started to relax and follow his steps. You never shifted your eyes from his. You were embarrassed at the idea but didn't regret it at all.

“Are they still looking?” You asked with a trembling voice. Suddenly, you wanted to disappear into the ground.

“Yes. They're always looking.” You swallowed nervously.

“You know what? I haven't danced since 1943…Feels like.” Bucky said with that playful glint in his smile and you burst out laughing and buried your face in his chest. At this close you could hear his heart pounding fast like he just went on a marathon. His cologne kicked your nose, it was earthy and fresh. It helped you feel relaxed.

“This is a bad idea.��� You said while shutting your eyes and breathing in his scent.

“I know.”

“But I like it.”

“Me too.” Bucky said and kissed the top of your head. You were surprised at his move but you didn't complain. You wanted to keep this moment forever. You wanted to keep him forever.

You didn't know how long the time passed. The next move that brought you back to reality was when Bucky touched your wrists. You opened your eyes and realized that everyone was now dancing. You were amazed at your surroundings. You looked at Bucky and he was already looking. A spark of delight drew all over your face.

“They're looking at you.” You said with the awed in your voice.

“No. They're looking at you.” Bucky said and looked into your eyes. His eyes always looked like it was telling you something, something that wasn't a word or a number but a feeling. He wanted to preserve this moment forever.

“It's almost time. Can I bring you somewhere?” You nodded and then he guided you to the garden outside the estate where there's nobody there. The moon was full. The sky was clear. Everything was quiet. It looked like a dream. You looked at him while he was already looking. He didn't seem to shift his eyes off you. Just like he said.

“Are you going to kill me here?” You told a joke and smiled. If you are going to die tonight, it might be worth it.

“Maybe.” Bucky smiled. It felt like he was bewitched by you—heart and soul. Merely a minute, you could catch his heart and play with it. He was more than willing to give you everything. If you want him to kill, he would kill for you. If you want him to die, he would die for you. If you want a star he would find a way and give it to you. Because all of this wasn't hard at all compared to all this time he was waiting for you.

“What do you want to show me?” You asked.

“You have to lie down first.” Bucky guided you on the fresh green grass. It was poking on your sensitive skin but after a minute, you got used to it.

“I have these strange feelings.” Bucky said while lying on his side and looked at your face.

“What feelings?”

“I think you bewitched me.”

“What?” You laughed out loud like no one would hear. In fact, there was no one there to hear you anyway.

“I never felt this way before. It had been so long since I fell in love. It was a feeling that seemed unfamiliar to me until I saw you tonight.” There was no evidence of playfulness on his face. Everything was genuine. Under the moonlight he was still undoubtedly attractive. It scared you for a moment; the thought of losing him.

“You may think this is crazy but I would kill for you. I would die for you, if you say so.” You caressed his face with your hand and looked straight into his eyes.

“Live for me. Never let me go.” Tears welled up in his eyes and dropped on the grass, filling the earth with his blissful tears. You were getting closer and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. He pulled you in for a more passionate and longing kiss. You were yearning for each other like it had been so long since you met but it was odd when you realized this is the first time.

You startled when the sound of an explosion echoe in the sky. Bursts of color lit up in the night. You looked straight and saw fireworks cracked and popped above. The flickering lights filled the inky sky and danced around the full moon. It was magical.

“You like it?” Bucky asked but there was no answer. You just pulled him in for another kiss. Surely, you won't let him go. He bewitched your heart and soul. It might have taken him more than decades to finally find you but ultimately he did. And he was grateful that it happened at the right time—when he was ready for you. Ready to live for you and love you wholeheartedly. Maybe the myth was true, the one that said you were meant to find your other half and fortunately, now the missing piece had been filled.

[bbystark]

♡ soap's little plan ♡

abo!141 x omega!reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: despite having a pack of his own, soap finds himself wanting more. he's grown tired of being the only Omega with 2 unruly Alphas. good thing you showed up, now he can flush those pesky little suppressants and make you theirs.

⚠︎ suggestive themes, soap being a little obsessed, invasions of privacy

a/n: series??? idk where this came from but enjoy

Soap wasn’t an unhappy man. He was talented, knew just how dangerous he was in the field, how many brushes with death he’d skillfully skirted with a big “fuck you” and a bloody smile. He had the respect of his peers and fear of the new recruits. Most importantly, he had a pack he loved. Never went to bed wanting or alone. His inner Omega should be satisfied, all things considering, and yet, he still yearns. 

He feels guilty sometimes. When he’s laid out on one of his mate’s beds, sweaty and thrumming with release. He rolls over, pressing wet kisses to damp skin and trying to focus on fingers that ghost over his head. Tries to push out the gnawing subconscious thought of more. He wants to scoff at himself. 3 mates and somehow he still couldn’t help but be greedy. 

It’s like Price says in the field (and in the bedroom, funnily enough): “You're a goddamn restless dog ain’t ‘ya? Restless and a dog, indeed. 

His words run through Soap’s mind as he stares at you. His dirty little one-sided secret. He’s watched you for months. Smelled you immediately when his eyes first landed on you, an unforgettable mix of vanilla licorice, fruit, and a tang of something earthy, like grass or rain. So unbelievably feminine and soft, he was intoxicated. Couldn’t help but watch as you walked down the hall. You had glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly; he remembered the chill that ran through him when you locked eyes. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

He had immediately sweet talked the Beta receptionist into handing over your file. He had tucked it under his arm and taken it to his room, locking the door and glancing around like he was a teen with a raunchy magazine. Read it front to back. You were smart, specialized in cybersecurity before you joined the military. Now you drifted from team to team, going where you were needed. Helping run covert hops here, a little hacking there. He felt a grin take over his face when he saw that in your last assignment, you acted as a demolition expert. An impressive resume, he faintly wondered why you hadn’t been pinned down by a team yet. Clearly, you were an asset. 

He got to your current contract papers, seeing you were brought on to be a floater. You’d help with missions in the unit how they saw fit. He could only pray that he’d be working with you eventually. He closes the file, thumbing the small file photo of you. You were beautiful no doubt, not smiling but still holding a hint of softness. 

He pauses when he realizes he didn’t see a presentation in your file. He flips through the pages again, skimming through your medical report. The boxes next to ‘Omega’, ‘Alpha’, and ‘Beta’ are all unmarked. It clicks then, your sweet smell and the lack of presentation in your files. You were an Omega. 

Soap wasn’t really supposed to be where he was as an Omega. While there were no rules against it, there were hardly any Omegas here for a reason. It was hard, both physically and mentally. Soap had taken twice the recommended amount of suppressants and nearly went broke buying scent blockers. Put his body through hell and back to prove he was worthy. It was only when he became Lieutenant and had the protection of a pack that he felt comfortable enough to stop hiding his presentation . By then, no one could really say anything about it. 

His heart raced. You were an Omega. He had no proof other than being one himself, but he was almost sure of it. It did nothing to curb his growing curiosity. 

He should have pushed you out of his mind, but he’s Soap. He’s insistent and can be downright stubborn when it comes down to it. It was just his nature. He formulated a whole plan, get close to you, slowly ease you into meeting his pack, then make you theirs. Plain and simple. 

It was not plain and simple. 

First of all, the guilt started eating at him. He had everything he’d ever hoped for, a family, a successful career, and here he was. The worst part is that Soap couldn’t help it, he loved his mates, their masculine presence and smell that filled a room. But he secretly can’t help but wish there was another Omega around, someone who could help him ground his Alphas. Gaz did a great job, but he was a beta, and Soap often received the brunt end of Ghost and Prices’ more baser instincts. Not just an Omega, but a woman. Someone with that femininity and power that balances and soothes an entire pack into submission. 

Second of all, you didn’t want to give him the time of day. 

The first time he approaches you is in the dining hall, your face stoic and focused as you grab an apple and place it on your tray. He takes a few breaths, your muted and yet somehow still overwhelming scent filling his senses. 

“New around here bonnie?” He finally gets the courage up to speak.  “Names Johnny, but people call me Soap.” He reaches a hand out. 

You take it hesitantly, and he revels in the softness. He tries not to get distracted by the way his hand almost completely covers your own. 

“Y/n.” you respond curtly, releasing his hand and grabbing your tray.  “Transferred a week ago.” You don’t wait for his response, making your way over to one of the many tables littered with people chatting. Soap hastily grabs a banana and his tray, taking long strides to catch up with you. 

“So uh, how you likin’ it so far?” He flinches at his own stutter. God, he’s out of practice. 

You give him a pointed look. 

“S’fine.” You sit, hastily picking up your spoon and taking a bite of oatmeal. It doesn’t deter Soap. 

He spends the next 30 minutes talking your ear off, receiving the occasional nod or “mhm” from you. You give up very little about yourself, answering shortly and precisely. It drives him mad. 

You cut off his rant on the latest recruits, standing abruptly. “It was nice talking with you Lieutenant MacTavish, but I have to get going.” 

He watches as you leave, stunned and frankly a little turned on at how easily you brushed him off. Soap was a sucker for a chase. 

He faintly realizes that you knew his rank and last name, and has a feeling that you’re a careful and intelligent woman. It only fuels his growing suspicion of your presentation. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Soap keeps trying after that, despite the gnawing feeling of guilt and greediness. The less you give him, the more enraptured he becomes. With every eye roll and silent stretch you give him, he falls deeper and deeper into the need to make you his. 

It only takes a couple months for it all to come to a head. Soap finds you in a hallway late at night, most people tucked away in their quarters. Your scent is slightly off, soured and citrusy. He loves it. 

“Where are you stormin’ off to?” 

You don’t answer, which is not unusual, but the way you push past him without so much of a glance, is. “Aye, c’mon love, what’s got you so worked up?” 

You turn on your heel, almost crashing into Soap. You didn’t hate him, sometimes you even welcomed the company, even though his jokes were shit. Not that you’d let him know you even remotely liked his presence. You stare him down for a second, teeth gritted. 

You had just overheard some particularly nasty and sexist comments about you, not the first time- hell not even the fiftieth time. But it never stung less, that people refused to see your experience and rank simply because you had the misfortune of being born a woman. You regret the words almost as soon as you say them. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, MacTavish. I’m not interested in your company, and I sure as shit didn’t ask for it. Go bother your pack, and leave me alone.” You spit the word at him, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s a reflection of your own loneliness deep down. You can’t stand the shock on his face, so you turn around and sulk to the kitchen to find a sweet treat to placate you. 

Soap watches as you leave, and he’s hurt. How can you not see how perfect you’d be for the pack? Granted, he’s the only one that knows, he still has no idea how to broach the topic with his pack. Would they hate him? Call him selfish, wonder why they weren’t enough for him? His fists clench at his sides as your scent completely fades. 

Then it clicks. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He smiles to himself, no longer upset at your blatant rejection. He almost skips back to his room. 

He has it all figured out. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

The next morning he flirts with some nurses, brings them donuts from the place off base. While they’re all distracted and giggling amongst each other, he quietly slips into the record room and grabs your files. His heart beats out of his chest at the little checkmark next to “Omega”. 

He knew it. He flips through the files quickly, finding a detailed page tracking your heat cycles. You haven’t had a heat in years, seeing a note that says you denied a doctor's request to go into heat at least once every 3 years. He knew that pain, he couldn’t imagine you putting yourself through that. You shouldn't be putting yourself through that. He’ll make sure that you don’t have to anymore. 

He flips a few more pages, going back to when you did have your heats. He finds an entry that notes that you had unusually long and painful heats, along with a prescription of sedatives. The next line states that you usually have them every 3 months, February, May, August and sometimes December. He hears his heartbeat in his ears when he realizes his luck of it being the beginning of December. It was meant to be. 

He closes the file quietly, closing his eyes in relief. You’d be his, and his pack’s, soon. 

That night, while you’re showering in the gym, Soap is breaking into your room. It doesn’t take much effort, he’s in within minutes, stepping into your sacred space. There’s a half assed nest in the corner of your room, your instincts must be strong if you’re still nesting while taking suppressants. He wants to go over and fluff it for you, add his scent covered shirt to the pitiful pile. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on why he’s here. 

He rifles through your cabinets, desperately searching. He knows you like long showers, but he’s still on edge. If he gets caught, it’s all over. He tries to be quick without disturbing the placement of your items, but he begins to panic when he can’t find those familiar little pills. He rushes to your bed, looking underneath. He’s about to lose hope when he moves from underneath your bed, cursing when he knocks his head on the frame. 

He almost doesn’t hear it. The soft thud of something falling. He looks back under the bed, eyes falling on a tiny box meant for jewelry. He grabs it, slowly opening it and removing the piece of foam on top. 

Bingo. 

He stares at the tiny pills, the familiar pale blue a contrast against the black of the box. He spills a few in his hand. There were enough for months. You were like he was, handing your health over in exchange for surviving here. His fist closes over pills as he makes his way out of your room. He locks your door behind him, trying not to run to his room. When he makes it there, he’s buzzing with excitement. He goes to his bathroom, opening the toilet lid and fishing the box from his pocket. He doesn’t hesitate in throwing them all into the bowl, and watching as the water swirls when he flushes. The water settles, and your pills are gone. 

Omega’s are the most sensitive of the three presentations. Senses more in tune than even the best Alpha. It was in their very biology to be strong in ways Alpha’s were not, to hold a pack together. Your biology would work quickly, work through the artificial hormones you’d been poisoning yourself with in haste. It happened to him, after so long of suppressing his Omega, it came back with a vengeance. You would be no different. 

And with Price’s rut- and Ghost’s, coming up soon, they won’t stand a chance against the strong smell of an Omega in heat. He’ll make sure that they find you, that they take care of you. 

It was all part of his plan, after all.

[petalbcrnes]

⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🌻 ⋆ fwb!𝓓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓖𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ’n catching feelings .ᐟ

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 — you and dick have a fwb relationship, he catches feelings for you and can’t help but feel helpless to the feelings of jealousy festering in his heart. he wants to be the only one you look at.

𝐂𝐖 — this contains nsfw content (under the cut), descriptions of making out, séx / smút.

‎ ‎ ➢ ﹔DIRECTORY ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

— 𝓢𝐅𝐖 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

It started out simple. In no way was it supposed to turn into what it is now.

You and Dick got along well. Your friendship bloomed quickly. Similar interests, personalities, and friend groups brought you two together.

It could have been predicted you two would hit it off.

He was captivated by you at first. It was curiosity at first glance. He wanted to know more about you. He wondered if you’d let him in. Let him push back the layers you use to cover your heart tucked away between your ribs.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, that’s up for interpretation) you did let him in.

The weekends you two spent as friends visiting parks, arcades, shops, and cafes turned somehow different.

You two still went to the same places, but now it was only the two of you alone, no one else to disturb the time you spent with him.

It became second nature to spend that time with him. It didn’t take much time for Dick to seek you out every second of the day.

He wanted to be close to you. He made that very clear. Physically, you two were basically attached at the hip.

He should know better than to let something akin to attraction for one of his best friends bloom in his heart, but it is so natural when it comes to you.

Jealousy comes very easy to this man. He wants to spend every moment with you, and god forbid someone else takes that time away from the two of you.

He’s comically jealous. Dramatic as he claims you broke his heart. You two pretend it’s a joke. Whatever it takes to admit it’s all real.

It gets more and more intimate. There are drunken calls, touches that are too soft and tender, sweet words said between the two of you, and so much more.

Dick wants more. He hopes you do as well and is willing to take the chance to prove himself worthy of waking up next to you every morning, not as someone you only spend the night with, but as someone you call a partner.

— 𝓝𝐒𝐅𝐖 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

The first night you two cross the blurred lines of friendship and whatever the two of you have goes something like this.

The feeling of wanting more quickly bloomed in your chests. It grew and grew until one night the air felt different when he looked at you.

Dick’s eyes darted from your eyes to your lips. He looked different from what you were used to.

And suddenly every warning your friends gave you about him started ringing out in your head—he’s a playboy, you couldn’t trust him.

And you surely shouldn’t let him stare at you like that, let his lean fingers trace your jaw, let them settle on your plump lips.

You shouldn’t feel a burning ache inside you when he tugs your bottom lip ever so slightly.

You shouldn’t have let him kiss you. But you’ve always been weak for him. You should have known this would have happened.

Every precaution and warning about this gets thrown out the window as he travels his hand below, cupping your neck and waist at the same time, bringing you into his lap.

You can feel him smile against your lips, as if he has something he’s been wanting and craving for so long right in his lap.

He’s characteristically loud. He doesn’t shut up—“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

You can feel yourself getting dizzy and your mind goes hazy with every admission from his already glossy lips from the kisses you two shared—“I knew”—he mumbles between kisses—“you’d taste like heaven.”

Most nights you two spend like this.

Though you try to keep your distance, try to see other people, invite others to your bed.

You don’t think he notices, but he does. Every night you don’t answer his texts, it stings his heart.

The sex becomes even more emotional after the feelings grow into something more.

His hands grip your hips even more desperately, and his fingers dig into your skin as if he’s terrified to let go.

Every time he’s inside you, he begs to see your face. He needs to look into your eyes while the two of you reach the edge.

Surprisingly, there’s a new carefree and fun emotion added when the two of you spend the night together.

Tangled bodies under the sheets and you two will laugh, make jokes, and it all starts to feel domestic.

After that, he clings onto you. Aftercare becomes even more soft. The warm cloth he uses to clean you up is used with even more tenderness.

He silently begs for you to stay the night with him. Dimly sparkling eyes look up at you with a pleading look.

He’s basically a puppy at your door, scratching and trying to convince you to let him in.

Dick is used to being the one people chase.

Suddenly everything is flipped around. He’s the one begging for your touch, time, and presence.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. He just hopes you say yes to him the next time you two meet and he takes you out on a real date.

♥�� . .. ♥︎ .. ♥︎

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[gghostwriter]

Death of a Love Affair

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times you understood and the final time you couldn’t.

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: this felt oddly personal to me this is my first time writing in the Y/N perspective and in a one shot format so please be kind. I kinda left a possibly for p2, not sure about that yet, but let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Main masterlist || Part 2A (happy end) || Part 2B (sad end)

The first time it happened, you completely understood. 

You had an inkling as to what you were getting into when you started dating a 187 genius who graduated at a young age and who was scouted straight from college by the FBI. It wasn’t hard to comprehend these external circumstances mixed with his internal need to prove himself worthy of belonging with the big boys would result in missed personal events. It was a given, you expected it.

You just didn’t count on him missing your graduation. After all, he gave his word that he’ll be there to see you walk the stage and receive your diploma. He promised you and yet, as you scanned the crowd of loved ones hugging the attendees, there was no sign of his tie wearing, button up lithe form weaving through the crowd, no sign of his slicked hair, meticulously tucked behind his ears and no sign his doe eyed hazel eyes shining with pride as you joined the ranks of adulthood and unemployment.

You reach for your phone, now finally free from the nerves and adrenaline of going up the stage, with a single unread message from the one you wished to be here with you.

I’m sorry, angel. There’s a case and Gideon needs me. 

You sighed with a mild smile sprouting on your glossed lips as you sent back a reply.

No worries! We can celebrate when you get back. Be safe, I love you.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” Your mom exclaimed, reaching for a hug. “You graduated and with so many achievements—I mean look at all these cords hanging around your neck!”

You laughed as you stepped out from her warm embrace and watched joyful tears gather under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom! Hopefully all these cords help me get a job soon, huh, or else I’ll be moving back home with you.”

“Oh honey, stop joking! As if I wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms,” she quipped back. 

A hand holding a bouquet of flowers shot up to your face. It was a bundle of your favorite, carnations, in ranges of different colors. 

“Congratulations, lil sis,” your older brother, Trevor, breathed out. “Do I get a hug too or is that just for Mom?” 

You giggled as you stepped into his arms, happy to be sharing this moment with your ever loving protector of a brother, no matter how busy he might be as a head chef for his own highly rated restaurant.

“Hey big brother, thanks for being here,” you mumbled in his tight grasp. “Did you pass along my invite to Dad?” 

You felt him subtly shake his head causing your smile to slightly falter. You knew better than to expect the man who gifted you half of his genes to show up—a workaholic, absentee of a father whose love language was to deposit checks to your bank account from his fattened pockets as a lawyer for the rich. It was the cause of your parents’ separation when you were five years old. The matriarch tired from taking up the mantle as both the paternal and maternal figure for both you and your brother. Your mother exhausted from repeatedly believing broken promises uttered to herself and to her babies.

Having seen first hand how each lie wrapped as an oath chipped a piece of the loving and bright woman who gave birth to you and your brother, you vowed to never let that happen to you. It was a cautionary tale engrained in your mind. A fable—a curse really and in hindsight, you should have seen the markings of history repeating itself.

“Now, where is your nerdy pipe cleaner of a boyfriend?” He asked as he scanned around the vicinity for a sight of Spencer.

You shrugged, genuinely alright with your FBI agent of a boyfriend missing this milestone in your life. “Duty called. But that’s okay, we’ll celebrate when he gets back.” 

A pair of eyes, similar to yours, inquisitively studied you as if making sure there was no hidden hurt behind those words uttered. “If you say so,” he stated, turning to your mother who was smiling at the both of you—her greatest treasures. “Mom, let’s get out of here. I had John prep the kitchen for a feast.” 

You and your mom chattered excitedly at the passenger back seat as Trevor backed the four-door navy sedan out of the parking and drove off to his restaurant for the promised lunch graduation.

———

It was well into the night as you were settling in bed when the tell-tale signs of the main door being unlocked echoed through the dark green walls of his apartment. 

“Spence?” You called out, letting him know that you were there instead of in your own apartment, 30 minutes away. 

More shuffling was heard before the object of your love and affection rounded the bedroom door with a set of his own flowers on hand. He breathed out your name in reverence as he went for a kiss, pleased that he had still caught you awake.

“Congratulations, my love,” he smiled as he pulled away from your soft lips. “These are for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

You smiled back, gladly accepting his apologies and flowers. “It’s all good, Spence. I know how demanding your job is. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I told Gideon and Hotch that’ll I’ll be unavailable this weekend. It’s just you and me,” he said as he went in for another kiss, unable to resist any longer. Not long after, his outside clothes and your sleepwear were strewn all around the bedroom floor as both your bodies merged into one and reached a mutual crescendo with your gasps and his groans as the choir. 

***

The second time, you moderately understood.

You noted that the BAU was back in full swing with Gideon being brought back to the saddle after what happened in Boston. As his birthday treat, you both agreed to fly in for the weekend to Vegas to visit his mother at the facility. He never would have gone alone should it not have been for your enthusiasm to come with. You loved talking to Diana about Spencer’s childhood during her good days and you also loved being in her presence still even when she was lost in her teaching past—acting out as a student as you got to hear her lectures about literature. 

The bustling at the airport had you tip toeing up to catch a sight of Spencer, your flight departing in about an hour. It was a late Friday afternoon, travelers were piling in for a weekend trip, and he promised to head straight from the Bureau to the airport to meet you by the entrance. Your head swiveled from left to right, biting your lip as the minutes ticked by with no sign of your boyfriend running towards you.

The phone in your jean pocket rang and your heart slightly dropped at the sight of the caller ID.

“Hey pretty boy,” you greeted, naively wishing that this phone call wasn’t a bearer of bad news. “Are you almost at the airport?” 

There were muffled voices heard in the background. “Uhm—actually—”

You sighed, understanding what he wanted to say. “There’s a case,” you stated as a matter of fact. “It’s alright, Spence. I’ll tell your mom something popped up. No worries.” 

“You—you don’t have to go alone. We can always reschedule,” he suggested, the timber of his voice going up an octave as if he was in a panic at the idea of disappointing you.

“You and I both know Diana’s excited about this trip,” you chuckled as you recalled how her doctor had described his mother’s face lighting up every time she was reminded of the visit. “I’ll go and spend some time with her. Maybe even get her to tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about her perfect boy.”

He lightly laughed at your joke to ease the tension and remorse he was feeling. “I could have told you all of it if you just asked.”

“Well, does it include pictures of you too?” You teased as you were checking in at the counter.

There was a stern voice calling for his name in the background, it was Hotch, you silently guessed. 

“Listen, I have to go. The team is about to give the profile,” he rushed out to inform you. “I’ll see you when we both get back. I love you.” 

The call ended without so much of a chance for you to say it back.

As the plane got ready to take off, your mood continued to further dampen. He promised to go—to you and to his own mother via the phone. An ivy seed of doubt was planted in your mind. Did he try to excuse himself from the case to his boss as some sort of birthday gift? It really didn’t work that way, you knew, with how of a high demand his job is but still, you wondered if his team was informed about the plans for this weekend or were they purposely kept out of the loop. That notion wouldn’t surprise you at the slightest, thinking back. The profilers weren’t even aware of his mother’s state and condition. Hell, they didn’t even know that you existed, a girlfriend of two years, until well into his first year at the BAU. 

Deep down you grasped why he keeps Diana a secret. You were aware of the shame and embarrassment he felt for himself, having had to have her institutionalized by the time he reached the age of eighteen. You got that, didn’t mean you understood it but nonetheless, you respected his decision and was even proud of him for reaching out for professional help no matter how much he viewed that action of his cowardly. But what you weren’t really privy to was really why your relationship was kept in the dark. It could have saved him from Morgan’s incessant ribbing of his inability to pick up women.

During one night where your insecurities got the best of you, you asked in a small voice if he was ashamed of the relationship. He vehemently denied it, repeatedly saying that he just wanted to have a secret solace—a happy home to return to that was untouched by the worst human terrors that he encounters on the daily. That was what you were, he explained, a sunlit luscious reprieve filled with flowers and laughter where he could rest his weary bones from the ravaging, dark waves. His own piece of heaven here on earth. He then kissed your fears away that night, hugged you tight into his chest—the vibrations from his humming lulling you to slumber.

———

“I always knew it would take a special girl to understand my special boy,” Diana mused out loud as you plated a slice of cake for her. 

You blushed, sitting down beside her with your own. “He’s perfect. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” 

She affectionately combed through your hair, similar to how her son would. “Thank you. For visiting and being understanding of his erratic schedule.”

“It’s no problem at all, Diana. I love him, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.” You stated as the ivy seed of doubt sprouted in your mind—did you really? Did you really understand what you were getting into?

***

The third time, you still tried to understand.

There you were surrounded by the purest celebration of love and matrimony, sans your long-haired, sweater vest wearing plus one. Your brother was getting married to the love of his life, vowing himself to be with her for better, for worse and your other half was in another state catching criminals. Fiddling with the diamond engagement ring adorning your finger, you recalled how you ended up alone, dateless, in this joyous occasion. 

You RSVP’ed with a date when the invitation arrived four months ago. Your brother even calling in to make sure that he, your well-celebrated FBI fiancée, will be able to attend a month before the wedding. You internally scoffed at his repeated checking but in retrospect, maybe he saw the end well before you did. You promised to him, as Spencer did to you, that he’ll be available to watch the union and to save all the slow dances with him. But the day before the wedding, the phone rang for a case in Dallas and you knew what it meant. Without so much of a fight, you kissed him goodbye by the door of his now shared apartment and let the dreary silence enveloped you as you think of how to inform your brother of the new change without hearing the pity and patronization in his voice. 

Nursing a glass of red wine, you watched your brother dance with his newly wedded wife and in your peripheral, you spotted your mother approaching you at the table. 

“Now why are you being such a sourpuss during this festive event?” She chimed out as she pulled a chair beside you. “You should be out there, dancing and getting to know our new extended family.” 

You shrugged, unsure on what to say. She was right, of course. All the guests were enjoying themselves and basking in the warm, infectious glow of the happy couple but you didn’t have the courage in you to mask the despondent emotions inside of you.

Your mother sighed and took your left hand in hers. “You know, when your dad and I were going through the proceedings of the divorce, I had moments when I wanted to back out from it. I loved your father, still holds a piece of my heart till this day, and I thought the small moments of happiness when he was around would be enough to tied me through the days when he wasn’t. I thought those times and our love for you kids were sufficient to keep our love from wilting. If I poured out affection and devotion to the home we once built, it wouldn’t crumble surely. But you know what I forgot—”

You turned to face her somber eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something that seemed to no longer be there. 

“—I forgot to take care of myself. I gave a pieces of me away so willing and so many times that when I reached the end of the marriage, I no longer knew who I was. Where the piece of me started and where it ended. You’re withering, my flower. The vibrant life that I once longed to protect in your eyes is slowly dying. I don’t want you to reach the finish line and not know how you got up there. How you ended up giving all yourself away with not a flower bud left to blossom just for you.” 

You felt your hackles rise to defend the relationship. In hindsight, this was you denying the truth that was staring you right in the face. “It’s not like that with Spencer, Mom. It’s just—the job is hectic and it’s been his forever dream. He had finally started to gain his footing when Gideon and Elle left and then the kidnapping happened and that pushed his progress back a bit. But he’s getting there now. We’re stabilizing and we had a discussion—there’s less broken promises. It’s just that this recent case in Dallas was urgent and they needed the team to solve crime. I don’t want to take him away from the country and the people who needs his help and from his dream of solving crimes. I love him, Mom, in all of his entirety and he deserves all the respect and understanding from me as his partner.” 

She squeezed the hand in hers—the left hand adorning the ring, the material manifestation of his vow to you that you had happily accepted. “I‘ve grown fond of Spencer. I see him as another son of mine but darling, sometimes the love you feel for each other is not enough. A relationship takes continuous work—a task that both individuals must pull in the effort and prioritize. Just think about it,” she stated as she stood up. “Now, no more of this depressing talk and this serious energy from you. Go around, dance with your brother, and enjoy.” 

You mustered up a smile as you proceeded to do just what you were told until your feet were sore from all the dancing. But no matter the joyous occasion, it didn’t stop the realization in the form of ivy from taking roots and slowly covering all corners of your mind. 

***

And the final time, you could no longer understand.

The grandfather clock stationed at the corner of the dimly lit apartment struck at two. Your figure was still dressed in your purple fitted dress as you waited for your soon-to-be other half to walk through the door. It was another night of getting your hopes up and broken promises and you were no longer sure how much you could take before the love you held in your heart festers and turns into resentment. 

You promised yourself you’d never be in a situation that you had seen your mother once be in. You became the careful daughter of a careless man who gave little to no effort to cherish the love a woman had freely given to him. You thought with all your cautiousness and logical thinking, the mistakes of the mother would never be repeated. That was naive thinking—you realized now. By actively being aware of the past, you’d forgotten to look ahead and fell deep into the pitfalls of doing the same as your mother did.

Spencer once mentioned that there was a high divorce rate in his line of duty. How he worried and vowed that you both will never join that rate. And that was a promise he’ll be able to keep, you scoffed to yourself, as you spun the ring on the table.

Another shared piece of information floated to the forefront of your mind. How Haley had recently served Hotch, his unit chief divorce papers. You’ve grown close with her over the years, being the only two constant partners to someone working in the BAU. You’ve seen first hand all the missed milestones in Haley’s and Jack’s life as her husband flew around the country with the cavalry, saving the innocent one case at a time. Never taking the time to realize that the once solid foundation of their marriage was crumbling down with every flight he took. Similar to what was happening in the doctor’s own home. 

A set of keys unlatched the mahogany door and a fresh batch of florals were the first that entered through, followed by Spencer looking sheepish as he noted your presence by the sofa. “Angel, I’m so sorry I missed your promotion dinner.” 

Silence greeted him as he stumbled to get to where you were. “Carnations for you.” 

Tears started to form under your eyes. You didn’t want to break but the reality of your decision was setting in. You wanted to falter, to change your mind, to give him another chance but you knew you couldn’t. You’ve given too much of your understanding away and you doubted you have any more to give to this beautiful man who once promised to make you his top priority. 

“I can’t accept them, Spencer.” 

His eyebrows furrowed and his body tensing as if sensing the finality behind your words. “Why not? They’re your favorite.” 

“They are but—” you took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “—I think we should stop.” 

“W-what? No. No, please,” he stammered out as his own set of tears started flooding his eyes, blurring you from his vision. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner. I’ll make it up to you—I promise just—”

The dam of your emotions broke causing you to freely sob out all the sadness and anger that had collected in your heart. “I’m tired, Spencer. You can’t promise anything to me anymore. You’ve broken so many promises that you’ll only end up breaking them again.” 

He took your hands into his, letting the bouquet fall crushed on the hardwood floor, recognizing the ring missing in your finger. “This time, this time it’ll be different. Please, don’t leave me.” 

“The country needs you, the BAU needs you. But I need you too, Spencer. I love you, I really do but I can’t be your third priority anymore. I don’t deserve that—don’t I deserve to come first before the country and the job?” 

He tightened his hold on your hands as if afraid that you were slipping through his fingers, denying the reality that you already had. “I love you so much. I don’t want to live without you by my side. Tell me how to fix this. Do you want me to leave the BAU? I’ll—I’ll do it, just stay with me, please.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to leave the FBI. Your ambition and integrity is one of the facets that I loved about you and you might end up resenting me down the line if you leave now. It’s not yet your time to leave the BAU, you and I both know that,” you pulled your hands away and slid the ring in front of him. “This belongs to you, I’m giving it back.” 

His shoulder caved in on itself, the weight of it all too much for him to carry. “I don’t want this to be our end. I just don’t.” 

“I don’t want this too, but I need to,” you whispered as your hand reached out to push shoulder length hair out of the way. “Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe in the future we’d meet again and continue the pages of our love story but for now, I have to do this Spencer. I can’t keep giving a piece of me every time your top priority needs you, I’ll end up hating you if I stay.” 

You leaned in for one final kiss. A salty, tear filled kiss of death to a future you had once envisioned with the beautiful boy before you. A white picket fence with children laughing at the backyard—the American dream fading into nothing as you start to pull away.

“Goodbye for now, Spencer.”

He stared at all the curves and dips in your face one last time as if etching every detail into his already perfect memory.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

[marksbear2]

Can i request Kraven x male reader headcanons? 🤭 also seen you were sick, hope you’re feeling better. 💗

Kraven the hunter x male reader

Dear anon you probably don’t even remember requesting this from how long it took for me to post this 💔💔. I hope you don’t mind and enjoy the fic.

1. Wilderness Dates – Instead of typical dates, Kraven takes you on hunting trips, teaching you how to track, set traps, and survive in the wild.

2. Protective Instincts – He’s fiercely protective of you, always keeping a watchful eye when you’re in dangerous areas, even if you insist you can handle yourself.

3. Animal Affection – Kraven’s pets, especially his lions and leopards, are unusually affectionate toward you. He says it’s because they recognize you as his mate.

4. Trophy Gifts – Instead of flowers or jewelry, he brings you trophies from his hunts—like a beautifully carved bone knife or a rare pelt he insists would make a good cloak for you.

5. His urge for dominance – He treats you like his equal but has a deeply ingrained need to prove himself as the strongest, often challenging you to arm wrestling matches or sparring sessions.

6. Soft for You – He may be a ruthless hunter, but when he’s alone with you, he becomes oddly tender, brushing his fingers through your hair and pressing soft kisses against your temple.

7. Cooking Experiments – He insists on cooking meat he hunted himself, sometimes with questionable seasoning choices. You once had to pretend to enjoy an overly spicy jungle stew.

8. Jealousy Issues – Kraven doesn’t handle jealousy well. If someone flirts with you, he looms behind them like a predator, silently daring them to back off.

9. Old-School Romance – He believes in grand, dramatic gestures, like carrying you bridal-style over a river or slaying a beast in your honor.

10. Hunting Together – If you show any interest in hunting, he takes great pride in teaching you, even letting you lead small hunts to boost your confidence.

11. Battle Couple Energy – If you’re a fighter, he adores the idea of battling side by side, reveling in the thrill of combat together.

12. Survival Training – He believes you should be able to survive in the wild without him, so he occasionally tests you by disappearing for a few hours and watching from afar to see how you handle yourself.

13. Affectionate Nicknames – He calls you things like "Little Wolf," "My Lion," or "Prey-Turned-Predator" depending on his mood.

14. Body Worship – Kraven is a man who appreciates strength, whether it’s his own or yours. If you work out, expect a lot of lingering hands and admiring glances.

15. Animal-Like Comfort – He’s not above curling around you like a big cat when you’re resting together, nuzzling into your neck as he dozes off.

16. Tattoos and Scars – If you have scars, he traces them with fascination, praising you for being strong enough to earn them. If you have tattoos, he asks about their meaning and if he can add one to your collection.

17. Loyal to the End – Once Kraven has claimed you as his, he is unshakably devoted. Betrayal is unthinkable, and he would cross the world to find you if you were taken from him.

18. Drunken Boasting – After a few drinks, he brags loudly about your strength, intelligence, or cunning to anyone who will listen, making sure the world knows you’re worthy of standing beside him.

19. Traditional Courting – He has an old-fashioned view of romance and might insist on proving himself to you through trials, like hunting a beast in your name or bringing home an impressive prize.

20. Predator and Prey Dynamic – Sometimes, just to mess with you, he’ll playfully “hunt” you in the jungle or around your home, only to catch you in his arms and whisper, “You are mine.”

THE END

[rafesangelita]

hi angel! i love your work so much and fell in love with bambi!reader, so i was hoping you could write something for me ^_^

can you pls pls pls write bambi!reader comforting rafe after he gets into it with ward? i feel like she’d know exactly how to comfort himmm (pure fluff pls, i read too much smut lmaooo)

warnings: ward cameron, arguing, shouting, a little bit of physical violence, poor rafe who deserves so much better, mention of murder (i’m not referencing peterkin), fluff, soft petting, words of affirmation

“you had one job, rafe.. one!” ward had been shouting at rafe for nearly an hour already, his face flush with anger. “you really have a way of fucking things up, huh? i should put a caution sign on your forehead.” rafe’s fist clenched as he listened to his father, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest with every word that ward spat.

“i already told you that i couldn’t close out the business accounts and wire the money to a different one. apparently i’m not next in line to own cameron development anymore. ‘you know something about that?” rafe was in disbelief when he had to find out from a service representative that his own father took him off of the family business, something that he worked hard all these years for in order to prove he was worthy of running.

ward froze. he had forgotten about that. “were you ever gonna tell me, or were you just gonna be a coward about it?” rafe stood up, towering over his father with that crazy look in his eyes. “what you forgot to do before you faked your own death instead of facing your problems like a man, was take my name off of the inheritance of tanneyhill.” he laughed, “i own this shit now.” rafe stepped closer, backing ward into the wall. “get out of my house.” ward was seething, his hand coming up to fist rafe’s shirt.

“your house? i’m the one who worked like a dog to get us here.” ward said through gritted teeth, shoving rafe in his chest. rafe stumbled, scoffing out a laugh as he then pushed his father. “worked like a dog to get us here but you were more than willing to leave me here while you start a new life in fuckin’ guadeloupe.” rafe fought to keep his emotions at bay.

“leave. and don’t ever come back.” ward’s chest was rising and falling, both him and rafe glaring at one another. “you’re cut off. good luck keeping up with this place on your own.” ward smiled bitterly. “cut off?” rafe narrowed his eyes, “i’ve been cut off, dad. i haven’t used a cent of yours since i was nineteen. all this time i’ve been making money my own way, and a lot of it too. ‘seems like your old man brain forgot about that.” rafe nudged ward as he walked past, his father following him out of the master bedroom.

“i’m leaving. when i come back i want you out of here,” rafe grabbed his truck keys, his skin on fire as he looked up the staircase, “and by the way, asshole, i’m not by myself. i got the prettiest girl on the island on my arm everywhere i go.” ward watched as his son walked out the front door. rafe was seeing red the whole time he drove to your house, cursing under his breath as he recalled his father’s words.

“the fucking nerve that guy has.” he punched the steering wheel, nostrils flaring as tears pricked at his eyes. he was the only one who was there to take care of things when ward was ‘gone’. even going as far as committing crimes so his father wouldn’t face any kind of scrutiny. yet, there he was telling him that he was a fuck up.

rafe spent the next five minutes mumbling to himself, his hands shaking as he parked outside your driveway. you were curled up on the porch swing, an open book in your lap when he walked up the stone path. all it took was one look at your boyfriend to have you scrambling up from your seat, eager to soothe him in any way you can. “oh, ray, what’s wrong?” you guided him inside, locking the door shut before both of you made your way up to your room.

“it’s ward. he came back just to tell me shit about not closing the bank accounts under cameron development.” you knew all about rafe’s conflict with his father. from the way he favored everyone else over his eldest, to the constant nagging and insults. sitting rafe down on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help the way your heart sunk at the sight of defeat in his shoulders, his eyes void of any emotion.

slipping his shoes off, you took your usual seat in his lap, stroking the outline of his jaw as he vented. “i’ll never be good enough for him. i killed for him goddamit, and what do i get in return? ‘i should put a caution sign on your forehead.’ rafe imitated ward’s voice from earlier. you blinked, pecking his cheek. “you’re an amazing son, rafe. shame on him for not recognizing that.” rafe stared up at you, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

you were the only one that looked at him with pure adoration, the only one who made him feel like he had a purpose. “i think you’re amazing, rafe. you don’t sit around, waiting to get things done, you’re so helpful, and so, so kind— to me.” he chuckled at the clarification, rubbing a large hand over your knee. “you think so?” he leaned his head against your chest, your arms coming up to hold him. “i know so.” you sighed, breathing in his scent.

“wanna be little spoon tonight?” your voice alone made him relax, his eyes fluttering shut.

“..yeah.”

[croquettish]

I'm curious, wdym Hans always fall in love even when we dont romance him? I love your metas so much 🩷 or maybe it was already post about it and I didnt find it. I've got so many questions to ask you coz my autistic ass often dont catch non verbal emotional expressions so you post clarify me things I don't undestand 🥺 Love you 💕

You sending me this made me realize that neither I nor anyone else (that I'm aware of) has actually gone into detail on all of this! So thank you for that!!

I want you to consider Hans' behavior throughout the games. Regardless of whether you read him as bisexual or a comphet gay man, we are dealing with a queer man who has no idea that he's queer. He's grown up sheltered and in many ways unloved. He hasn't seen any models of what love should look like in real life and only knows to interpret the world through what he's learned and read in history and literature. We know this not only because he makes it painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who sees him interacting with Henry, but also because the option to romance him exists at all. The queerness is there, it just has to be coaxed out with the promise of safety.

We also know that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with. See here: everyone keeps falling in love with him. And, as we've previously discussed, there is a good reason for why Hans falls in love with Henry to begin with.

Hans is already sweet on Henry and checking him out in that hot tub in KCD1 (reminder that they are canonically naked here) or at the very least finds him attractive:

In other words, Hans just needed to be given a nudge in the right direction. And Henry absolutely gives him more than a few nudges. Like, Henry. You can't just say shit like this and not expect Hans' knees to buckle:

And, as we know, Henry can compliment Hans in Italian even without the romantic context, and Hans loves it even if Henry butchers it, which none of the other love interest appreciate!

Accordingly, we see Hans' slow descent into madness... for the purposes of this meta, I deliberately ignored any and all romance scenes and instead focused on the hints we get outside of that that exist regardless of whether or not you romance him.

The list that follows is meant to serve as individual pieces of evidence that prove that Hans is in love with Henry / falls in love with Henry over the course of KCD2:

Hans is incredibly jealous. The first time this crops up is at the dinner at Trosky:

And then, famously, with Sam:

This, of course, including the conversation we can overhear several times between the two of them. And then later on, if you callously leave Sam behind and he dies, we can get confirmation from Hans!

2. He tries so hard to make Henry jealous:

THIS GIRL DOESN'T EXIST!!!!!! Not only based on this clownery on Hans' part, but also because there is no woman named Karolina in Bohunowitz to begin with.

3. He repeatedly sings Henry's praises to his face:

4. He pays close attention to Henry's state of mind and then acts on that information because he wants to see Henry happy:

5. Hans loves to cut himself off when he notices that he's getting a bit too intimate and panics:

6. Hans outrightly admits that he wants Henry to stay home at Suchdol where it's safe instead of going to meet Erik:

7. And as soon as he hears Henry volunteering for the suicide mission, he volunteers as well:

8. He's heartbroken when Godwin implies that they're going off to die. Not just that, he wavers on what he's saying at all, something that generally doesn't happen with him. He usually just says what he's going to say, he doesn't have stray ellipses showing up out of nowhere like he does here:

9. He'll take on tasks for Henry that no one else will while putting him into the position of a noble.

10. He turns to Henry when he's panicking about the wedding.

11. He is desperate to be worthy of Henry and doesn't think himself worthy at all to begin with (as evidenced by him instigating the divorce arc to begin with).

12. The claustrophobia meta is still applicable even if you're not romancing him. He still has to come to terms with his feelings for Henry, and still comes out on the other side having come to terms with it successfully.

And speaking of, then there's this whole speech:

Not just the prayer (tho jesus christ @ that) but also the bit about the tunnels. Thank Christ for tunnels because they saved Henry?? Taking the claustrophobia : homophobia parallel into account??

13. We still find the buck's blood potion and gay poetry book under his bed at the Devil's Den. (Which you could argue, as per my tags here, was possibly written by him)

14. He could still be argued to be panicking about Godwin discovering his feelings.

15. He still tries to keep the news of the engagement from Henry.

16. He thinks of them as a unit at all times, even while divorced. And this is a running theme for them! He always wants to be by Henry's side and anticipates this being the case of the foreseeable future, like when he talks about how he wants to see the holy land with Henry.

Or when he talks about how he anticipates Henry not only living at his castle, but doing so as castellan (a very prestigious fucking position!). Additionally, he would add a forge just for Henry (recall, again, that Hans' love language is gift giving!):

This similarly crops up right before they're set to torture the guy at Trosky:

He even brings this up to Henry!

There was also a lovely post that I came across a few days ago about how characters act when they're in love but terrified of it. (Many of these don't apply to Hans as far as we know in the game's canon, but that's because they literally can't—the list is meant as a reference for writers and thus is somewhat limited in the scope of its application. This isn't prose and we're not in Hans' head. But I think if you look over the list you'll find that there's a lot of overlap here.) And knowing the risk involved in a confession, it makes sense that Hans would be reluctant.

Finally, I wrote up a whole post about how Hans falls in love with Henry (and when!) that might be of interest to you here as well!!

Thank you so much also for your kind words 🥺 I should say that my evidence for things is almost never rooted in facial expressions, in part because (outside of cutscenes) we can't rely on them. There are a handful of gestures and expressions baked into the game by default. Like the beloved pointing gesture that our dear John is so fond of. It's why I always use dialogue as evidence. You can rely on tone of voice a bit more because our boys act with intent, but even that is something you can read into. Dialogue is concrete and hard to argue with. Even if it's "hey let's overanalyze this ellipsis." At any rate, I hope this proves helpful/insightful!!

[dark-konohagakure2]

Alucard nonconing Integra’s little sister because he simply doesn’t respect her as he does with his master, mainly cause shes shy and timid unlike her big sister?? 🥺🙏

tw: noncon, bullying, age difference, size difference, threats, abuse, gunplay, sadism, fear play, fuck or die, object insertion (gun)

All characters depicted are 18+

Alucard has nothing but respect for his master, obeying her every command and carrying out her orders to the letter, but this courtesy does not extend toward's Integra's family, or more specifically; her younger sister. Alucard doesn't hate the girl, as evidenced by the fact that her brains aren't painting the walls yet, but he sure as hell doesn't respect her in the slightest either, and that's putting it lightly.

He's practically just a bully around her, popping out from around corners or out from walls when she least expects it, intentionally scaring her, he finds it hilarious how easily frightened she is, laughing his ass off whenever she flinches or jumps at his sudden appearance, but his teasing doesn't stay harmless for very long.

Alucard's antics will quickly escalate from schoolyard bullying to outright harassment and abuse. He'll fire his gun mere inches away from her head, just barely missing her, and he'll also get much more handsy with her, groping her tits and hips and slapping her ass whenever she walks by.

That's not even the worst of it, Alucard knows how scared and uncomfortable his guns make her, and he uses that to his full advantage, rubbing his Jackal across her body, brushing the cold metal against her most sensitive areas before forcing the barrel past her quivering lips and demanding that she gets it nice and wet for her own sake.

"Oh stop crying, little bitch. My master isn't scared of guns, so why should you be? Now if you don't start sucking already I'll blow your empty little head off."

If he is feeling especially sadistic, which will be more often than not, Alucard will when even force his gun into her pussy, with nothing but her saliva to lube up the cold steel. He'll keep his finger right on the trigger, but never actually pulling it. The chamber is completely empty and the safety is on of course, can't have his chew toy dying too quickly now, but she doesn't know that.

Everyone in the Hellsing Organization will turn a blind eye to what Alucard is doing to her. Walter is content to let his old friend do whatever he wants, and Seras is too loyal to her master to say anything against him. Even Integra, her own elder sister, won't do anything about it, the very most she'll do is tell Alucard not to kill her or break any bones.

The absolute worse thing Alucard will do is forcing himself onto her, making her take his entire huge cock into her small virgin pussy. Alucard is much bigger and more well endowed than the average man, even by vampire standards, so it's going to hurt like hell when he forces every single torturous inch into her untouched pussy, it's enough to make her bleed, which just spurs the vampire on all the more.

He's big and rough, treating her like a sex toy and having no regard for any pain he might be causing her during the brutal fucking. Alucard is so much bigger than her that he'll have to lift her up to even get her shorter form onto his cock, her feet off the ground as he fucks into her, hissing venomous insults into her ear as he rearranges her cunt.

"Hah! Pathetic! Even Police Girl can take more than this without passing out! You really sicken me brat, you're not worthy of sharing the same blood as my master..."

Being a creative sadist, Alucard will almost never run out or ways to play with his toy, having literal centuries of experience to pull from. In fact, if she proves to be entertaining enough for the ever bored Alucard, he might even consider making her his eternal plaything.

[babeitaintme]

YOU SHOULD LET ME LOVE YOU (jason todd x reader) my thoughts !

tw: talk of insecurities

⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･･°❀⋆.ೃ

i’m thinking about jason todd

him and his beauty that, despite the walls he’s attempted to hide himself behind, shines brighter than a full moon. his bright, tantalizing eyes that draw you so far in you know there’s no turning back when you stare into them. beyond them lies hurt and suffering beyond compare, but not the kind that turns you away. no, the kind that makes you want to reach out for him and understand what he’s been through.

his tanned skin that’s littered with scars and blemishes. the skin he always finds himself picking at and wanting to crawl out of is the same skin you press the softest of kisses to, whispering to him that it’s a reminder of his perseverance as you do so. his dark hair that frames his face perfectly and the white streak that never seems to go away—despite the amount of times he’s tried dyeing it out of shame. its the same hair you file your fingers through with the gentlest touch at the end of a hard day.

his noticeably larger stature and build that often makes him feel as though he’s out of place or that he’s uncomfortable to be around. each time he’s wishing to god that he could just shrink away as he gets dressed in the mirror, you’re wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him and raving about how strong he is. how attractive his body is and how he makes you feel safe.

and beyond his physical traits, there’s no denying the beauty that’s deep within jason. you see it in the way he cares for others; his habit of pushing his needs to the side in order to help someone else. he looks after the people he loves to a fault. yet, you’re there to make him feel the security and love that he puts into others. jason wholeheartedly believes that he’s a burden; he feels that he’s too difficult to love and undeserving of lifelong commitment. you make it your mission to prove him wrong. you’re patient and you’re understanding. you know that his silence isn’t always a sign of indifference and that his hesitancy towards vulnerability isn’t an indicator of ingenuity. but rather a reflection of years of self-loathing and pent up emotions that he never allowed himself to feel. he lets his appreciation show through his actions because he’s afraid of using the wrong words. and you, filled with love for this broken man, understands and never judges him. you make him feel seen, understood, and worthy.

jason todd never thought of himself as beautiful, but with you in his life he learns how to everyday.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･･°❀⋆.ೃ

ahhh i love him :,( i’m having a huge writer’s block right now but i needed to put these thoughts out there

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 35

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Repealing the Sokovia Accords becomes the teams only focus, once settled in Wakanda. But for you and Bucky, all you can see is each other, and fixing what Hydra left behind.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence. Flashback to Winter Soldier Days. Mention of Surgery and the brain. Legal and Technical Talk.

Authors Note: I did so much research into legal stuff and medical stuff for this one. My brain is much. Love ya'll. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Old hinges groan under the weight of steel doors. Steve, Bucky, and Tony, cautiously enter the dimly lit hallway. The air was stale, tasting of dust and time. 

“I got heat signatures,” Tony leads the three, hand raised. 

“How many?” Steve creeps behind his shield. 

Tony squinted, scanning the large chasm. “Three,” He took a steadying breath. 

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw fluttered as he stepped into the lab, memories flooding his system. Suspended in cryopods across the far wall were three bodies. Three of the chambers still crackled with ice, the doors wide open. Bucky’s eyes lingered on the bodies still within.

Unlike what he’d been expecting, they were aged- withered and peeling. Barely flesh on bone, with ice dusting their skulls. He swallowed hard, steeling his focus in the moment. 

But it was hard. In a place with so many memories. 

In a pace, haunted with the ghost of his past. A place soaked in blood. He forced himself to turn away from the chair in the center, where he once spent so many agonizing hours.

.

“47 and 56, step forward.” A man in the corner of the cold bunker training room shouted.

Two agents clad in black walked into the center of the room, their gazes steadied on Bucky. 

Bucky, muzzled and barely breathing, stood in wait. It was often that he was used as a sort of training milestone for agents of Hydra. 

Beat the Winter Soldier, prove yourself as an elite.

Hold your own, prove yourself as worthy for improvement. 

It was how the original five other Winter Soldiers were chosen. They were the only ones who lasted more than a few seconds.

So Bucky stood there, panting as blood from his cracked nose filled his mask. Trembling with adrenaline as he flattened out another soldier on the concrete. He’d lost count of how many came before him. He just knew he had to fight. He had to win. He had to appease his handler.

Winning, for the other soldiers, was a true victory. But for Bucky, it meant that an unenhanced soldier got the best of him. That meant punishment. That meant pain.

That meant they had to improve their favorite weapon.

.

“What the hell?” 

Tony’s voice snapped Bucky back into the present. He’d lost himself to memories again, like a child slipping under a tidal wave. Bucky shook himself, trying to focus.

Tony grimaced, walking up to the corpses behind glass. “I thought-

“If it's any better, they died in their sleep.” A distorted voice crackled through an aged speaker. “It seems even the enhanced aren't immune to death.”

Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle, his soured expression flickering to Steve. It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place. The wilted bodies, the deterioration. It was the disease. The degeneration Hydra was oh so worried about. It had snuck in in the silence of the night, and destroyed bodies pumped full of power. 

Bucky couldn’t help but feel his cheeks sour at the sight of the corpses. It could have been him. It should have been him. And without you, it would have been.

“I am grateful to each of them, though. They brought you here.” A small light between the tubes flicked on, exposing Zemo behind a small glass window. Steve shot his shield towards the pane, and it snapped back without a crack.

“Please, Captain. The soviets build this chamber to withstand the launch blasts of UR-100 rockets,” the man said, almost with a smug smile.

“I’m bettin’ I could beat that,” Tony remarked, tracking the heat signatures through the walls.

“Oh I’m sure you could Mr. Stark, given time. Time that you don’t have.”

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” Steve grit, marching up to the window.

“I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year.” The man whispered, staring up at Steve.

Something wasn’t right. Where were the other three soldiers? Bucky zoned out of the psychological jump rope going on around him. He scanned the room, finally getting a good look at everything.

He’d been there many times. He spent decades asleep inside those very chambers. But each time he was dragged into that chair, nothing else mattered but the pain. Nothing but waiting, praying, begging for it to stop. So he never before got a good look at the place.

It was haunting. 

It was abandoned. A dead society once walked those very halls, planning and plotting. But now it was just a structure of bones and souls, lost to the world. 

“...I lost everyone…And so will you.” The conversation floated back to Bucky now, reeling in his attention. The man turned back to the microphone, his eyes locked onto Steve’s. “Солдаты, в атаку.” 

Soldiers, attack.

A cold, humming silence breaks as a reinforced steel door blows inward in a fiery eruption. Smoke coils through the room as three soldiers in familiar uniforms rise from the shadows.

The larger of the three charged forward like a tank. Steve braced himself and blocked the hit with his shield. The two grappled in a test of strength. Sparks burst as Steve slid backward but quickly countered with a shield bash to the soldier’s jaw.

The second soldier, a man, moved like smoke. He slid forward, swinging for Bucky’s skull. Bucky blocked with his rifle and countered with clean, controlled strikes. The man twisted behind him, landed, then yanked a pipe clean off the wall. Bucky turned, squeezing the trigger of his rifle. Shots sparked off the wall, but before a bullet could land, the man knocked the rifle free with the pipe.

When he went to swing again, Bucky spun and countered just in time, sending both tumbling over a control panel. Splayed out on the cold cement floor, crossing his arms over his face to block scattered blows, Bucky felt sickening nostalgia.

Steve and Bucky supported each other's wounded weight as they dragged themselves towards T’Challa’s ship. To their shock, when they arose from the building, triumphant in their battle against the sleeper agents, they found the Wakandan king waiting outside with a restrained Zemo. 

He’d followed them there, for Bucky.

Steve personally sighed in relief as he realized T’Challa had the right man in chains. 

Tony, still suited up, spoke breathlessly with the man dressed in black. By the time Steve and Bucky dragged themselves to the ship, a deal had already been made. 

“Chins up, boys, we’re going on a trip.” Tony’s steel mask slid shut.

Bucky lowered his head, his dark hair sticking to the blood on his face. 

When you first stepped foot off the jet into Wakanda, you were in slack jawed awe. 

You never in your wildest dreams thought you would see Wakanda. And until hours ago, you were sure it would never happen. Until, on the flight back to New York, Natasha got a call from Tony.

When she said his name, you lept from your seat, straining your ears to listen in. You couldn’t catch a word. But from the shift in Natasha’s expression, you knew something was happening. Or had already happened.

“What is it?” Your words fell of deaf ears. 

“Tony, you know they’re gonna want you back for a briefing-” Nat’s eyes narrowed. She made a huffed sound as she listened, and then something relaxed washed over her expression. She shook her head with exasperation and hung up.

“Natasha- what’s happening?” You begged, gripping the edge of your seat.

“I need to talk to the pilot,” she rose from her seat. “Looks like we’re meeting the boys in Wakanda.”

So now, there you stood, frozen and gaping at the beauty flying past you. Buildings stretched to the sky, sparkling like crystals. Murals painted in the colors of the sun and earth spread out in the city behind you. Birds fluttered past, singing praise.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, stumbling down the ramp. 

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered, walking past you. With a little more focus, the red head caught sight of the people waiting ahead. “Y/n, come on.” 

You blinked out of your daze and found three tall women with shaved heads waiting for you. You gulped and followed quickly after Natasha. One of the women nodded their head at Natasha. And confirmed your names. 

“Follow, please.” The woman in the center said, her expression leveled. 

Natasha sent you a look, her brows lifting in awe. You suppressed a nervous smile. 

The journey to the medical bay was long. Though maybe that was just because you spent every step gawking at what surrounded you. The vibranium infused soil pulsed beneath your feet, wrought with life and beauty.

The sleek halls you descended through were glowing with light, smooth and clean. Their lab was a whole different story too. One glance at the passing technology showed how advanced they were. Beyond words and theories. 

The tall woman led you through the halls and bustling lab. Doctors in lab coats spoke in hushed voices as they fluttered around the room. 

Your searching gaze found Tony, who was getting his shoulder examined. Your heart jumped in your chest. Across from Tony, sitting on an examination table, was Bucky. 

Like he could sense you, his head shot up, and his eyes met yours. You breathed a sigh of relief, like having him in your sights lifted a weight from your chest. You staggered over to him quickly, zeroing in on the busted flesh and scabbed blood on his nose and cheek. “Are you okay?”

His tight posture relaxed as you stepped between his spread knees, your shaking hands hovering over his face. He looked up at you from beneath his dark lashes. “I’ll live.”

You frowned, ghosting your fingers over his previously broken nose. They must have reset it before you arrived. You were sure it was already healing. But you hated the thought of him in pain. “What happened?”

“A crazy douche, that’s what.” Tony groaned from behind you. You threw him a fond roll of your eyes before focusing back on Bucky.

Bucky nodded his head with a light smile. “He’s not far off.” He blinked up at you. His warm hand slid around your wrist and pulled it from where it hung in the air by his cheek. “I’m fine.” He whispered.

“Yeah?” 

He nodded slowly. 

You stared at him for a moment, silent. He looked at you with a sense of awe, like he was still trying to map out your features. Like he didn’t think he would ever get to see you this close again.

“You didn’t think you were making it back, did you?” You asked him, melancholy twisting your gut. He avoided your gaze, his fingers twitching around your wrist. You knew you were right. He thought he was marching into his old den of horrors, facing five super soldiers trained in the same way he was, while he was already not functioning at 100%.

He didn’t think he was making it home.

But he did. 

To you.

You tugged your wrist free from his grip and laced your fingers together. Bucky stiffened, glancing up at you. “I’m glad you did.” You whispered. 

He visibly swallowed, his thumb twitching against your knuckles. He huffed and yanked you close, his arm sliding around your waist. You met him halfway, cradling him in a hug. 

It felt good to hold him, knowing danger wasn’t immediately looming around the corner. It felt good to feel him sigh shakily against your neck and drop his head onto your shoulder. 

You knew you weren’t alone. You were aware there were prying eyes, and a world in chaos outside. But for a moment, you just wanted to cling to him. 

You raked your nails through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He shivered, almost purring beneath your touch.

You didn’t know what this was, what it meant. You didn’t understand the bond that tied you to Bucky. But you didn’t feel the need to question it. You didn’t care. 

You just knew you wanted to keep him close, safe, and loved. 

“So what happens now?” You whispered into Bucky’s hair. He shook his head into your neck, his arms curling tighter around your back. 

“I don’t know.” He huffed. 

“What happens,” Tony spoke up again, drawing your attention. “Is your two,” he pointed at Bucky and Steve, “Stay here, while we fix this.”

Bucky lifted his head, his lips pulling into a frown. 

“And how's that?” Steve crossed his tired arms. 

“We try to get the accords repealed, for one.” Natasha spoke up, leaning back against Tony’s examination table. “We need to put together our case. Go back as far as we can, use New York and Siberia to explain why the accords won’t work. Until we get that done, you two are fugitives.” She looked between Bucky and Steve. 

You withdrew your arms from around Bucky, your frown tugging deeper as you listened. Bucky’s hands slid back to rest on your waist. You didn’t comment on it. “I’ll be honest- there was a lot you guys were doing wrong. But that also just means there's a lot you can work on to use in your favor.”

Tony made a face. “Okay- you’ve been under a rock for two years, where did that come from-” he wiggled a finger at you.

“I had access to the internet for one day and even that was enough to be sure that you guys have a lot to make up for,” You lifted a brow, trying not to smile at Tony’s eye roll.

He waved his hand dismissively at you. “Whatever.” He looked back at Steve. They shared a short look. Tony swallowed guiltily and sighed. “We’ll fix this.”

“You need to focus on getting our team out of their cages.” Steve frowned. Tony nodded, his gaze shifting to the side. 

“I’ll bring them home.”

The bombing in Vienna, as tragic as it was, proved to be the best defence against the Accords. As it turned out, a repeal wasn’t exactly necessary yet, considering the explosion and death of the king of Wakanda meant the signing had never fully undergone. 

All proceedings following the bombing were following the guidelines of the accords since the situation was deemed emergency circumstances. 

But the Accords were never officially, completely signed.

Which made things just slightly easier in the Avengers case. 

So, while you were stuck in Wakanda, what was left of the Avengers worked on presenting a unified proposal to the UN. The first step, as shocking as it was, was public transparency. A more proactive PR campaign was created to unify the Avengers, as well as humanize them to the public. 

It was also helpful in the matters of bringing reason to the catastrophes that were left behind by the Avengers. As hard as it was, it was necessary to make the point known; without the Avengers, New York, and the entire rest of the world, for that matter, may not have had any survivors left behind, after the wormhole. 

Without the Avengers, the helicarriers that crashed into Washington D.C wouldn’t have just been rubble and fire. It would have been billions of bodies dropped and left to rot for a supremacist regime's agenda.

Without the Avengers, Lagos wouldn’t have just been a corner of a building. It would have been a biological weapon, a disease, spreading through the cities, killing hundreds.

And following highlighting their biggest wins and losses, they suggested a new program under the Avengers; one of recovery. Under the new program, large-scale, coordinated disaster relief teams - both human and robotic - would be assigned to the affected city. This entailed a fusion of military logistics, urban redevelopment, and trauma care. 

There were essentially three main phases.

Immediate response. Safety and containment; Search and rescue, followed by structure safety teams assessing compromised buildings and zones. Medical triage, with specialized staff trained for foreign metal wounds and radiation exposure. As well as drones and portable towers to restore basic communication and electricity. 

Recovery and cleanup. Robotic demolition teams sent to safely dismantle debris. Temporary shelters and rations. 

Long term rehabilitation. Stark foundation grants to rebuild homes. 

With the most public of their flaws laid out, their proposal also highlighted the internal workings of the Avengers. There would be an internal board, a code of conduct, and public transparency protocols laid in place. 

By showing the public that they were going to begin seriously self regulating, it lessened the threat of external regulation. 

As the public campaign hit the news, there were several new questions raised by the public about the accords. 

For one, the news of the incarceration of world heroes like Clint Barton and Sam Wilson brought public backlash. For one, the imprisonment without trial. It brought legal challenges regarding human rights. 

Many recognized the Avengers as heroes sacrificing themselves for the world, and strictly regulating them may be counterproductive. The reason they were able to save so many lives in the past, rooted from the fact that they are enhanced, and they do act fast, too fast to submit a legal mission request.

And since the past missions and cases the Avengers were involved in had been so closely spoken about now, it was clear that if another disastrous threat was raised against the earth, bureaucratic delay may prove catastrophic.

As these conversations were brought up, the Sokovia Accords began to prove ineffective, divisive, and ethically problematic. 

That of course didn’t disprove the possible need for regulation when it came to the Avengers. But, as the public fought back on the accords, that conversation was pushed to the sidelines until the Avengers were released from their cells.

The termination of the Sokovia Accords was a fight that would prove to take time. And while that battle was being taken on, you stayed in Wakanda, with Bucky and Steve. 

It was a new peace you weren’t used to. One that you were scared to accept. But the Wakandans were kind, and did everything in their power to accommodate you three. 

The one thing you were most thankful to them for was their ability to help Bucky.

Wakandan technology was far more advanced than you could ever dream. As a doctor, you felt like you were stepping into your own wet dream. They had moved past the need for something as advanced as a basic computer in the lab. Their screens acted more like holograms and webbed like electric galaxies.

You couldn’t help but drool at the magnificent mapping of Bucky’s nerves and physiological makeup as it glowed before you. Bucky, who laid out on a cushioned table in the lab, bit back a fond snicker as he watched you talk with Shuri.

The first step of helping Bucky was explaining what bits of his medical history you could. Shuri gave you access to a tablet to allow you to write out and demonstrate everything you’d done to him when you were in captivity. 

Your serum, as nervous as you were about it, seemed to be working. Since those first initial doses back in that prison, he hadn’t experienced any symptoms of muscular degeneration. 

As you sat there on the edge of Bucky’s examination table, he told you about the bodies he found in Siberia. He told you about the sunken in look of their skulls, as skin flaked against the bone, leathery and barely clinging on. But only on two of them. 

The three soldiers he fought were in perfect condition, and that he couldn’t explain.

You chewed at your lip, staring down at the chemical formula you were writing out. “It makes sense, honestly.” You muttered. “These illnesses have different effects on each person. Plus, the repeated release and submersion of the cryo chamber had an important effect.”

Bucky listened closely, propping his head up to watch you.

“You were constantly being taken out for missions, for decades. You were being constantly treated and drugged, so the effects of the deterioration were stunted. Some of those soldiers may have just been left in there to rot, with nothing to slow the sickness.” You looked up at him, pausing the scribble of your electronic pencil.

His fond gaze swept over you, from the way you chewed your cheek in thought, to the tight grip you had on your pencil in your focused state. “Makes sense,” he muttered.

You nudged his knee. “Does it?” You lifted a brow skeptically. 

“I may be from a different time, but I can keep up.”

You shrugged. “Hey, early 20th century education wasn’t the best, just gotta check.”

He bumped you with his leg, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

Once you finished giving Shuri a background of everything you’d recently done to Bucky, she set to work. She started with questioning Bucky on everything he could remember about the trigger system. 

You could see the way he drew in on himself, his body tightening and rigid. You knew this was hard on him. 

The look in his eye screamed it. He didn’t want to relive those moments. Being held down and restrained, muzzled and tortured. Zapped and cut open, again and again. But he had to do it. If this meant he could never be forced to hurt someone against his will again, he would do it.

But even Shuri was shifting awkwardly as she noted down his descriptions. She was a smart kid, and good at what she did. And like Tony, she always had a sarcastic quip. But the intensity of what Bucky endured, it was unlike anything she’d ever heard of. 

But Shuri liked a challenge. And she wanted to help Bucky. 

Shuri began by analyzing the neurological and psychological triggers Hydra implanted in Bucky, particularly the Russian activation phrase. She worked at isolating the brainwashing patterns in his mind. 

Hydra's programming was a mix of psychological conditioning, neurological implants, and chemical triggers, possibly reinforced with technology.

It soon became obvious that the first thing Shuri could solidly do to help Bucky, was restructure the neural pathways associated with the activation phrases. 

As well as removing any of the harmful plates still inserted in his head.

As awful as it sounded, Bucky agreed without a second thought. Surgery, in depth or not, didn't matter to him. He just wanted it done. He wanted to be sure that nobody could ever control him again. 

So, after the first few days, Bucky was preparing for surgery. 

Steve never left his side. 

Steve was like a constant, hovering shield over Bucky. And god, it warmed your heart. Seeing the pair work at finding each other again was goddamn beautiful.

Steve yanked Bucky into a strong hug outside the surgical wing of the internal Wakandan palace medical bay. He held him close, his jaw tight. 

Something you hadn’t thought about was that Steve still wasn’t used to the medicine of the modern era. In his time, the mortality rate for brain surgery could reach as high as 38-50%. Those weren’t favorable odds.

Steve pulled back, patting Bucky’s shoulder. “They’re not gonna shave your head for this, are they?” 

Bucky huffed a soft laugh and ruffled Steve’s short hair. “They only have to shave an inch or two above my nape, jerk.”

Steve huffed, his top lip disappearing against his teeth. “Good, the long hair’s growing on me.”

You stifled a laugh. 

Bucky glanced at you over his shoulder, his arms withdrawing from around Steve. “You think that’s funny?”

“I was trying to picture you bald.” You bit back a smile 

“Please don’t.” He huffed, turning to you. 

“Too late, it’s already in there.” You tapped against your temple. Bucky caught your wrist and tugged you into a hug. This one was lighter than all those you’ve shared before. Sweeter, not as heavy. Not as wrought with emotion. 

His arms slid around your shoulders. You hugged his middle, your hands stroking his back. Bucky released a quiet breath against the crown of your head. You realized Bucky might be just as scared as Steve about this surgery. 

Far more, actually.

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, tickling your nails down his spine. He nodded, humming quietly into your hair.

“I know.”

You pulled back, looking up at him. “Trust me, this is definitely the best health care the world’s ever seen.” You grinned softly. Bucky, to your shock, quietly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. His fingertips lingered on your jaw. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed. 

The doors behind him slid open and Shuri popped her head out. “All ready when you are, bud.” She grinned.

Bucky slowly released you and pulled back. You stepped out of his space and absently touched where his fingers left goosebumps. Steve gave Bucky a knowing smile and patted his shoulder again. 

“We’ll be waiting.”

Bucky glanced at you over his shoulder. “I know.”

A/N: Can you tell I can't stop using run-on sentences? If you can, don't tell me. Anyways! Hope ya'll liked this one. It almost killed me to write because I am so determined to write this perfectly and logistically.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt @soupiemeowmeow @akkklys @escapismurmom @sleepysongbirdsings @bumblebeebutter

[literarylesbo]

spike’s changing perception of love and his actions surrounding how to show it is such an interesting concept…

as a human, spike, or william, was never shown love in a true way. he loved his mother, and he took care of her. he showed love to a girl in his town, and he was made fun of and shut down. he was a bit pathetic (and i don’t mean this as an insult, it’s just one of the only words to describe what i’m trying to convey). when he becomes a vampire, he turns his mother in an act of love to cure her sickness (as another post has mentioned before), but she becomes cruel, and in another act of love, he kills her. he ultimately ends the life of the one person he cared about completely as a human.

then there is the power dynamic between drusilla and spike, as i think there always is between the sire and the sired. she knows more about the world and changes him to be like her. despite her mental state, she has the upper hand about what they are and how they should act. that isn’t to say that they don’t truly love each other; it just presents another obstacle.

i am a spuffy shipper all the way, but I do love dru and spike’s relationship as well. however, it is built on obsession and violence. spike’s birth as a vampire is due to his death as a human by dru’s hands (or fangs lol). they do grand acts of violence for each other. they are aggressive and passionate with one another. they love each other (this can be seen not just through their actions but through the episode with the judge when he says he can sense love and jealousy in both dru and spike). but this love is not built on things that we associate love with. it is built on violence, sex, passion, but also a strong sense of loyalty.

when spike realizes he loves buffy, he is taking his own perception of love that he has developed throughout his life. from what we’ve seen, he does not have experience as a human, so most of his definition is being taken from his time as a vampire. we see this deep caring he has for buffy, but he has no way to convey it properly. he kidnaps her and threatens to kill dru to prove his devotion to her, by killing the person he loved first.

however, he sees the fault in his ways. he’s fiercely loyal to her by the fifth season. he’s willing to sacrifice himself for dawn; he’s willing to put his life on the line in a way he hasn’t for anyone before. he counts the days buffy is dead and continues to fight with her friends. he helps her fight her way out of her depression.

he tells her that she belongs in the darkness with him because he truly thinks that. what friend was really trying to help her after they resurrected her? do i agree with him? no, but also what image of healthy love does he have to look back on? none.

(i do not take into account the actions of “seeing red”. in all honesty, i act like they didn’t happen because of the reasons behind it being petty and cruel *cough cough joss* and sending james to therapy etc etc etc, just a disclaimer)

so spike gradually learns how to love. properly. he gets his soul back to prove he can be the type of man she could love. to be worthy. and that is something so beautiful. he didn’t force buffy to show him how to love. he did it himself. for her. he learned how to love with and without his soul. he made the decision to get his soul back when he still didn’t have one.

his character is so interesting to me because he is a goofy guy but he’s also deep and deeply flawed. i have a lot of thoughts obviously but this explains some.

[cosmicjoke]

I saw @acmeangel's analysis post on this scene, which is fantastic and which everyone should read, and I was going to add my thoughts to their post, but then it got too long (as usual), and I didn't want to hijack their analysis, so I decided to just make my own, haha. This really is an important scene which essentially encapsulates the difference between Levi and Erwin and which I think ultimately showcases what makes Levi such a genuine hero.

One of the overarching messages of AoT is that we shouldn't give up our humanity in pursuit of an ideological goal. I've talked a lot about how Levi puts his trust in Erwin and admires him so much because he sees Erwin's ability to set aside his personal feelings for the greater good as a virtuous quality, one which Levi hopes to be able to one day emulate. Levi sees Erwin as superior to himself for this ability, because Levi, no matter how hard he tries, isn't ever able to do the same. He's never able to set emotion aside. He's never able to make decisions detached from emotion. He's never able to send soldiers to their deaths without it tearing him apart and creating in him a sense of conflict. He's never quite able to convince himself that the thing these soldiers are dying for, which they choose to die for, is actually worth it, which is also why he works so hard to bring their goal to fruition. He can't accept that those lives were given in vain, but the only way to ensure that they weren't is to make their dream comes true. Because to Levi, it's their lives that have value, not the cause itself.

One of Levi's most defining traits, one which makes him stand out from basically every other character in the story, is that he has no dream of his own. Rather, he carries the dreams of others, makes himself the custodian of those dreams, and dedicates himself to their realization.

When he says in this scene that a pointless death doesn't suit anyone, what he's saying is that the cause Erwin is sacrificing soldiers for has to prove itself worthy of their lives, that it has to amount to something equal in value to those lives. Because that's the thing, Levi values life above all else. He sees each, individual life as being as important as the whole of humanity, and I think that aspect of Levi's character is demonstrated fully during the RtS arc, when he makes the choice to end Erwin's suffering. People argue and claim that Levi made the wrong choice here because they don't understand the thematic significance of it, getting caught up in speculation about whether Erwin would have been able to prevent the war between Paradis and Marley, whether Erwin would have been able to stop the Rumbling, etc... By getting caught up in that, they completely miss the point of how the story wants the audience to understand the importance of not giving up our humanity for any cause. It's trying to show us, through Levi's choice, why we can't let any cause or ideological movement turn us cruel. Levi's refusal to be cruel, his refusal to throw away his humanity, is meant to be seen as a good thing, and ultimately, ironically, it's Levi's humanity and compassion that makes him a superior man to Erwin.

Erwin tries to assuage his own guilt by telling himself that the lives given were for a cause greater than any, individual life. The cause of humanity. This is a narrative he clings to until he's forced to admit to himself that what he really was after in sending all these soldiers to their deaths was his personal pursuit of knowledge, in another attempt to assuage his guilt for the death of his father. Erwin sacrifices his humanity for a goal which is self-serving, and as he's forced to contend with that reality, his guilt grows tenfold, fracturing his psyche and self-identity. But even if his every decision had been for the so-called greater good, even if he'd been 100% dedicated to his duty as Commander, he still would have been left with a sense of guilt and self-loathing for sacrificing lives to this nebulous cause, just like Hange ultimately was, because the whole point of the contrast between Levi and Erwin is to show that, in the end, Levi is the one whom the audience should strive to emulate, not Erwin.

This moment in the story is driving home the point of choosing compassion over ideology, or even duty. Levi's choice is imperative in demonstrating to us that if we sacrifice our own, personal humanity, if we give into becoming cruel and unfeeling, if we lose sight of the very thing that drove us to wanting the world to be a better place to begin with, that being our compassion and desire to end the suffering of others, no matter how justified the cause may seem, we're essentially sacrificing humanity itself. Because it's when you start becoming cruel, for any cause, that everything turns to shit, both for ourselves and the world around us. It's cruelty that leads into justification of more cruelty, which leads into justification of atrocities. Bringing Erwin back, forcing him back into that role which was tearing him apart, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, would have been purely an act of cruelty. But Levi isn't a cruel man. He's exactly the opposite. He's a man defined by his compassion and kindness. And what is AoT advocating for if not greater compassion and kindness in the face of a cruel world? It's telling us that the kind of compassion that Levi showed to Erwin in his dying moments is how we should choose to fight against the world's injustices and cruelties.

Because all the bad things that happen in AoT, essentially, happen because of a willingness to sacrifice ones humanity for ideology or for personal, selfish desires, and because it's those of us who retain our humanity and compassion, despite the cruelty of the world, and despite any supposed duty to any professed cause, that end up being able to live, as Levi says, with no regrets. This idea of sacrificing what we know is right for some abstract, nebulous goal of a better tomorrow is what leads to the destruction and corruption of our inner selves, and that, ironically, makes a better tomorrow impossible. If we become corrupted, if we allow ourselves to be lost to this idea of the greater good, in the end, it will only continue on the cycle of destruction.

Levi never sacrifices what he believes is right, never acts in any way which goes against his conscience. He never betrays his humanity. He maintains his compassion from beginning to end, and he never wavers in what he's fighting for, which, again, is every, individual life. That's what makes Levi a hero. His inability and refusal to set his personal feelings aside is, in the end, meant to be seen as the correct course. Because Levi's personal feelings have nothing to do with a dream or a goal. They have nothing to do with an ideology or movement. They aren't rooted in self-gain or greed. His sense of duty isn't to a cause, not to a country or an empire, or a sense of retribution or revenge. His duty, his obligation, is to doing what he feels, in his heart, is the right thing, what his personal feelings tell him is the right thing, no matter the situation or circumstances, no matter, even, if it turns out to have been the right choice or not. And that ties back into Levi's extraordinary compassion and empathy. It's his compassion and empathy which dictate his personal feelings of right and wrong, and his dedication to not betraying that sense is what ultimately dictates all his choices.

Levi thought of himself as a lesser man than Erwin because of this. Because of the way he wasn't able to set his personal feelings aside in the choices he made. It's why he chose to follow Erwin, because he thought it made Erwin superior to himself. But in truth, it's that quality of Levi's, that deep seated empathy, that makes him the better man. He can't detach himself from his compassion, he can't make choices without considering the consequences and impact of those choices on others, or even without making that consideration the principle factor in his choices, and that's a good thing. That's humanity. That's what makes the world a better place. By caring about how our choices affect others. That's not meant to be seen as a bad thing. Levi's kindness and empathy isn't meant to be seen as wrong.

Levi never betrays who he is, and he never betrays what he believes in, even as everyone around him does, at one point or another. That's true strength, that's true courage, that's true heroism. Someone who cares so much about people that he can't make a choice without factoring in the thoughts, feelings and desires of those people. Levi is meant to be the audience's role model, the character we're meant to want to be more like. Not Erwin. Because no matter how noble the goal we pursue, if we stop caring about each other in that pursuit, it all becomes for naught.

[greentea-and-honey]

literally fuck it here we areeeee. um the gravity falls hunger games au belongs to @aroace-get-out-of-my-face , i originally dmed this to her and she said i should post them so heeeeere we are. sorry thats its long i didnt want to post on ao3. licherally cannot stop thinking about this, its the only hunger games au that hasnt made me think suzanne collins was right to make sunrise on the reaping. if you want background, i highly suggest going to her blog and scrolling through the 'hunger games au' tag, its a fun read!!! okey dokey anywho:

“Be smart,” their mentor, a man who had insisted on being called ‘Nep’ had told Stan and Darlene. “Do what I told you to do, and don’t fuck this up.”

Darlene had frowned, because the strategy that Nep had insisted on for her interview had been to play up her youth and innocence, to really tug at the audience’s heartstrings and play the scared little girl who missed her family, but had a well of inner strength that she was going to draw from. Darlene had protested, wanting to paint herself as a fierce warrior, and could not be persuaded that she was going to be laughed off stage. She was fierce, sure, but she was also twelve years old. It was darkly comical, and had Stan been home with Ford, safe in their house, they would have looked sadly at each other during her desperate attempts to seem like a worthy opponent, instead of easy pickings.

“And you?” Nep glanced at Stan, and gave a sort of crooked half-smile. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?” Stan repeated, surprised. “What…what’s that?”

“The cocky, ne’er-do-well persona you’ve been playing up since you walked on that stage,” Nep said. “I saw the Reaping. Volunteering for your brother gets you a lot of points from the Capitol right off the bat. And you’ve not shown any fear, at least on camera. You’ve spent most of it being insufferable to everyone but the Capitol. Frankly, you don’t need me for camera points.”

“Aw,” Stan had grinned. “You think I’m insufferable?”

Nep grinned, and Stan decided, not for the first time, that he liked Nep well enough. He had been the winner when Stan was just a kid, maybe six or seven years old. Nep had been fourteen at the time, a younger winner, and a lucky one. The games that year had been in a coastal arena, similar to home, and when a tsunami came and washed most of the tributes away, Nep had managed to tough it out, and then waited for most of the other tributes to kill each other before proving his skills with a knife, gutting a girl from District 7 with efficiency unlike anything Stan had ever seen before. 

Nep was a mentor now, and both he and Daphne were a bit surprised by his quiet nature. Nep was shyer than the cameras had implied. He tended to back away from any more interviews that focused on himself, and when asked about himself, his victories, or most strangely, ‘We haven’t seen your mother in a while, how is she?’ Nep would smile in a tense way, and say “We’re here to talk about my tributes, did you know Stanley is a talented boxer? And oh my, I’ve never seen anyone move quicker than Daphne.”

“This is the worst part,” Nep assured them, adjusting a heavy necklace around Daphne’s neck. “You get through this, it’s smooth sailing from here on out.”

“This dress itches,” Daphne whined, wriggling in a shimmering turquoise gown that reminded Stan of the tiny fish that danced in the tidepools back home. “I don’t wanna wear it.”

“I know, I know,” Nep said. “It’s not for long. Now listen close, the both of you. Stan, quit making eyes at Carla.”

Stan’s attention snapped to Nep. “‘I’m not doing anything.” 

Carla, halfway through brushing over Stan’s eyelid with some kind of shimmering powder, scoffed. 

“This is the Capitol,” Nep said. “These people have been following your journeys since you got up on that stage. Some of them are invested in you already. Your triumphs, defeats, the rest of it. This is the first and only time you’ll be able to speak to them directly like this. This is your chance to endear them. Follow my instructions, and you’ll only improve your chances.”

“I don’t wanna act like a scared little girl,” Darlene said. “I’m not scared.”

Nep’s face snapped to her, and for the first time, he looked well and truly frustrated. “Yes, you are,” he said tersely. “And if you’re not, you’re stupid. This is a game, Darlene, and you’re treating it like one. But it’s not a game for you. It’s a game for them. I’m in the business of keeping you two alive for as long as I can, but I can’t do that if you insist on sabotaging yourself! Play the damn game!” 

Darlene looked surprised, but went quiet. For the first time, Stan thought he saw nerves behind her eyes. Maybe they had always been there, hidden beneath the exterior of a little girl who had been spoiled rotten. He wondered if her family was crying for her back home, already preparing for her funeral, or if they were delusionally holding onto the same dream as she was–that she would be the youngest victor ever. 

“Stan,” Nep said, and Stan almost jumped. “Remember what we talked about?”

“My ne’er-do-well self?” Stan asked, and Nep nodded. “Right, got it. Um. Cool.”

Nep frowned, maybe hearing something in Stan’s voice that he himself had yet to identify. He nodded something at Darlene’s stylist, and the stylist pulled her off to the side, fussing with her hair. “You alright?” Nep asked Stan, lowering his voice.

“Yeah,” Stan said, and his voice sounded high-pitched. “Peachy.”

“Stan,” Nep said. “I’m on your side. I’m one of the only people in this godforsaken place that’s truly on your side. What’s wrong?”

Stan swallowed, suddenly feeling dangerously close to breaking. “I-I dunno if I can do this,” he whispered, wobbly. “It’s…it’s easy when no one’s directly looking at me, but I’ve seen the interviews, I know what it’s like. I don’t want to talk about Ford, I don’t want to talk about home, I don’t want-”

“Okay, okay,” Nep said, putting his hand on Stan’s shoulder. He was missing his pinky, which was strange, because he hadn’t lost it in the games. “Okay, deep breath. I know. Like I said, this is the worst part.”

“Second worst part,” Stan said. “You know, the games.”

Nep smiled thinly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Shandra Jimenez is…she’s an interviewer. She’s going to ask those questions. The ones you don't want her too. That’s her job. And it’s a shitty one.”

Stan looked at Carla, suddenly nervous that Nep might have said something dangerous. But she smiled in agreement.

“She enjoys this, breaking down the weaker tributes,” Carla said. “But she doesn’t think you’re weak. She’s going to let you do this over the top persona you’ve been crafting because she likes it as much as everyone else.”

“Exactly,” Nep nodded. “Go with that. Just pretend it’s me or Carla you’re talking to. Not the whole Capitol. Play a role. That’s all this is, after all. A role. And that role might keep you alive.”

Please, Stan thought, almost amused. This idiot doesn’t even know he’s talking to a dead man.

But Nep had been kind. He had held Darlene’s hand when she stepped off the Capitol train and was failing in her attempts to not be scared. He had promised Stan that the first chance he got, he was going to find Ford and do everything he could to keep him out of trouble. He had been nice to the other mentors, who each had an exhausted look in their eyes as they marched their pigs to the slaughterhouse, even as other Career tributes sneered at him. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with a doomed and hopeless tribute. 

Stan nodded. “...okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Nep nodded once, tense, and Stan realized abruptly that there had been no winners from District 4 since Nep. They had all gotten pretty far, but were the first to go when the Careers inevitably turned on each other. Maybe he was imagining Stan’s grisly death now. The life of a victor suddenly seemed a lot less glamorous. 

“You’re going to do great,” Nep said. “Everybody already loves you.”

That seemed a bit silly and untrue, and Stan was already turning that final encouragement over and over in his head as he waited next to Darlene for the interview. Most of the tributes were silent and pale, staring at the ground or whispering to their district mates. Darlene was trying to make nice with the other Careers, far older than her and looking at her like she was a particularly feisty kitten. 

“Quit it,” Stan whispered to her, unable to watch the boy from District 1 barely conceal a laugh as Darlene bragged about her spear skills. “You’re making yourself a target.”

She glared at him, hostile and looking exactly like her brother. “At least I’m trying!” She hissed. “What are you doing? Moping?”

“I’m strategizing,” Stan said, and Darlene rolled her eyes. 

“My brother says you’re an idiot who doesn’t know a net from a knife,” she said, folding her arms.

“Yeah well, your brother still does the ‘L’ trick to figure out his right from his left,” Stan snapped, exhausted. “So there.”

Darlene opened her mouth, probably to argue more, but then paused, noticing something behind Stan. “Uh oh. Got a crier.”

Stan heard soft sniffling, and looked back to see a little boy, about Darlene’s age but no doubt half her physical strength, crying desperately, apparently unable to take the stress anymore. By Stan’s count, he looked to be in District 10. He was in a bright red suit, tears dripping from his ears, desperately trying to reign them in.

His district mate, an older girl with wild dark hair mostly concealed by a red silk scarf, was kneeling next to him, looking nervous. “Stop crying,” he heard her say, in a fervent and distinctly uncomforting sort of way, but he couldn’t really blame her. “Stop crying, they’ll see.”

“I’m trying,” the little boy said, hiccuping and only working himself up more. “I’m trying, I’m trying, Emma May, I wanna go home–”

Emma May’s ears were inflamed around her drop earrings, and Stan wondered if she had been forced to pierce her ears right before the interview. Her dress was bright red, flowing around her like a slit throat.

Stan saw a few Capitol camera people perk up at the sound of muffled sobs, and whisper to each other. Stan’s heart dropped. Crying was bad enough when you were reaped. But crying now, so close to the interview? Someone would whisper it in that witch’s ear onstage, and she would bring it up, goading the tribute to see if they would have another meltdown.

Darlene tutted something disapproving, and Emma May looked panicked, trying to shield the little boy with her body. The tributes from the lower districts looked sympathetic, but no one made a move to help. Stan could hardly blame them. 

The Careers looked back, starting to get curious, and Stan could bear it no longer.

“Gotta piss!” He said loudly, stepping out of line. “I’ll be right back, just give me a second-”

“Get back in line,” a Peacekeeper growled, and all eyes were on Stan. All cameras too. 

“What, a man can’t piss?” Stan asked. “Thirty seconds in the bathroom, that’s all I ask. I won’t even wash my hands.”

Stan heard a few younger tributes giggle, and he grinned, playing it up. Nep wanted a show? He’d get a pre-show too. 

“Line,” the Peacekeeper growled, unamused. 

“I can even go in a corner real quick,” Stan said. “I mean, I’ve seen your buddies doing the same thing–”

The Peacekeeper drew a baton, and Stan backed away, hands up in surrender. He certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those again. “Okay, okay! If I piss my pants onstage, it’s on you.”

He stepped back in line next to Darlene with an easy smile. She looked at him like he was crazy. “What was that?!” 

“Nothing,” Stan said, glancing back in line. The extra time had given the boy a chance to get a hold of himself, and while his face was ruddy, it should clear up by the time it was his turn onstage. Stan locked eyes with Emma May, and gave her a thumbs up with a smile. She looked perplexed, and glared back at him, suspicious.

“What was that?!” Darlene demanded again.

Stan shrugged, and she scowled. “You idiot. You can’t be making nice with lower districts, they’re always the first to go! You couldn’t do much worse than 10 either, even the 12s look stocky this year at least. If you don’t start making allies, you’ll be out faster than you can blink–”

“I’m not here to win,” Stan said, and then blinked. That was the first time he had said it out loud.

Darlene blinked, looking shocked. “What? But–”

“I’m here to play,” Stan said, falling back onto an easy smile, even if it felt plastic now. “That’s all a game is, right? Let’s try to have some fun with it.”

Darlene stared at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. He felt like it. “...whatever,” she decided. “Just…just don’t get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stan muttered, and then the crowd outside, awaiting their final words, erupted in applause as Shandra Jimenez walked out onstage, grinning and waving at the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she crowed. “Happy Hunger Games!”

“Showtime,” Darlene said quietly, and for once, Stan agreed.

All in all, District 4 was probably one of the best places to be when it came to the interviews. 

Stan was far enough back in line where he didn’t have to shoulder the monumental task of being one of the first tributes to face Jimenez and the entirety of Panem, but he was close enough to the front where the moneymakers wouldn’t become bored, and they would remember him if he made a big enough splash. Enough time to learn from the mistakes of his fellow tributes without stewing in nerves.

Not that there were many mistakes. The Careers from 1 and 2 had apparently been given media training, because they smiled and laughed with Jimenez without ever allowing the joke to be on them. They chatted without coming off as unserious, made threats to their fellow tributes that they could back up, and seemed almost good enough to be Capitol. Almost. Stan could see the edge on Jimenez, the tightening of her smile when the tributes tried to get too cozy. No matter what, they were still district trash. Distract trash that had been gussied up, but a polish turd was still a turd.

The District 1 boy in particular–Preston, Stan though his name was–was especially annoying. He had been the one laughing at Darlene. Stan already found him extremely grating.

By the time they dropped to 3, the difference between the Careers and the rest of the districts made itself apparent. For kids from 3, a notoriously weedy bunch due to a lifetime of bending over microchips in dusty sweatshops, they weren’t too bad looking. Maybe they hauled cargo, Stan didn’t know, but they were older and looked like they might get a few good hits in before they were taken down. Ada and Coil, Stan was pretty sure their names were.

But they were scared, even though they tried to hide it. Stan could see it in their eyes. They knew what awaited them in the games, and it struck them nearly insane with fear. But they answered their questions meekly, even as Ada picked at her painted nails and Coil kept looking around like a trapped bird.

It was funny, really, how Ford had complained that he should have been born in District 3. Stan, for his part, couldn’t imagine anything other than the coast. Life in 4 could be miserable, but a lifetime of painstakingly putting computers and heat-seeking missiles together as you breathed in silica seemed even more miserable. Coil was already clearly trying to hide a cough. 

“Let’s give him a hand, folks!” Jimenez said, and Coil walked offstage, clearly motioned over by his mentor. “And now, let’s get back to our final set of Careers. Everyone give a warm welcome to Darlene Crampelter of District 4!”

Darlene flashed Stan a winning smile, unafraid, and bounced up to the stage, her curls practically floating, gleeful and chomping at the bit to spill blood. The crowd roared, and Darlene waved to them, perfectly lady-like. To her credit, Stan couldn’t tell if she was truly that unafraid or just hiding her nerves extremely well. It could be either. He hoped it was the second, surely she wasn’t that stupid.

“Well, my dear,” Jimenez said as Darlene sat down. “You’ve had quite the journey. Your district has been struggling to pull in volunteers for the past few years, but now we have two! And you volunteered before the name was even finished being called! And not to mention, you are the youngest tribute in this year’s games!”

Darlene smiled. “I just couldn’t wait, I suppose. Can you blame me?”

“How do you like the Capitol, sweetie?” Jimenez cooed, and Darlene’s smile tightened slightly at being treated like a child.

“Oh, it’s dazzling,” she said. “You know, my grandfather visited the Capitol on business when he wasn’t much older than me. He used to tell me and my brother stories. He said that one day, we’d see it, and one day we might even live there.”

The crowd murmured in surprise, and though Stan didn’t doubt her story, he instantly winced. Darlene smiled, unaware of her faux pas, perhaps thinking everyone was quite impressed with her. But there was no admiration, only disgust. District trash, getting too big for her britches, thinks she’s one of us instead of an animal that we caged and then released to watch it die.

Jimenez stiffened, and leaned forward. She looked like a smiling shark. Stan had seen a few in his time. “And you’re not frightened to be the youngest tribute?” Jimenez asked. “Historically, anyone younger than fifteen doesn’t last long.”

Darlene scowled, straightening up. “I’m not afraid of anything, I–”

“RAH!” Jimenez said, jerking forward like she was about to lunge. Darlene flinched back on instinct, her eyes wide and confused at the sudden false attack. The audience roared with laughter, and Jimenez joined them. “Maybe you’re a little bit frightened, sweetie!”

Darlene blinked once, twice, and then realized the joke was on her. Her face flushed bright red, which only made the audience laugh harder. “That’s not fair, you don’t–”

“Oh, this is the games!” Jimenez cackled. “Fair doesn’t have much to do with it, seems like the odds might not be in this particular Career’s favor this year! Maybe you should have waited to see who was going to volunteer before you did it, right?”

Darlene tried to argue, but her words were lost among the shrieking hordes, jeering and finding her impending death absolutely hilarious. Something changed on Darlene’s face, a crack in her facade unlike anything Stan had seen before. She had been overwhelmed and frightened before, but that had been because she had stage fright, or was nervous about the Capitol’s over-the-top presence. Now, though, the crack was something deeper. A crack that made her realize that she was far deeper than she thought, and these people were not her friends. They weren’t even her enemies, not really. They didn’t give a shit about her. Stan didn’t think she had ever been faced with such indifference before.

Jimenez, maybe sensing that Darlene wasn’t going to give any more good content, spent the rest of the interview poking fun at her, asking her if she still smelled like fish, wondering aloud if District 4 was really Career material if this was the best they could offer. Finally, the bell chimed, and Jimenez smiled like they were great friends, shooing Darlene away. “That’s all the time we have for today, sweetie, good luck! Everyone clap for our youngest and, ah, bravest tribute!”

The audience erupted into raucous laughter, and Darlene flinched again. Stan saw Nep standing in the wings of the stage, frantically motioning for her to come offstage to him. After a long moment, she stood, head hung low, practically sprinting offstage to get to Nep. He tried to hug her, and she pushed him off.

“And next up, our second volunteer from 4,” Jimenez said. “Everyone please give it up for Stanley Pines!”

The crowd began to cheer, and Stan’s legs began to move on their own accord, carrying him up to the stage. He saw Carla in the front row, and she gave him a thumbs up, motioning for him to smile.

Something about seeing her there snapped Stan into performance mode. Nep said they needed a show. Fine. They were going to get a show. 

He grinned, cocky and relaxed, throwing out a far more exaggerated wave than Darlene had, unrestrained. The crowd went wild. Stan sat down in the chair, winking at Jimenez. She looked surprised, but didn’t comment on it. 

“So, our second volunteer,” she said. “And for your twin brother no less! Tell me, what was that like?”

Oh no. Knowing they were going to ask about that didn’t make hearing it any easier. “Well,” Stan said, with a shrug and a smile, hoping it still looked real. “When you’re a twin, you gotta share everything, you know? Birthdays, toys, achievements. Sometimes you want to strike out, be your own man, you know? Couldn’t let my nerd brother have all the glory.”

He found a camera and winked at it. “Hey, Ford, how’s it feel to be doing my chores? I’m living it up at the Capitol!”

The crowd cheered, and Jimenez laughed. “So how do you like the Capitol, then?”

She was trying to trip him up, get him to make the same mistakes that Darlene had. “Oh, man,” Stan said. “Incredible, it’s just incredible. You know I’ve never had turkey before? And on the train up here, the first thing I get is a turkey sandwich. You people have everything! Incredible!”

“You eat a lot of fish then?” Jimenez asked.

“Eat so much I’m probably half fish,” Stan said, and leaned forward. “How’s my breath?”

The crowd cackled, and Jimenez joined them. “Oh, just fine, Stanley, I promise.”

“Stan’s fine,” Stan said, and threw an easy grin at the audience. They whooped. “Horses too, never seen a horse before, and now I got to go right up to one and pet it.”

“They don’t have horses in 4?” Jimenez asked.

“What’s a horse gonna do, Shandra?” Stan asked, taking a risk with a first name. “Pull a cart through the ocean?”

The audience laughed, their biggest reaction yet. Jimenez looked slightly annoyed, but didn’t try to trap him or humiliate him. “So, how’d you like the horses?” 

“Oh, loved them,” Stan said, and tried to imagine he was talking to Ford. He would have loved the horses. He would have loved most of the Capitol if not for them wanting him dead. “It’s…their noses are like petting velvet, but their whiskers kinda feel like cat whiskers, you know? When I win, I want one of them in Victor’s Village. In my house. It can just walk around.”

“When you win?” Jimenez asked. “Awfully confident. What’s your strategy? Sources tell me that you may be from 4, but you’re not strictly Career trained, are you?”

There it was. She was trying to psych him out. Stan smiled back, unafraid. It wasn't like he meant any of it anyway. “I wouldn’t count anyone out of this game, Shandra. There’s a good crop this year, tell you that, and I gotta say I respect the competition. But I’m strong. I’m a heavy hitter. I’m not afraid to take a few blows. I’m a boxer, boxers gotta learn how to get hit and get back up. That’s me. I get back up. You don’t have any idea how valuable that skill is. Our strongest traits might not be the ones you see immediately. You know that, right? You’ve been doing this for, oh, a hundred years?”

The crowd howled, and Jimenez’s smile twitched. “Well, Stan–”

“And by the way,” Stan said, on a roll now. “By the way, you can’t count Darlene out either. What’d you expect, someone’s not gonna jump if you come at them? You’re lucky she didn’t punch you in the throat, that girl scares me. She's my biggest competition by far, I’m real lucky we’re district mates and she probably won’t go for me immediately.”

Jimenez’s face looked tight. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, so don’t tell me how to do mine.”

“Maybe if you did your job right I wouldn’t have to,” Stan said, and then instantly regretted saying it.

The crowd ‘ooh-ed’ appreciatively, and the bell sounded. Jimenez smiled, the shark look back. “Well, I suppose that’s all the time we have for today. I’d wish you luck, Stan, but it doesn’t seem like you need it.”

She didn’t implore the audience to cheer for Stan, but they did it anyway, whooping and hollering like he was the cure to all their ills. He winked again, and heard some more cheers and shrieks. It made him a little sick, but it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like he would ever see these people again. He was a dead man already.

Nep was still dealing with Darlene when he stepped offstage, and she was speaking quickly, almost nonsensically, and Nep was struggling to hide her from the camera. 

“My cat,” Darlene said, almost feverish. She was shaking, and Nep was desperately trying to calm her down. The cameras were sweeping the area like buzzards, looking for reactions. “My cat, h-he’s at home, I need to go home, no one will take care of him–”

“You think your dumb brother’s not gonna watch him?” Stan asked, and Darlene focused on him. He couldn't get her home, but he might be able to keep her from panicking too badly. It was oddly scary to see her so openly frightened. “Please, I bet that mangy thing is sleeping on his bed right now. You need to worry that he's gonna eat the cat food and not leave any for the damn cat.”

Darlene blinked, snapped out of her spiral, and glared at Stan. “I bet you already know what cat food tastes like,” she sneered, and Nep sent Stan a grateful look.

“You,” Nep said to him. “Just love to toe the line.”

The weight of what he had been saying, in front of all of Panem, crashed down on Stan. “Is…” he swallowed. “Am I going to get in trouble? Did I put Ford in danger?!”

Nep shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was a risk, but it paid off. It’s too much trouble to replace you now, and they would punish you for that kind of trangression. Not your family.”

“Okay,” Stan nodded, uneasy. “O-okay.”

Nep smiled at him, reaching forward to pat Stan on the shoulder. “You did good,” he said. “I’m proud of you. It’s not easy, but you were a pro up there.”

In spite of everything, Stan’s heart swelled at the praise. “...thanks,” he said. “Can we, um. Get out of these costumes?”

“It itches,” Darlene agreed, still looking shaken. Nep subtly drew her close, arm around her shoulder, and she didn’t pull away this time. 

“Alright,” Nep said, looking relieved to get out of there. “Let’s see what we can do about a change and a snack.”

By the time Stan was in more comfortable clothes, all of Carla’s hard work scrubbed off his face, the girl from 10 was on stage, looking bored with Jimenez’s antics.

“Any family watching back home?” Jimenez asked, prodding at her.

The girl, Emma May, shook her head stiffly. “My mama and daddy died some time ago. It’s been just me for a while. Don’t got no one waiting on me at home.”

“No one?” Jimenez asked, leaning forward, searching for a crack to spring upon. “There’s rumors that–”

“Just rumors, nothing more,” Emma May said placidly. “You oughta know about rumors, Miss Jimenez. Why, if I believed every rumor I ever heard about you, I bet it would paint quite the unflattering portrait.”

The audience tittered, slightly less entertained when District 10 trash was poking at their beloved host, but amused all the same. Jimenez almost looked exhausted by this routine. Stan wondered if other tributes had had the courage to bite back at her. He hoped so.

“What makes you think you can win?” Jimenez asked. “Especially with no one back home rooting for you.”

Emma May’s face pinched, and for a second Stan thought she was done for, but she smoothed her skirt out. “I’m fighting for myself, and that’s enough. And I’m from 10. That ain’t a weakness, it’s a strength. We grow up ‘round life and death. I seen death a million times over before I was able to speak. We kill, not ‘cause we wanna, but ‘cause it’s our job. I seen blood, I seen guts, I seen bone marrow cracked open and spilled out for the cattle dogs to lick up. I've killed animals, for mercy, food, or ‘cause they was coming at me. And people are just a different type of animal. I ain’t scared to kill. I’m only scared to die. And a cornered, scared animal is the most dangerous type.”

Jimenez blinked, maybe not expecting that answer. Stan certainly didn’t, and the crowd whispered nervously. 

Emma May looked sharply at the camera, sensing that she had the floor completely. “And if you wanna talk about rumors,” she said. “Why don’t you show the unedited footage of my reaping–”

The bell sounded abruptly, though Stan was pretty sure she had about thirty seconds left on the interview. “That’s all our time!” Jimenez said quickly. “Thank you for joining us, Emma May Dixon!”

Emma May frowned, but did not argue. Almost serene, she stood up and walked off the stage. They clapped, but no one cheered. 

Stan got the sense they were afraid.

*** *** ***

Nep was about to leave Stan and Darlene’s cozy prison cell disguised as an apartment for the day when Stan stopped him, clutching six envelopes. 

“Stan?” Nep asked, looking perplexed. “You’ll want to at least try to get some sleep, the games are tomorrow–”

“Can you get to District 4 if you took a train right now?” Stan asked.

Nep blinked. “I…probably? It’d be an all-night train, for sure, I’d get there real early. I don’t think I’m technically supposed to leave though.”

“Will you get in trouble for it?” Stan asked. 

Nep paused, considering it. “...no, I don’t think so. Why–”

Stan shoved the envelopes into Nep’s hand. “I need you to take these to my family.”

Nep blinked. “What? But-”

“There’s one for everyone,” Stan said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Ma and Pa, Shermie and his wife and kid, Ford of course–”

“Stan,” Nep said slowly. “If I leave, I won’t be able to see you off tomorrow before you go into the games. I know Darlene doesn’t care, but I figured you would–”

“I want them to have these before I go,” Stan said. “I…I asked them not to watch me.”

Nep looked even more confused, and then he frowned. “...you don’t think you can win.”

Stan said nothing. 

“Why…?” Nep shook his head. “Stan…”

“I’m not gonna,” Stan gestured vaguely. “You know, I’m not gonna step off the platform before the countdown finishes. I won’t seek out the Careers or anything like that. But I won’t…I can’t do it, Nep, I can’t kill someone.”

“I didn’t think I could either,” Nep said, and Stan shook his head.

“It’s not that, I…I can laugh and joke, right? Sure, whatever, but I didn’t come here because I thought I could win. I came here because I knew Ford would lose. And I…I couldn’t let that happen. I just couldn’t,” Stan whispered. “And I…I don’t want him to watch me die.”

“You’re not going to–” Nep started, and then realized he couldn’t make that promise. “Don’t count yourself out.”

“I don’t want to be in at all,” Stan said. “I don’t want–I don’t want to play at all. I just…”

Stan swallowed hard, suddenly dangerously close to crying. “...I’m tired, Nep. I just want this to be over.”

Nep said nothing for a long moment, and then moved forward suddenly, hugging Stan tightly.

It was like the floodgates burst open. 

Stan choked once, twice, and then wrapped his arms around Nep tightly, unable to hold back his sobs, terrified and exhausted in equal measures. He never thought he would miss home this badly. He had spent most of his life wanting to take to the ocean and see what lay beyond Panem. But now there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be back in a bed that was too small for him, hearing the ocean whisper outside his window, Ford in the bunk above him.

“I’m sorry,” Nep whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Stan wondered if he had grieved for every tribute he had waved goodbye too. It seemed likely. Nep was too soft to be a mentor. And yet they kept parading him out. 

“I won’t be able to see you off,” Nep said again, pulling back to brush some hair out of Stan’s eyes.

“That’s okay,” Stan choked, though it didn’t feel okay. “I just…I want them to have it before it starts. Please.”

“...okay,” Nep said, taking the envelopes. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Stan said, relieved. 

“...good luck, Stan,” Nep said. “You’re a good kid.”

And when Nep said it, Stan could almost believe it.

*** *** ***

There was someone walking up to Shermie’s house, Ford realized, as he walked back there.

He had been living with Shermie since Stan was dragged away, unable to take Ma and Pa’s different approaches to grief. Ma spent her days tirelessly cleaning the house, buzzing with a strange and stressful energy, and Pa shut down entirely. He wasn’t working, either in fishing or his black market pawn shop he ran from the basement. 

Shermie, at least, had to pretend to be functional. He had a wife and baby to look after, and he had been unable to refuse Ford’s pleas to sleep on his couch, just for a little bit. Just until something changed.

Ford made himself useful. He helped Nora around the house, went with Shermie to help on the boats, even though he was terrible at it. He watched the baby, and found himself absurdly jealous that his nephew was perfectly cheerful, completely unaware of the horror show playing out within his family. 

Last night, Ford and Shermie had gotten in a fight over something or other, tensions high and everyone already grieving. Ford had taken it too far, and yelled at Shermie for how cruel he was to have a baby, to bring another kid into this goddamn world that needed more blood to oil their machine.

Shermie had gone quiet, and Ford’s face had burned. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“Take a walk,” Shermie said. “Go cool off before we both say something else we regret.”

And Ford had taken that as an invitation to walk around 4 all night, seething and panicked the entire time. 

And now there was a man outside Shermie’s house, hours before Stan was set to be released in the arena, to kill and be killed.

He looked nondescript, with thick black hair that hung just above his chin, tan skin and dark eyes. He was wearing long sleeves, even in the hot July early morning, but when he saw Ford, he perked up and waved. 

Ford jogged forward, suddenly recognizing him. The mentor for this year, Neptune Garza, smiling nervously like he thought he might be attacked. “You must be Stanford,” Neptune said, nodding. “It’s nice to officially meet.”

“Mr. Garza,” Ford said, feeling sick. “I-is Stanley alright, why are you here–?!”

“Stan’s fine,” Neptune said. “You can call me Nep. Everyone does. Hey, your brother wasn’t lying about the six fingers.”

Ford frowned, but Nep smiled, holding up one of his hands. The pinky was missing. “Ever consider donation?”

“Um,” Ford said.

“Sorry, people keep telling me I’m not funny, I should listen to them,” Nep said. “He wanted me to give you this.”

He extended a hand out to Ford, holding a thick envelope. Ford took his, seeing his name on the front in Stan’s handwriting. “W-what’s this?” 

“A letter,” Nep said. “He has them for everyone in your family. He wanted me to deliver them in person, before the games started.”

“Why?” Ford asked. Nep shrugged.

Ford stared at the letter, tracing his name with his finger. A flash of anger went through him, sudden and sharp. “How could you just let this happen?”

Nep looked confused. “What?”

“How could you just let this happen?!” Ford demanded. “Year after year, sending people to their deaths. And you’re okay with it? You just let them kill people?! You’re going to let them kill my brother! You’re going to let them murder him! We need to do something, we have to do something, we have to stop them-!”

Nep suddenly covered Ford’s mouth with his hand, looking panicked. Ford tried to smack his hand away, but Nep held fast. “What the hell’s the matter with you?!” He demanded. “Are you crazy?! You don’t know a damn thing about what happens to you when you speak like that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Your family?! Stan?!”

Ford managed to smack Nep hand away, glaring at him. Nep glared back, and held up his hand with the missing pinky. “This is the least of their punishments. They go for the people you love. They pick apart your head, disfigure you, turn you into their lapdog. You want to help your brother? You shut up and keep your head down.”

Ford blinked, startled. Nep looked surprised with himself after a moment too, and hid his hand behind his back. “...what…” Ford started, and then re-gathered his courage. “What happened?”

Nep shrugged, eyes distant. “...I said no to something I shouldn’t have, when I was around your age. A lot of people paid the price.”

“But…” Ford said. “You were a Victor then. They leave you alone after you win.”

Nep shook his head. “They bring me out every year, to parade me around so I can watch my tributes die. That’s the rest of my punishment. They’ve made a damn good lapdog out of me. You don't say no to the Capitol. I learned that the hard way.”

“...it’s supposed to be over,” Ford said weakly. 

Nep smiled, and it reminded Ford of a grinning skull. “My games were almost a decade ago,” Nep said. “I’m still there. Every night, I’m back. Every night I’m surrounded by people who want me dead, people who are dying, and a gleeful audience who’d toss me into hell if they thought it might stave off boredom. I never left. I’m still there, fighting, cold, and terrified.”

Ford felt sick. “Why…why are you telling me this?”

“Because whether your brother wins or not,” Nep said. “He’s gone. He’s already dead in that arena. And if he survives, the version of him that comes home will be a stranger. You’ll still have to grieve him. And the faster you come to terms with that, the easier this will be for you. Trust me. I’ve seen it before.”

“That’s not true,” Ford said weakly. “You haven’t seen anyone win.”

“I’ve seen others win,” Nep said. “I’ve seen myself win. It’s not worth much. Sometimes it just takes away whatever you’re fighting for. So don’t be the thing that makes them take whatever he has. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Ford said. “And I can’t…I can’t. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I can’t try to convince our neighbors to send him sponsorships because that’s all they can do. I can’t watch TV and just…just watch them die. I have to do something. I have to. It’ll kill me, Nep, watching this helplessly, it really will.”

Nep said nothing, looking nervous. Even in the early morning, he already looked uncomfortable in long sleeves. “...there’s a rumor,” he said, and then shut his mouth, looking tense.

Ford stepped forward. “...a rumor?”

“...yes,” Nep said, looking reluctant. “I heard it some time ago, and then never again. That…that District 13 is still alive.”

Ford blinked. “They…they bombed 13 into oblivion before the Capitol was even the Capitol.”

“Yes,” Nep said, nodding. “So it’s just a rumor. A rumor that they retreated underground and formed a resistance. A rumor that they’re waiting for the right time to strike, watching year after year. A rumor that…that they live north, in the wilds, in the wastelands. Dangerous to set out there alone. Not even because the Capitol will kill you and everyone you love, though they will. But there’s abandoned mutts out there, wild beasts, and the people who live there are not…friendly to outsiders. But you never, ever heard that from me. Alright?”

Ford nodded fervently, something like hope swelling up in his chest. “Alright.”

They stood there in silence for a minute, and then Nep offered three more letters to Ford. “I’ve already placed the ones for your parents in their mailbox. Hand these to the rest of your family?”

“I will,” Ford said, taking the envelopes. He paused. “...do you think Stan can win?”

“...it doesn’t matter what I think,” Nep said. “What matters is if he thinks he can.”

*** *** ***

Ford,

Sorry to make fun of you on live television. I figured I could get one dig in. I’m not really that sorry.

I AM sorry for breaking your project. I know you don’t believe me, but I want you to know it was an accident. I would never do that to you, no matter how afraid I was of being left behind. I guess I can’t really blame you for wanting to do it. I don’t know if Pa’s plan of moving up through districts was even possible, but you deserved to try. If anyone deserved it, it would be you. And I spoiled that for you.

I don’t regret volunteering. I never did for one moment. I would have done it a million times over to keep you from all this. I’m sure you’ve seen it on TV by now. Trust me, I know I make it look easy, but it’s not. I miss home. I miss the ocean. I miss hearing Ma spouting bullshit to her clients. I even miss the smell of fish. It’s crazy what things make you homesick. Most of all, I miss you. I think I always knew it would be the case.

I’m okay, though. Nep’s cool, and Darlene’s not as obnoxious as I thought she would be. There’s a makeup artist named Carla who’s been assigned to me, and she’s pretty cool too. I think it’s some kind of Capitol University assignment, but she’s treating me like a person, which is nice. I really don’t want you to worry too much.

Ford, you’re my best friend in the whole world, the best brother someone could ever hope for. I know we’ve been in a bad place this year, and I wish I could have fixed it. But I don’t hate you for it. I was never even angry at you for it. I know this letter isn’t the same as me saying things face to face, but I hope it counts for something.

Please don’t watch the games. I know they make you turn on the TV, but don’t look. I know you’ll want to, and you’ll think you’re a terrible person if you don’t watch every awful thing happening. But please. I don’t want you to. Please don’t make yourself watch. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something awful was the last way you remembered me. 

I love you, Sixer. Stay safe. Stay alive. Stay smart. Stay weird.

Your brother,

Stan.

[ticifics]

Alexei Vronsky with a shy wife that can't defend herself? For example if a rude drunk man at a ball insults her and she just stays silent and gets embarrassed?

Tysm in advance if you write this :))

By Your Side

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: You were sure you could handle it. Tonight, you would be the wife he deserved, the woman who could accompany him in a world made of calculated smiles, stunning dresses, and conversations punctuated by champagne glasses. However, reality had proven different. You needed to escape

Warnings: sensitive content, harassment, (a little bit of) violence

A/N: hey dear, I ended up getting a little carried away, I hope I didn't stray from the request - I hope you can enjoy reading <333

You were sure you could handle it. Since Alexei had taken your hand to cross the grand hall, murmuring reassuring words while the gazes turned towards you both, you kept repeating to yourself that it was just one night. A night to prove to yourself that you were worthy of him. Alexei was a man admired by all—a man of presence, a man with history. And you? You felt small, almost insignificant. But not tonight. Tonight, you would be the wife he deserved, the woman who could accompany him in a world made of calculated smiles, stunning dresses, and conversations punctuated by champagne glasses.

However, reality had proven different. The hall was suffocating, a cathedral of incessant murmurs and loud laughter that seemed to bounce off the golden walls. Women danced in dresses as voluminous as they were oppressive, and the men, in their uniforms and coats, moved like pieces on a chessboard. Every look seemed to evaluate you, every whisper sounded like a judgment.

You needed to escape it all, but you didn’t want to worry Alexei, and he seemed to be enjoying himself with his friends. So you decided to step away, just for a bit, you'd be back in the hall before anyone noticed your absence.

In the garden, the fresh air was an immediate relief. The stars shone like distant lamps in the dark sky, and the sound of the music was muffled by the high walls of the palace. You took a deep breath, feeling your lungs expand, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen.

That’s when he appeared. You didn’t see him immediately, only hearing irregular footsteps on the gravel. You turned and found him stumbling toward you. Tall, disheveled, he seemed to have drunk more than he should have.

"Look who we have here," he said, his voice slurred and dripping with mockery. You tried to step back, your heart racing, but he was already too close.

"Excuse me, sir. I was just leaving." Your voice was low, almost inaudible.

He laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. "Excuse me? A woman like you apologizing? Don’t make me laugh."

You tried to walk around him, but he stretched his arm, blocking your path. "Where are you rushing off to? Don’t be so ungrateful. A man talks to you, and you want to run away?"

"Please, I need to go back to the ball." The tension in your voice was clear, and your trembling hands gripped the edge of your dress as if it could give you some control.

"Back to the ball?" He moved closer, his warm, alcohol-laced breath reaching you. "Why don’t you stay here and keep me company? Or do you think you’re above me? A whore like you should know her place."

The word cut like a knife, and you felt your face burn with shame. Fear froze your feet, and all you could do was shake your head, trying to pull away.

Before you could take another step, he grabbed your wrist, squeezing with unreasonable force, pulling a muffled cry of pain from you. Your heart felt like a stone falling freely, sinking deeper with each passing second as you futilely tried to break free. His grip was brutal, his fingers digging into your skin like claws, and his gaze was full of pure disdain.

"I told you to stay," he snarled, moving even closer. His hot breath hit your face, nauseating, and you tried to turn your head, but he held your wrist tighter, as if determined to keep you there forever.

"Please, sir..." Your voice came out almost inaudible, your eyes misting as you stared at the floor. Panic made your legs shake, your mind refused to function. You didn’t know what to do, how to escape.

He laughed, a cruel, cutting sound. "Sir? Now you want to be polite?" The sarcasm dripped from every word. He pulled you closer, forcing your body to press against his. "You think I don’t know what kind of woman you are? Married to a man like Vronsky, parading around, pretending to be something you’re not. I bet you’d love to have me between your legs." He hissed, filling the air around you with poison.

Your body froze. The tears you’d been holding back now threatened to fall. It wasn’t just the physical pain, but the humiliation, the shame that burned your skin like fire. You tried to pull your arm, but it was like it was trapped in a vise.

"Look at me!" He demanded, shaking your wrist with enough force to unbalance you. "You think you’re too good for this? Think you can just ignore me? I’ll teach you to respect a real man!"

Desperation overtook you. The air seemed to be leaving your lungs, and all that was left was a desperate wish to disappear. It was as if a fog had taken over your mind, making everything feel unreal. Stripping you of any reaction.

The man pulled you again, and the shock of the force ripped a sob from your lips. The world seemed small, reduced to that moment of terror. "A woman like you should know her place. Are you listening? I could..."

It was at that moment that a shadow crossed your vision. There was no warning. A firm hand grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him back with enough force to make him stumble. The sound of the impact was drowned out by the drunk man’s surprised scream.

Alexei.

He was there, and you had never seen him like that. His blue eyes, usually soft and filled with warmth, were now as cold as ice. His jaw was clenched, and his body radiated a fury that seemed impossible to contain.

You could barely breathe, still frozen in place, terror eating away at your strength. But then Alexei turned to you, his hardened eyes softening for a moment as they met yours. He took a step forward, completely ignoring the man who was now standing hesitantly.

Alexei's eyes quickly scanned you, taking in every detail. He saw the disheveled dress, strands of hair escaping from the intricate hairstyle. He saw the fresh tears on your face, and the way your hands trembled as you held the hem of your dress.

"Shh, my love," he said, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that contrasted with his rigid posture. He raised a hand, hesitant, as if afraid to touch you and worsen your fragility. "I'm here. You're safe now."

But then he saw it. The mark on your wrist. Red, ugly, beginning to turn into a bruise. His eyes immediately narrowed, and something inside him seemed to break.

"He hurt you." It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a recognition that made his voice almost growl.

You tried to shake your head, the words trapped in your throat, but Alexei was no longer looking at you. He turned back to the man, now completely enraged. His hand still trembled slightly, not from fear, but from pure contained rage.

"You dared to touch my wife," he said, each word dripping with venom. He stepped forward, and the man instinctively recoiled. "You think you can insult and hurt someone who belongs to me?"

"It was an accident, sir," the drunk man tried to stutter, raising his hands in defense. "I didn't mean—"

"Shut up." Alexei moved forward, hitting the man directly on the chin with enough force to make him fall to the ground this time. "If you dare touch her again, I'll kill you. No law, no weapon, not even God himself will stop me."

The man on the ground seemed torn between panic and drunkenness before he got up and fled, but Alexei no longer paid him any attention. He turned back to you, his face still carrying the remnants of an almost uncontrollable fury, but his blue eyes, once so hard, were now desperate, searching for something in yours—a confirmation that you were okay, that nothing was wrong except for the marks on your wrist.

"I shouldn't have left you alone," he murmured, more to himself than to you, but the tone was bitter, filled with self-criticism. He raised his hands to touch your face, hesitating for a brief moment, as if afraid you'd pull away. But when you didn’t, he gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping the tears that streamed down your cheeks.

"You’re shaking," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Shh, my love... it’s over. I promise, it’s over."

You tried to respond, but your throat felt tight, unable to form words. All you could do was look at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, you saw something you had never witnessed before: a mixture of fear and vulnerability hidden beneath all the protective anger.

Alexei took a deep breath, as if trying to gather control. He took your hand carefully, his eyes falling back to the mark on your wrist. His gaze darkened, and you could feel the tension in his body as he gritted his teeth, his jaw slightly trembling.

"He dared to touch you. Hurt you." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but laden with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "I should have..." He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, as if battling words that couldn’t be spoken.

"Alexei..." Your voice came out weaker than you wanted, but it was enough to bring him back. He opened his eyes, and when they met yours, something in his expression softened.

"You’re not going back to that ball," he declared, with a firmness that allowed no argument. "Not after this." He squeezed your hand lightly, as if needing the contact to reassure himself that you were really there, by his side.

"But... what about the princess? What about you?" You finally managed to speak, though your voice was still trembling.

He shook his head. "Princess Betsy can wait, and I don't care what anyone in that ballroom thinks. The only thing that matters is you."

Before you could protest, he slid a hand to your waist, supporting you firmly. "Let’s get out of here," he said. "You need a quiet place, away from everyone. I won’t let you stay here for another second."

Alexei began to lead you away from the garden, each movement carefully controlled, but you could feel the tension still vibrating in him, as though at any moment he might explode again. He suddenly stopped, looking back in the direction where the drunk man had fled.

"I should have finished him," Alexei muttered under his breath, but you squeezed his hand, calling his attention back to you. He looked down, and the anger that had resurged slowly gave way to something more tender.

"Forgive me, my love. I should have been thinking of you." He sighed and resumed leading you away.

When you reached a carriage, he helped you inside, his care so evident it felt suffocating, but comforting at the same time. When you were finally settled, Alexei leaned in toward you, taking your hands again.

“You’re mine. My wife. My life.” The intensity in his voice made your chest tighten. “And I swear, as long as I breathe, no one will ever touch you like that again. I won’t allow it.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against the mark on your wrist, as if trying to erase the pain with that gesture. You felt the warmth of the kiss, and something inside you, once so small and frightened, began to unravel under the weight of his protection and love.

“You’re with me now,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet yours once more. “And while you’re with me, no one will hurt you. No one.”

You stared at him in silence, the weight of his words hanging between you like a solemn promise. Your fingers were still intertwined with his, and the warmth of his skin contrasted with the cold that seemed to have settled in your body since that man touched you.

It was as if your mind was lagging, slowly processing everything that had happened. The grabbing, the insults, Alexei’s anger, the way he intervened without hesitation. You blinked a few times, your eyes fixed on his, and finally, you found your voice, though it was barely a whisper.

“I… I was so scared.”

The confession slipped out before you could hold it back, your voice trembling with emotion. Your body began to shake again, as if now, away from immediate danger, the adrenaline had finally worn off.

“Shh,” Alexei murmured, leaning closer. He let go of your hands just to hold your face again, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. “I know. I know, my love. But it’s over. I’m here, and he can’t hurt you. Never again.”

You slowly shook your head, but the tears began to fall before you could control them. “I’m not strong enough, Alexei,” you whispered, shame tinging your voice. “I should have done something, I should’ve…”

“No.” He interrupted, his voice firm but still gentle. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You did nothing wrong. Did you hear me?” He tilted his head, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. “None of this was your fault.”

You breathed deeply, trying to absorb his words, but the guilt still hovered over you like a shadow. “I just… I couldn’t react. I froze. It was like…” You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It was like everything I am disappeared.”

His expression changed, a mixture of pain and tenderness filling his face. “My love,” he said, his voice as soft as a whisper. He sat beside you on the carriage bench, pulling you close. “Listen to me.”

He wrapped you in his arms, his warmth and strength surrounding you completely, like a cocoon of protection. You felt the steady rhythm of his heart against your cheek and closed your eyes, letting that familiar, comforting sensation anchor you.

“You’re everything to me,” he began, his voice low but full of raw emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to fight all the battles on your own. That’s why I’m here. To protect you, to care for you. To be your strength when you can’t find yours.”

You stayed silent, absorbing his words, feeling the sincerity in each one. He continued, his hands gently caressing your back. “I know today was horrible, and I hate that it happened. But know this: you’ll never face something like this alone again. Not while I’m alive.”

Finally, you pulled away just enough to look at him. His eyes were still teary, but there was something more there now — a warmth that began to replace the cold.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured, your voice weak but sincere.

He smiled, a small, sad smile, as he ran his fingers gently through your disheveled hair. “It’s not about knowing what to say. It’s about you. You’re my wife, my heart, my life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

You felt a lump in your throat, but this time, it wasn’t from fear or shame. It was something deeper, a recognition of the absolute and unconditional love he had for you.

“I love you,” you whispered, almost soundlessly, but he heard it.

Alexei tilted his head, pressing a firm, warm kiss to your forehead. “And I love you. More than anything in this world.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with unspoken meanings. He kept holding you, as if the simple act of letting you go would be unbearable.

“Let’s go home,” he said finally, his voice soft but with unshakable determination. “You need rest, and I want you away from here. Tomorrow, we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to go through this again. But for now, I want you to feel safe. I want you to know I’m here.”

You nodded, allowing yourself to be guided by him once more. The weight of the night was still there, but in Alexei’s hands, you found some peace, knowing that with him, there would always be safety.

[thezombieprostitute]

Has TT!Ransom ever had a naughty dream about Bubbles? 🤭

I'm such a sucker for characters having sex dreams about you. 🤭

Tech Tuesday: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: Ransom has some feelings to re-evaluate.

Warnings: Mild smut (dry humping). Please let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

It started innocently enough, you'd stopped by Ransom's cubicle for a quick chat. He'd been so busy lately he hadn't had time to chat with you in the breakroom like usual. He'd told you not to wait up for him and now you'd caught him working late.

But the work had to be done. Not just for his paycheck, either. He needed to prove to himself, to everyone, that he could actually do things. That he wasn't a good-for-nothing spoiled brat. That he wasn't just a freeloader who manipulated his way into getting what he wanted. That he was worthy.

Worthy of what, he still wasn't quite sure. But he needed to prove it.

"Oh wow," you say when he looks up. "You're looking exhausted!"

"I'm feeling exhausted," he retorts. "I can't keep my eyes open but I gotta get this done."

You saunter around his desk and gently pull him away from his computer.

"I think I know something that'll help," you coo in his ear.

His face scrunches in confusion before morphing into a look of surprise as you straddle him.

"What--" You interrupt his protests with a kiss. He doesn't even bother trying to fight it. He leans into your touch, returns your fervor. He's wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long.

As much as he wants to go slow, let you direct the pace, he can't help when his hips start moving. You gasp in surprise and he thinks he has to stop but you start moaning. Ransom's breath hitches and he wraps his arms around you to bring you even closer to him, your clothes the only barrier between you.

Rolling your hips causes Ransom to moan into your mouth and you giggle.

"You're so hard already!" you gasp.

"Feels so good," he breathes. He moves his hands down, grabbing your hips tightly.

He pulls away just a bit, watching your breasts bounce under your blouse. He's tempted to tear the blouse open and get a taste of your breasts, especially as you start whimpering in pleasure.

"I need you," he moans. "Make me feel good, babe."

Your hips move faster and he throws back his head, groaning in pleasure. He's painfully hard now. He needs to cum so bad. You start giving little bites along his exposed neck and he starts chanting, "please, please, please."

"Let go for me," you whisper hoarsely into his ear. He eagerly gives in.

Ransom startles awake as he cums in his shorts.

"Fuck," he groans as he realizes it was a dream. He hasn't had such an intense wet dream since he was a teenager. Yet here he is, laying in his now stained boxers, trying to get his thoughts together.

What the hell is wrong with him? Having sex dreams about his friend? Is it a holdout from his old self, wanting to corrupt the innocent good girl? His dream self didn't even seem to care about your pleasure. God, what if he was the kind of asshole who just wanted what he couldn't have? He'd never be good enough for you so his subconscious wants to take you?

Maybe it's not so complicated. It's been a long time since he got laid, maybe he's just in need of some release and your face was most familiar. He should be grateful the dream wasn't about Jake's wife with how sex dreams can be.

But even as he cleans himself up and gets ready for the day, he can't shake the dream. Maybe he should stay away from you for a bit, look into a dating app. Or just a hookup app. You told him you wanted him to branch out, make more friends.

This isn't quite the same thing, but it is a need that he just can't ask you to help him fill. Sweet, innocent Bubbles who deserves a good man, a knight in shining armor. Not a screw-up like him. Not an asshole who struggled to see humans as people not playthings. Not a cretin like him.

Ransom pulls out his phone and starts looking at possible dating apps. Whatever it takes to keep from tainting you with his...everything.

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Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82; @thiquefunlover63