#because of fucking sanctions. I curse this world

[sidyashchiy-na-plakhe]

Tui has an official drawing contest, but it's only for underage American students. And I don't fit any of the criteria...

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I kriffing love in-universe curses.

I've been thinking about it since I saw this poll (you should go vote & reblog!), but I didn't want to wax philosophical on somebody else's post and derail the conversation.

From "I'll see you in hell" to "Dank farrik," Star Wars has a long and rich history of swearing, sometimes using real-world curses and sometimes the made-up ones. If you're familiar with my fics, you'll know that I make liberal use of both, and there are a few reasons why.

First of all, I do think that real-world curses pack more of a punch, so I tend to reserve them for lines that I want to have more of an impact. But also, I think a good balance helps keep my fics from veering into farcical territory, unless the farce is the point.

That said? Star Wars swears are just kriffing fun. They can bring levity to a scene that might be in danger of collapsing under its own karking weight. And, fierfek, they give me more options! After all, how many times can I use the word fuck in a single paragraph? A lot, the answer is a lot.

That being said, not everyone is as voracious a cursing enthusiast as I am, and in-universe swears allow writers who are uncomfortable using real-world curses to have the same emotional impact without needing to use language that makes them personally uncomfortable.

But most importantly, in-universe swearing is a fantastic world-building tool that's easy to integrate and lets readers know right away:

Hey. We're in a galaxy far, far away.

Like using "conservator" instead of "refrigerator," or "cyar'ika" instead of "darling," or "protatoes" instead of "potatoes" (in defiance of both my spell-checker and the wisdom of Samwise Gamgee), in-universe curses like kriff, kark, karabast, fierfek, dank farrik, stars! Holy Force! and the Boba-sanctioned scughole can serve as an easy and entertaining shorthand that helps a fic be more immersive and true to the universe.

So I don't know about you, but I'm going to pour a glass of spotchka and raise a toast to the beloved and time-honored convention of kriffing up my fics.

Dank farrik! Let's have a taglist, because why not?

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper

[alexkaneinq]

Cultist's Gamble: Round 8

Kasper doesn't think that he can say that any time he's spent back in the city has been particularly relaxing, but he absolutely isn't about to say that now. The louder voices calling for a hunt have softened as the Were moved on from the city's edge as a hunting ground, but they haven't died out completely. Kasper wonders if his cult is at all responsible for this. 

Their magic works in the shadows, pilfering the graves of gods that the current pantheon killed to take their places. That cycle of violence in the heavens has gone on for millennia, but this pantheon has only been in power for eight mortal centuries. Through those centuries, they influenced their world away from magic not sanctioned by themselves. They want people to have to beg them to do the feats that the educated, the devoted, and the naturally talented can perform. His cult sinks their hands into the decay and uses what they find crawling along the putrefied flesh and make their own spells. They do so out of the gods' sight, but there are other ways for them to notice the disturbance. It's entirely possible that the faithful are starting to feel this itch to hunt down any possible heretics because the gods themselves are starting to feel that there is something wrong as well. 

Still, when he had been worried about being observed or approached by someone when he only wanted to stay under the radar, he had been expecting it to be Grady who interrupted him. 

"Excuse me?" The man's voice is soft and deep, rumbling in from the doorway as Kasper finishes clearing tables. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he says before he's fully turned to look at him. "Last call was-- oh!" He isn't startled by the wound stitched shut across his face. He's not that shallow, he's more surprised that the man who was attacked by the werewolf is already well enough to be up and walking around. "Oh, well, I'd say 'welcome back' but I doubt you remember anything from your first visit." 

"You were here?" His tone stays soft as he steps just inside of the threshold so the door can shut behind him. 

"I was. It was lucky that Dr. Fernward was here. He and Miss Bursk did everything they could to save your life." 

"...Lucky." The man says without much inflection. Kasper wasn't paying much attention to his appearance when he was bleeding out on a table, but he looks now. Pale skin, he remembers, though now it's not streaked with blood, clean shaven now, though he wonders how he managed it around the pink line that is carved across his features. That looks far more healed than he would have expected after only a week and a few days, and it's with a sinking in Kasper's gut that makes him realize that must mean that the curse took. It's trying to get his body healthy enough for the next full moon that is only--he usually is more focused on the new moon for his own magic and it takes him a moment to recall-- three days away? Four? He hopes that the damage to his chest is so severe that he doesn't shift. He doesn't want to have a Were running around in the city causing him problems. His brown hair is short and shaggy, fringe across his forehead and curling around his ears, deep brown eyes peeking out from behind long, thick lashes. His features land somewhere between rugged and handsome, the scar only emphasizing that more, leaving him looking like a painting of an avenging angel. 

"I'm sorry," He refocuses, turning his attention back to his work. "But we are closed for the night. If you want to come back tomorrow--" 

"I'm looking for a server," He says, his tone still neutral. "A man named Kasper Kosk?" 

Of fucking course he is. "What business?" He asks, without looking up, like he's inquiring for someone else. 

"I've been discharged, but my... initial destination is still weeks of travel away from here. Inns are too expensive. But Dr. Fernward told me that the server here lived in an apartment on the edge of town that was cheaper. I was hoping I could trouble him to make an introduction between myself and his landlord." 

"You'd be better off at an inn. There's no hot water and every time a cold wind blows, you'll know it." If Eric sent him his way, it must have been for a reason. He'll have to inquire after it the next time he sees the other man. 

Or maybe doing so would just be his way of confirming to himself that the only reason the vampire would want him on the edge of town, near him, is because he knows the curse took too. Maybe he's hoping that the freshly turned Were attacks him-- but given their association thus far, Kasper thinks it's far more likely that Eric sent this man to him because... he knows that Kasper will kill him before he lets him turn and go on a rampage in the city. Eric doesn't know exactly the kind of magic he practices when so many different forms are illegal, but clearly he thinks whatever he's doing is dangerous enough to trust him to protect them both in a way he wouldn't have been able to if he'd kept the Were at the laboratory. 

"I would rather the apartment, Mr. Kosk."

"Alright. " He agrees without making any more fuss. "I've got to finish wiping down the tables, but once I'm done, we can leave, if you don't mind waiting half an hour or so."

The other man goes and sits at a booth near the door, looking out the window silently as he does so. Kasper finishes what he's been doing, Lonnie having already taken care of the bar and gone back into the kitchen to close things down for the night. 

The werewolf hasn't moved from that spot by the time he's done, but when Kasper comes up to the edge of the table, he stands up silently and follows him out. 

It's very late, and he's not entirely certain if his landlady will be up, but the little apartment only has four units. His and the empty one upstairs, and hers and another neighbor downstairs that he thankfully hasn't ever seen hide or hair of, even if he does have to suffer smelling their cooking which relies far too heavily on boiled sprouts and fish. If her light is on, then the Were can knock. 

The walk to his home is eerily silent, but Kasper has so little to go off of when it comes to this man that he doesn't even know where to start with conversation, nor is he aware if said conversation would be well-received when the man hasn't said a single word. All he is traveling with is a rucksack, and that has been stitched together very neatly since he saw it last. He doesn't know what to even say to him when he's already trying to figure out how to kill him without getting discovered. But for now he settles on, 

"I didn't catch your name." 

"...Vellum Pew. Nice to meet you." 

"Nice to meet you without your guts falling out." He replies. 

Vellum Pew travels light and prefers cheap abodes. Hopefully that means he doesn't invest much in other connections either. Maybe he'll get lucky and no one will come looking for him when he's gone. 

Result: Success!

Bad Ending Counter: -6

Start Here | First Round | Previous Round | Next Round | Last Round

[s-4pphics]

My biology prof is palestinian and she got the news mid class, when she found out she seriously started crying and these bitch ass assholes were laughing and making bomb jokes like it was fucking okay. she deadass had to leave early and they’re here acting like it’s okay to say that shit. Genuinely breaks my heart how people can be so cruel and the fact that they did that in front of her face makes me so mad because at least have a bit of sympathy. They got sent to the dean but left his office smiling like they’re fucking proud of what they’ve done. hope they burn

the fact that the west was able to successfully demonize muslim/arabs makes me wanna burn everything to the fucking ground. all their sanctioning and displacement and propaganda over the last century actually worked. a vast majority of these fuckers do not value life in the middle east. all those precious babies that have to grow up in a world so violent and filled with hate for them makes me sooo fucking vengeful i want everything to be destroyed like im so serious…. i’m sick every fucking day

if you’ve gotten used to seeing babies and mothers and fathers be ripped apart you’re going to burn for the rest of eternity and i hope u know that. ur soul is cursed. i want the fall of the u.s. to be irreversible and painful. and i want everyone to suffer🤷🏽🤷🏽

[mayhemproduces]

Syn clutched at his lower back and dropped to a knee as Abigail checked on him after they had their hands raised. The amazing dual feat of strength from Syn & Abigail got this entire crowd on their feet, despite the fact that there was two of them doing it, lifting a man the size of Dutch is an impressive feat in and of itself, but it looks like Syn may have pulled something in his back doing it. Either way, Syn waved off Abigail's help, saying he just needed a minute, and pointed to Steve Guy, asking Abigail to grab him the mic. It was unusual, of the two of them, Abigail was usually the one who did the majority of the speaking on the mic, but tonight it seemed like Syn was the one with something to say. Syn managed to get back to his feet as he gave Abigail a small bow and a kiss on the cheek as she handed him the microphone, Syn looking around as the crowd actually cheered him receiving the mic. Syn brushed his hair back with his free hand as he spoke. "Y'know... you guys aren't supposed to like me." That just seemed to get an even bigger pop from the crowd, and Syn chuckled a bit as he pointed at Abby. "You're gonna get me in trouble with that one." The crowd laughed, and even Abby had a grin on her face as she licked her lips and winked, suggesting just what kind of trouble that would be. Syn dropped the jovial demeanor for a second to clutch at his back again, and curse. "Fuck, Dutch is heavy..."

Syn shook it off though, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Last week... Some things happened in this ring. Things all of you aren't meant to see, a side of this business... You aren't all meant to see. But you've been seeing a lot of it recently, thanks to C-... That, fucking asshole, who once again got himself suspended from this place. Suspended, fired, I honestly don't fucking know at this point... But that's not how I do business, that's not how I solve my problems, as a man, as a fighter. No... I'm not letting this go, and I'm not burying this in the sand, like every other wrestling company has done in the past. This gets solved, and this gets solved right now."

Syn looks to the back curtain, and speaks right to the boss. "Paul... Reinstate him. Rehire him, do whatever you got to do, because this ain't over. I want him at Hell on Earth. And if you won't sanction it, that's fine. I'll sign a fuckin' waiver, in this ring, next week, and I'll completely absolve this company of any responsibility, you just gotta give me the ring and the platform. Hell on Earth, Seattle, in front of the world. I don't want you to book Syn vs CM Punk... Wash your hands of it. Make sure that asshole can't sue you for what I'm gonna do to him, because come Hell on Earth, it ain't gonna be Syn vs CM Punk, Jake Bryant is showing up, and he's fuckin' showing up to fight Phil Brookes!"

The crowd practically explodes as Syn throws the mic back to Steve Guy, having made his point. Syn wants Punk, Jake wants Phil, however you wanna say it, doesn't matter! Next week, Syn & CM Punk, face to face in an MPW ring once again!

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 8-21 2021

You get two weeks worth of fics this time because I got too busy last weekend and didn't have time to do my weekly recap :)

Complete

Evanstan Week 2021 by luninosity/ @luninosity​ (Evanstan | 10K | Mature): All my Evanstan Week little fics!

1. dodger 2. kisses  3. on set  4. first times (a first kiss, at least)  5. in space (alternate universe)  6. fluff  7. holiday 

💙  Remote Access by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Modern AU, Roommates | 57K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes was in trouble. More trouble than he ever thought he could get into as a grown adult. And it was caused by two singular factors that should never have become entwined.One, his god-like housemate Steve Rogers, who was unfairly handsome and the perfect specimen of man in not only looks but personality - and completely out of Bucky’s league.Two, Bucky’s obsession with a new toy he’d purchased to fill his lonely nights (and other areas).But when Steve buys a new TV, suddenly these two seemingly separate parts of Bucky’s life crash together in a spectacular and obsessive way.Bucky soon finds himself not as in control as he thought - and that’s when things start to get interesting…

💙  Black and Blue by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​, the1918/ @the1918​ (Modern AU, Spies & Secret agents | 7K | Explicit): CIA Agent Bucky Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers, Army 207th, Military Intelligence, are two American spies working for two different intelligence agencies. They've developed somewhat of complicated relationship while chasing down the same leads.

Until One Day, We Won't Be by the1918/ @the1918​ (Evanstan RPF | 8K | Explicit): Six times Chris and Sebastian were alone. [+ one time they were not.]

💙  How to Bang Your Weapon (in This World and the Next) by Brokenwords, elkane/ @elkane​, Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas​, kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria​, Nospheratt/ @nospheratt​, profoundalpacakitten/ @profoundalpacakitten​, ScrambledScript, sublimepigeon/ @sublimepigeon, ursa (Canon Divergent, WS!Steve, WS\Bucky, Multiverse | 50K | Explicit): Hydra knows how to get the Asset to do their bidding. When they want a new Captain, a new Steven Grant Rogers from another universe to help grow Hydra’s collection of supersoldiers, of course they send the Asset. But little do they know that in any universe, a Bucky will always find a Steve, and a Steve will always protect a Bucky.

💙  What lies they told us by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Mobster AU | 42K | Explicit): Steve Rogers might still see his ma every Sunday, but he isn’t the dutiful son. He gave up that life a long time ago. Bucky Barnes may be following in his fathers footsteps, but he wants to set a path to something more than where they’ll take him. Steve and Bucky’s lives have always intersected. There is something between them that exists, real and palpable. But they are opposite sides of a coin. Opposing families in a war for money and power. Blood and pain. And fate may bring them together, again and again, pulling them closer. But it always finds a way to rip them apart. What they need is a way to fight fate. To fight their families. To reach each other. To keep each other. 

the prosecution rests by dirtybinary/ @dirtybinary (Post-WS | 3K | Teen): The Asset has to admit, ending a mission with Captain America crying into his lap is pretty unexpected. Even for him, and he is trained to anticipate all contingencies.

💙  The Seed and the Root by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 32K | Explicit): His hands and mouth are gentle on the outside, but on the inside, Steve is burning up. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted on the bed and land beneath him, and now it’s so much at once that he’s afraid he’ll combust into white, nuclear light. (Part 3 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

Burning For You by musette22/ @musette22​ (Evanstan RPF, Non-Famous Sebastian | 3K | Teen): Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

At The Bottom Of Everything by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 12K | Teen): Six years. That’s what they’re celebrating. Six years, of them. Of this. That's what Chris is happy about. Until the phone rings. Until he turns on the news.

💙  Slip Of The Tongue by this_wayward_life (Shrunkyslunks, Soulmate AU | 6K | Explicit): Mr Perfect Ass is even prettier from the front. His braid is loose enough that strands of hair have fallen to frame his face, and an oversized scarf is pulled up to just below his pouty, red mouth. He's big, with wide shoulders and thick arms and thighs that are straining at his jeans, and he's staring at Steve with a blush on his face and the prettiest eyes Steve has ever seen."Oh, god," Steve blurts out. "Please sit on my face."

(series) Kinktober 2020 by this_wayward_life (31 works | 80K | Explicit)

The Best Handjob Of Bucky Barnes's Damn Life (Handjob)

Soft (Eating Out)

The Benefits of A Sugar Baby  (Thigh Riding)

Black and Blue (Choking/Spanking)

Black Mesh, Red Leather (Daddy Kink)

Thank God For Company-Sanctioned Teambuilding Workshops (Blindfolded)

The Only Thing School Football Is Good For  (Blowjob)

Your Body, On Crumpled Sheets (Voyeurism)

Feeling Just Peachy (Accidental Stimulation)

Blood-slick (Knife Kink)

Bury Me (Restraints)

Summer Nights (Fingering)

Beautiful Shackles (Public Sex)

You Are My First, And You'll Be My Last (Sixty-Nine)

Cover My Body (Size Difference)

All Plugged Up (Toys)

the tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks (Begging)

Sugar Cookies (In the kitchen)

Seeing Double (Threesome)

I'll crawl home to him (Edging)

Your Voice In My Ear (Phone sex)

Hold Me Close, Keep the Monsters at Bay (In the shower/tub)

Keep Me Warm (First Time)

He never asked me once about the wrong I did (BDSM/rough sex)

Unexpected (Caught masturbating)

Overcome (Overstimulation)

In the Crowd (Orgy)

Praise Your Baby (Praise kink)

Grab on my waist and put that body on me  (Dirty talk)

Rediscovery (Mutual Masturbation)

Think I Found Myself a Cheerleader (Dressed up)

WIP

💙  Underneath the Shattered Sky by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Planet Hulk AU, Post-Endgame | 14/? | 55K | Mature): “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.” Steve sounded choked. “I’m sorry. It was out of line.” “It’s really okay.” “No, it’s not. You’re not him. You’re your own person, with your own history, your own thoughts and feelings. Your own life here. I can’t expect you to be him. It’s not fair. To either of you.” “Maybe not,” Bucky huffed back. “But in this universe, my Steve’s an asshole who left me. And in your universe, your Bucky was taken from you, so I don’t really know what’s fair anymore.”

💙  and the river flows beneath your skin by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Boarding School AU, Soulmates | 3/? | 20K | Mature): In which Steve and Bucky are forced to room together their senior year at boarding school, and accidentally soul bond to each other even though they kind of hate each other. All they have to do to get out of it is not kiss each other for a year so the accidental bond will fade. How hard could it be?

💙  The Root and the Stalk by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 3/6 | 18K | Explicit): “My mom, she’s not perfect, but she always had this one saying. You can’t look right into the sunset, because the light will burn your eyes. So you have to face east, right?” Bucky tucks his forehead against Steve’s chest, staring down the gap between them, eyes on their feet. “And when you do, you can look at the ground, and you can see your own shadow.” Bucky raises his head after a contemplative silence and gazes up at Steve. Those stormy gray eyes are filled with luminance, iridescence, splintered rays of shining light. “Or—Mom would say—you can look in front of you.” His lashes kiss his cheeks in butterfly pulses every time he blinks. “And ‘God’s light at your back will show you everything.’” (Part 4 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

💙  Revenance by by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue) (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 20/? | 62K | Mature | Warning: Violence, MCD): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙  my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid​ (Post-Endgame (non-compliant) | 1/2 | 7K | Explicit): He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast. “I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.” Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits. He swallows. Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s. “Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”

Re-read

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (Canon, magic curse | 1K | General): “Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her. “Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?” “The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

[ineffectualdemon]

There is something inspiring about Naoya going on his head about how Maki is an imposter and isn't really strong like Toji only for Maki to land one punch that destroys him and is just like "go on say that again"

But saying that Akutami is continuing his narrative about how adults fuck up kids and ruin things by being bigoted abusive fucks

Clearly Naoya from a young child heard not only intense praise for himself but hateful comments aimed at those without cursed energy or cursed techniques

"Everyone says I'll be the next head" "I'm told even though he's a man he doesn't have an once of cursed energy"

Naoya is a monster but he was raised to be a monster. He was taught his bigotry and that's what's highlighted here

And even with that he recognised the power Toji held. As a child he couldn't deny that strength.

But when Maki holds that same power, someone he had abused with the sanction and approval of his family, he has to deny it. Because he can't accept that what he was taught was wrong or accept Maki as an equal or more

The Zen'in clan's bigotry that they passed down the generations made insanely powerful people who exist outside the constraints of the jujutsu sorcerer world, people completely devoid of cursed energy, who also have nothing but hatred for their clan

They created their own downfall. Toji gave them a stay of execution. Maki couldn’t

I just find it so incredibly satisfying to watch her destroy them

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

[yarpharp]

a (probably) hysterical and nonsensical ramble

I keep thinking about that ol’ supposed curse: “May You Live in Interesting Times.”

I’m not young, not really, but I am still younger than all my coworkers and my boss and the goddamn politicians that run this dumpster fire of a country. I hear the news about COVID, about the fact that no matter what there will be a huge demographic of people who are doomed to an early grave or chronic health issues and everyone is ignoring it. Decent human decency like the mask is “annoying” or “un-American” but apparently being a raging bigot and Trump supporter and attempting to charge the capital makes you the biggest damn American Patriot in the historical lexicon of American Patriots. 

And then someone at my workplace goes, “ah, you know. We live in Interesting Times. It’ll work out.” 

Ukraine gets invaded, people are dying there for no good reason, Putin and his little cabinet of autocrats are declaring essentially a fucking land-grab, the “West” is sanctioning the fuck out of Russia in hopes of starving out Putin but also forcing millions of perfectly decent Russian civilians to live without money, food stuffs, an insanely wide range of internet resources, Europe and America are being idiots about global warming because they were rather content to just.... march our planet to its eventual end because Materialism and Money are worth more than generational prosperity and sustainability is apparently a hippie pipe dream until RIGHT NOW that Russia is persona non-grata and they supply the world with the most oil and natural gas. People are also still dying in Yemen (also for non good goddamn reason), there’s still plenty of turbulence in Syria. Putin dares to put a nuclear threat out there into the world, and what? What can you say to any of that?

My coworker shrugs her shoulder and says, “We live in Interesting Times. Your generation will figure it out.”

It’s hard to supposedly figure it out, Debbie, if we keep collectively fucking pushing ourselves further down the metaphorical sewer drain. We live in a world of late stage capitalism, consumerism, and climate change. Do you know what “May You Live in Interesting Times” means? Why it’s a curse?

Because you can think that my generation will be the one to solve your problems, Debbie, and maybe everything will eventually work itself out, but the real question is: Do you realize that you’re going to have to live it with me until those supposed “interesting times” have finally ended?

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Most Beloved Demon

Summary: It all started with a simple chat. A mere idle thought you had about one of the human customs in matchmaking that you shared in with the rest of the brothers because you were once again scheming to have another date with Mammon. And then you had to make another group chat without him because God, Jesus, and Mary showed you the way and it was a birthday party extravaganza for Mammon.

Tags: Galaxy Brained Reader, Oblivious Mammon, Idiots in Love, Happy Birthday Mammon, Sweets, Reader is Horny for Mammon, Kissing as a distraction

Rating: Rated E for explicit cock sucking and fucking at a dark alleyway

A/N: A late birthday fic for Mammon because I’ve just finished prelims for law school and boy am I worried

--

It had started, like with all things that shook the House of Lamentation, at a fine peaceful day. You were lounging in your room, feeling slightly neglected that Mammon wasn’t cuddling with you which meant that you couldn’t accidentally brush against his cock while cuddling or send him a signal that you were totally down to be fucked by him anytime anywhere. You’ve exhausted all means of entertainment, you were done doing your Diavolo-sanctioned prank on Lucifer, exhausted  Asmo’s patience on your Mammon-less day, taunted Belphie on his apparent failure to keep you dead, entertained yourself by treating Beel as a food disposal unit and conducting “science experiments”, teaching Satan about human curses, and of course harassed Levi’s in-game character and made him drop 20 levels because he talked shit about your in-game wifey who was Mammon. Not that he knew.

Which meant that you were so bored, and there was no Mammon who could distract you, or you could seduce to a very fun and sexy game of strip billiards. Which ultimately meant you’d either have to trek to the Castle and bother Diavolo to play with you or go over at the Purgatory Hall and rope Solomon into revealing if Merlin is real. In the middle of your contemplation, your phone vibrated and a quick glance at it showed Barbatos’ message which read:

It would be more fruitful if you remained where you are.

You blinked and obediently shelved your plan of bothering Solomon and instead sent a message to the group chat:

🐑 : You know, in the human world in one culture birth dates are a great way of measuring compatibility between two people

You sat back and waited for everyone’s reply. Then the messages came flooding in and you smirked in satisfaction as you saw Mammon take the bait you’ve dangled, you idly watched them bicker, pouring gasoline whenever or dousing it water. Your laptop was ready to calculate and the moment Asmo shared his birthday you brought out the results and gleefully watched the mayhem about to ensue.

🐑 : Amazing! Asmo we have an 88% Compatibility~!

Sure enough, Asmo would never miss out a chance to mess with everyone else and so the two of you were able to successfully get everyone to do the compatibility test with you. The moment Mammon gave you his birthday you had foolishly remained oblivious to the date. Mind still focusing on the compatibility rate.

🐑 : Mammon~ We’ve got the highest compatibility rate~! 91%! 

🐑 : By the way the method I used is the one for calculating marriage compatibility.

And then you glanced back to the calculator and registered the date he had given. 

“September 10?” You mumbled as you glanced at the calendar and then back to Mammon’s apparent birthday.

Your eyes widened in realization just as the door to your room slammed open and your very cute and most beloved demon came in with a wild blush on his face. You blinked at his winter outfit and then decided that Devildom was much to cold for your delicate human body. Mammon, who was attuned to the ebb and flow of your libido made quick work of his and your clothes and the two of you wrestled under the sheets.

After 10 rounds of you alternating between begging Mammon to cum inside you and asking to suck his dick, you were giving him sweet and lazy kisses on his neck, giving him hickeys all the while engaging in your shared favorite hobby cock warming. Mammon had been flustered, at the start, with how into his kinks you were up until he realized that you were really just into him and made him melt.

Now he was used and utterly spoiled with your clingy disposition after sex. He would give you sweet kisses or alternate with teasing you a little bit and letting you decide if you wanted to go for another round. Right now though, his mind was preoccupied with the words that you had said. Mammon might have just been dating you for less than a year but even so he already knew you like the back of his hand.

So he definitely knew that you had some sort of ulterior motive for bringing that part with the marriage. And Mammon wasn’t sure if he wanted you to be like that to him. He knew himself and he knew that if you were really willing to enter into marriage with him...that there was no way he’d let you get away and neither would you let him. Mammon had already seen the depths of your love for him, had come to accept that you would always hold him above all.

And the best and worst of it was that he was the same.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him voice soft and hoarse.

Mammon smirked as he remembered how you looked utterly bliss out after having your mouth fucked. He shifts and you moan as you end up beneath him. You feel his cum drip from your pussy and looked at him in anticipation.

“Ya really are a slut for me” Mammon teased you, thrusting into you a little bit.

“It’s because I love you...” You encircled your arms on his neck and tug him down for a sweet kiss. You smile as Mammon begins another round of sex, he fucks you languidly, enjoying this moment where the two of you simple enjoyed existing. Whispering sweet words of love and the knowledge that both of you had found each other.

When all is said and done, you spooned him, holding him tight and close to your chest and he holds you equally tight and tells you,

“...I want to spend my birthday with you...”

“As you wish” You kissed him good night.

-

In extreme contrast with your passionate and gentle night of slumber with Mammon was the birthday plan meeting you were currently holding secretly. You had, in very character of you, used one of the favors Barbatos owed you to have him send Mammon on an errand that would last long enough for all of you to plan his birthday.

Lucifer had shot down all your suggestions of gifting Mammon a Casino, a Mansion and Villa in the human realm, buying him a gold mine, and gifting him a civil registry that listed him as your husband in devildom and the human realm.

Satan had, in a rare moment of cooperation with Lucifer, also shot down all your party suggestions of champagne towers, booking the entire Ristorante Six, Booking the entire Fall, and giving Mammon a surprise wedding.

All of you had eventually decided to just give Mammon a sentimental and heartfelt gift of experience. With a strict order from Lucifer to not let you pick a stationary set that was used for weddings.

Which meant that you had made plans with them to buy it two days later, when you knew that Mammon had a photo shoot and thus you had no date with him scheduled that day. And because your Father-in-Law was still holding a grudge over that time you beat him up at the Mcdonald’s back parking lot, Mammon’s shoot got rescheduled and you ended up bumping to him just when you, Asmo, and Satan had bought the supplies.

“...Why?” He asked looking hurt and dejected that you had turned him down to spend time with Asmo and Satan.

“It’s now what you think!” You hurriedly replied.

“Hey, don’t sound like a husband that just got caught” Satan frowned as he stealthily hid the paper bag that held the stationary set and golden wax seal the three of you had bought.

“Satan’s right you know?” Asmo chimed, “The three of us were just window shopping.”

Asmo signaled you to distract Mammon and you nodded. So in a moment of sheer brilliance you led Mammon to a darkened and secluded alleyway. Pushed him in the wall and kissed him deeply before he could protest. All of his anger and hurt melted away as you fervently kissed him, one of your hand palming on his cock as you twined your tongue with his. 

You stop and let Mammon see the sloppy evidence of the make out session you had just initiated. Far more filthy and intense than your accidentally on purpose mistake of fumbling the seduction spell during the exam.

“I’m not going to forgive you so easily!”

You said nothing to that and instead dropped to your knees as your finger traced the seam of his zipper. Mammon cursed and muttered an invisibility and warding spell. You unzipped his pants with your teeth, kissing his hardened cock through the fabric of his brief. You glanced at him and smiled at him devilishly before you took his cock into your mouth and began giving him the best blow job of his entire demonic and angelic life combined.

You, who was always horny on main for your demon boyfriend, was giving it your all in sucking his dick putting into good use all the techniques your succubi and incubi friends had given you. Your alternated between deep throating yourself with his thick and long cock and giving him a hand job as your tongue licked his balls and then his cock. You enjoyed the thick veins on Mammon’s dick along with the undeniable blunt ridges that you had grown familiar with. 

“Fuck!” Mammon cursed as he decided he had enough of your teasing and fucked your mouth, dirty talk falling easily out of his mouth as he praised you, “You’re always such a slut for my dick aren’t ya? look at you turning your mouth into a pussy for me to use any time I want.”

You tried to convey your pleasure with your eyes, agreeing with everything Mammon said and that had only served to increase his pleasure. He took great joy at seeing you on your knees and begging him with your eyes as you lost your self to heat and lust. Hands gripping on Mammon’s clothes, your mouth and his cock making lewd noises as your saliva dripped on the corners of your mouth.

Mammon took out his cock from your mouth and you whined at the lost, his hand still gripping your hair and you were looking at him with a betrayed look while his free hand was pumping his dick.

“Mammon~”

“You really want me to make you swallow or do you want me to fuck you here in this alley for as long as I want?”

You blinked and looked at him with a dazed look, Mammon’s smirk growing wide as he let your hair go and watched you unzip your mini shorts, letting it drop to the ground and presenting your enticing hole to Mammon.

“What a good slut” Mammon praised you as he used his wet dick and spit as lube before teasing your opening. 

“Ma-nnn..darling! I want your dick in me already!” You cried softly as Mammon teased you while you could only look longingly at his erect dick and let your mouth water.

“Then say the magic words” He teased you as he bit you on your neck.

“Please breed this good and obedient slut with your thick and lovely seed!” You begged him in between moans and shudders of pleasure that went through your body. Mammon stuttered for a moment before he regained his wits and did as you asked.

His cock entered you easily, “Your hole really was meant to take my cock” he let you get used to the feeling before he began moving slowly, watching the soft jiggling of your chest with each thrust he made. His hands were holding both of your wrists you could only moan as Mammon ruthlessly grazed your spot with his hard dick.

“If anyone could see you right now they’d think you were getting paid for this,” Mammon grinned darkly, “But then again, you were only ever a slut for me aren’t you? Opening your legs for me anytime I ask, easily taking my cock into your mouth.”

“I-it’s becau-! I love you!” You panted as you felt Mammon hit your spot.

Mammon knew you loved him but it really was different hearing how you were only like this because you loved him. He smiled at you and sweetly kissed you on your mouth as he carried you in his arms. 

“Ma--” You cut off by his dick thrusting in you deeper. You were vaguely aware that your shorts had already slipped off your leg and your underwear was already ruined.

“I love you too” Mammon said as he vigorously fucked your hole and you could only hold on tightly on his shoulders as you stopped bothering to lower your voice. 

The sounds of wet flesh slapping, along with your lustful moans filled the darkened alley. You weren’t aware of the passage of time, nor did you care about the fact that there were often footsteps that would stop at the mouth of the alley. All you cared about was the feeling of Mammon fucking you and the undeniable smell of his come covering your body.

All your clothes had ended up on the ground, you were naked while Mammon still had his clothes on, not that you mind since there was something erotic about the picture it presented to any voyeur that was brave enough to risk Mammon’s ire. Your legs had grown weak after the 15th round and you were only dazedly looking at air as Mammon fucked you from behind, his previous comes dripping down your hole and between your legs. Some had formed a puddle directly on the ground beneath your hole.

Your neck and shoulders were filled with love bites, and most of your skin was sticky with dried cum. You felt Mammon slow down on his thrust and then the familiar wet heat of his cum filled your inside.

You looked at him in question, watching him observe his masterful lewd work that was you.

“Already?” You asked him slightly frowning.

Mammon only looked at you helplessly fond and doting before he began to dress you up, fingers teasing your overstimulated nerves but keeping it at that, “We still need to go home in time for the curfew.”

You pouted but nonetheless let him do as he pleased, though you did squirm a little bit as he zip up your shorts and teasing you once more by rubbing his hand on your crotch through the fabric.

Soaking the crotch are with the mixture of his and your cum. You whined at him, “Can’t we continue at a love hotel?”

Mammon said nothing beyond a teasing smile as he lad you out of the alley, you were limping slightly as you leaned completely on his side and steadfastly ignored the looks the demons were giving you nor did you pay any mind on the undeniable dribble of cum that was between your legs.

What mattered was that Mammon had forgotten about the events earlier and you were getting railed again once both of you got home.

--

The next morning you woke up on Mammon’s arms and experienced the feeling of being a pampered wife who got railed so good. Mammon had sat you on his lap and fed you as you weakly laid on his chest and ignored the judgmental looks Lucifer was giving you. Chances were, he had already found out about the semi-public sex you and Mammon did. 

But you were well-fed and satiated so you put it on the back of your mind as you planned to get things done for Mammon’s surprise. So the time you spent away from Mammon, physically since you were sending him sexy pics and basically having sext with him, was allotted for writing the letters for him. Special ones that would last for years even when you would no longer be alive.

You carefully wrote each letter and made sure that in each and everyone of it had all your overflowing love for him. You wrote him a letter for every conceivable event that you could thought of, until it went from emotions he would feel into situations he would get in until it became for his everyday life.

With each letter you wrote, you couldn’t help but be envious of the people he’d get to meet after you were gone. The selfish part of you that wanted to remain inside his heart for as long as he lived. You could only sigh at your helplessness, there was no guarantee that you would live forever and that you could be with him till he died.

You didn’t know if he would remember you clearly or slowly fade away from his memories. So you decided to give him this indelible words that carried your most fervent wish of being able to stay by his side for eternity.

You wrote and wrote, pouring all of the words that you could never say and to cowardly to speak aloud and instead let it hang on the air. In between the moments when Mammon would catch your eye and you’d look at him and see his love that overflows, in the brief moments of silence where you would hold onto him tightly afraid of him leaving you, in those dark days that you almost lost him and still foolishly unaware that you had come to love him.

The words you kept inside you flowed from your heart and mind and into the tips of your fingers, as you wrote page after page of love letters for Mammon. You let the papers dry and lovingly folded it into the golden envelopes and sealed it with a red wax seal that held your initials.

You placed it inside your jewelry box and hid it. 

The door to your room opened and you turned around, seeing Mammon you couldn’t help but smile widely as you called for his name.

You rushed to hug him and Mammon peppered your face with kisses. You let yourself soak up the warmth of his love and decided to no longer think of the distant future that you feared the most.

--

Mammon had always known that you loved him the most in the entire world. It was hard not to, when you were always out rightly favoring him, always treating him so much better than the others and you would always tell it to him. There was no room for doubt when it came to your love. 

And Mammon loved you as well, your flaws and everything because it was what made you human. You weren’t a saint or a holy mother, he didn’t care about your cruel streak that only ever existed in defense of him and his brothers nor did he mind the days you would stick to him relentlessly as if you were afraid he would be gone. He didn’t mind your moments of jealousy, the instances when you’d cut someone with your words.

You had left a mark on his heart that would never fade away, you had made him yours in the way no one would be able to do so. He smiled at the pieces of memory you had left him, proof of your existence in a world that changed much too fast and much too slow for someone like him.

Your bones had withered and turned into dust, you were no longer by his side, all three realms was co-existing peacefully, you lasted long enough to see Diavolo’s dreams to bear fruit, you stayed long enough to hold your great grand children in your arms but even so it still wasn’t enough for him. His greedy heart that was only ever content with you in his arms. But even so Mammon could still remember your voice, the inflections on the words you spoke, the way your eyes glittered with happiness upon seeing his face.

He looked at the wrinkled and yellowed letter you had left him. The last among the letters you wrote for him since the first birthday you had celebrated with him. -

Dear Mammon,

If you’re reading this letter then that would mean I’m no longer by your side. Somehow even with the centuries I’ve spent with you, the thought that I am no longer by your side still makes me cry. You’ve influenced me too much that I became greedy of you. 

Have you eaten yet? Are you sleeping well? Are you taking care of yourself?

Don’t mope around anymore, by time you reached this letter centuries would have passed since I died. I know I said I can’t accept you having someone else after me and I was happy that you went along with my selfish wish but even so...I don’t want you to miss out on another great love. I’m already happy with all the years you’ve given me even if it was just a fraction of what you lived and you will live.

I’m really scared that you’d forget me easily and I still want to live longer and be by your side I love you so much that I’m afraid what would happen to you once I’m gone. Mammon, my most beloved demon, I’m sorry I had to leave you first. But even so I’m selfishly happy that I would never know what a world without you would be. I’m weak and cowardly even so you loved this part of me that desperately held onto you, you loved me even if you knew that between the two of us I’ve forgotten how to live without you.

I knew you like the back of my hand, so familiar and foreign at the same time. In all the years I’ve spent writing you letters filled with words that I could never say aloud, I’ve come to accept that I only knew of love because of you. It’s a scary thought, knowing that if I hadn’t meet you...I wouldn’t have given love a chance. I would have live my years not knowing the warmth of your embrace or peace that your presence brought to me. 

Thank you for giving me a family that I love and loves me in return, I was so happy when I bore you our third child. Do you remember? I cried that time because he looked so much liked you, he had your eyes and your nose, and then he had your laugh and smile. Our eldest daughter was so happy then, finally having a human passing brother. Number 2 was so pouty that day but even so I was happy with our little family.

There’s a lot of things I want to write to you in this final letter but my hands are already shaking. Our Little Ds of Greed are scampering around right now while I’m writing this. I can’t help but laugh a little bit, my heart feels a bit sour. You’re sleeping soundly right now by my side and I love you so much, that even if my lungs hurt and my body aches so much I want to spend the last moments of my life telling you how much I love you.

I love your smile. I love your laugh. I love the way you’d get into trouble and come to me for help. I love the days you’d let me chase away your nightmares. I love how you patiently waited for me to return to your side. I love how you always tell me you love in the little ways. I love how you never let me wake up in a cold empty bed. I love you. I love you from the moment you ran towards me. I love you until now.

I love you in this life, and if there is a next life for me, I’ll love you there as well. I love you in every world there is that I exist with you. I love you in all infinite possibilities of this universe and the next.

I love you, my Mammon. And I will begone but even if I am no longer by your side I would still love you. I would love you even if my mind and heart forgets because whatever it was that our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.

So live well and fall in love with the world again, my cherished and inevitable downfall.

Yours in Eden.

[hellsbellschime]

I really feel for the Ukranians, especially as there doesn't seem to be resolution in sight that allows them to keep their sovereignty. Trade embargoes and sanctions probably aren't going to stop this war. Putin has been planning this for some time, which is why he cut that mutual support deal with China. We can thank the Trump years for that. Contrary to popular opinion, the USA didn't keep friendly relations with China just to be nice. China is a shitshow, we all know this, but keeping them on side was propping up a wedge between China and Russia.

If the west cuts him off, China will keep the country afloat, and that means relations with China are about about to be thrown into the dumpster fire too.

The next couple of years are going to get nasty, even if Russia eventually pulls back. If he doesn't pull back then that means he'll probably pick off Belarus next then start eyeing the NATO countries. It might take him ten years to get to that point but it'll come. Here's hoping he'll pop his clogs before that (and that Trump doesn't get re-elected, because that might embolden the fucker to move his timetable up.)

Yeahhhh, China is really the fucking linchpin in all of this shit and it absolutely sucks. Frankly, I very highly doubt that Putin would do something like this if he didn't know he'd have at least some kind of support from China, because there's absolutely no chance that he could start moving west on his own. Unfortunately shit got really real, really fast, and please lord do not put the curse of Donald Trump being reelected out into the world. FFS hopefully Trump and Putin both just kick the fucking bucket and save the entire world a hot mess of stress and clusterfuckery.

[tsumtsum-into-omiomi]

CHAPTER TWO: HISTORY 101

warning(s): cursing

word count: 1.4k

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

AO3

"What if... I told you all that practitioners like us used to be able to roam the earth as we wished?" Atsumu starts, a smug look on his face as if he is about to reveal a huge secret. Osamu, who is sitting behind the class computer to control their slide show, rolls his eyes. He hates it when Atsumu presents because he tends to act overly dramatic.

 "They're able to be found anywhere in Japan, and even though they're a minority, practitioners and non-practitioners lived in harmony together. They're accepted and even trusted to govern states alongside non-practitioners; taking on important roles as ministers and such. Sounds pretty sweet, right?"

 Atsumu then pauses for a second to cue Osamu to move on to the next slide. The screen flickers, now projecting six pictures of professional looking men and women in suits with their names underneath, "these people are examples of distinguished figures who made sure our law and order were in place so that the peace between practitioners and non-practitioners was kept in check when they lived together. They drafted the constitution that we are still using to this day."

 "This woman," Atsumu points to one of the pictures on his slide, "Ota Shiori, was the person who campaigned for the famous safety law to be sanctioned. It was designed to protect non-practitioners from unlawful usage of magic on them. She truly believed that, in no circumstances should they feel threatened by the power that they were not blessed with. And the practitioners were cautious about this matter. They made sure not to hurt anyone with their magic."

 "However, circa 1850s, non-practitioners began a purging movement, fueled by a rising political party, called Chōwa, who wanted to be in power," Atsumu gestures to Osamu. He taps on the keyboard and the slide changes. There are pictures of protests and violent acts on the screen, assumed to be inflicted on practitioners. Low murmurs and soft gasps can be heard filling the lecture hall. There is tension in the air.

 "To them," Atsumu continues, riding on the mood of the class and using a serious tone, "for as long as practitioners were living among non-practitioners, they would not be able to hold absolute administration because they thought we could topple them down with our magic anytime. That scared them a lot."

 Osamu then stands up to continue where Atsumu left off, "the purge had forced magic practitioners to move and live in isolation, away from others, just to ensure their safety," but unlike Atsumu, his voice is indifferent. He has a mind map displayed and it shows a list of town names. "They began to find new lands to start fresh and due to their small numbers, the community was scattered all over the country. They built small towns where they could live amongst their own people and keep to themselves to stay out of trouble.”

 Osamu points to the screen, “these are the magic towns established over the years that we know of, including ours; Taishi. It is the only town in Hyōgo which houses magic practitioners since the year 1957, a settlement where we can exercise spells freely and a place called home for us to live in peace. Fun fact; Tokyo is the only prefecture that has more than one magic town," Osamu appears dead panned, making it very hard for the audience to be convinced that it is, indeed, a fun fact.

 He taps on the keyboard again. This time, the Hyōgo prefecture's map is presented beside a picture of three men in suits standing side by side.

 "However, it is also important to note that there are people out there who do not share Chōwa's sentiment towards the magic community and are accepting of us," he informs, "our small town has its secret hold hidden by the cities of Tatsuno and Himeji. They envelop and give us the protection that we need from being exposed to the rest of the world. It's an agreement they made decades ago with us, even before the name Taishi came to exist, to repay the practitioners for helping them during the age of wars. These three men, Mori Daigo, Abe Genta and Ikeda Hide, were the leaders back then who came up with the peace treaty that is still in effect up until today."

 "Here are some interesting facts on Taishi," Osamu skips to the following slide, "we have a population of around thirty thousand. Our school, Inarizaki, was founded by Abe Genta. The famous Kudo Street was named after Kudo Kazuki, the first practitioner who built our town. Kudo Street gains its popularity as a place to get magical supplies in the 70s..."

 "Gosh, interesting facts?" you whisper to your friend beside you. The two of you are sitting at the far back of the hall, "his face doesn't reflect it at all. Appear a bit more enthusiastic, man."

 Suna yawns, "as if he gives a shit."

 "I'm hungry," you huff.

 "If we hadn't joined this class for fun, we would already be eating right now," Suna side-eyes you.

 "Hey, you also thought it's a fun idea to see the twins present!" you jeer back. "And in case you forgot, we can leave anytime. We're literally sitting beside the door."

 "Nah, let's ask the presenters some mind-boggling questions while we're already here," Suna waves his hand lazily.

 "See, isn't this a better way to spend our free period?" you smirk.

 Suna grins back at you, "go do your work, Satan."

 "Any questions?" Atsumu implores to the class. The two of you sit straight and draw your attention back to the front after realising that the presentation is over.

 You see no hands raised. Nice, an impassive class; the perfect audience. You put your hand up, catching Atsumu's eyes. He points at you with a smile, "yes, at the back there?"

 However, his smile vanishes instantly when you stand up, finally taking notice of you and Suna, who are intruding the class. He glares at you as a warning.

 "I have some questions," you announce, ignoring the invisible daggers he's throwing at you, "aren't you two fifth year students? Why did you choose basic history to present on? Weren't there any other challenging topics that you could've tackled on?"

 Atsumu seems like he's about to break the pen he's holding into half while Osamu scratches his temple with his middle finger, a quiet "fuck you" for you. You and Suna stifle some giggles at their reactions as you plop back into your seat.

 The History teacher clears his throat, "answer the question, Miya. I was wondering the same thing too. I know I said you're free to choose what to present on, but isn't yours very... elementary? Even though this is an entry level History class, I expected more since you're seniors."

 "Aw man," Suna chortles, "if they fail this class again... you're a part of the reason."

 "Nah, Morita-sensei will let them pass this time," you respond, "I don't think he wants to see them again next year for the third time."

 "Lol, imagine having to take an entry level History course  three times in the span of six years at this school."

 "Hm, maybe it's something only the twins can achieve."

 "Look at him spewing bullshit," Suna snickers at Atsumu, who is trying to justify his and Osamu's presentation topic to his best ability.

 "His expertise anyway," you scoff, not even paying attention to what Atsumu is saying.

 Suna nods in agreement, “I feel bad but I’m really enjoying this.”

 “They’re gonna be so pissed off,” you cackle.

 "Any more questions?" Atsumu addresses the whole class.

 "Oh shit, my turn," Suna raises a hand up.

 "Don't let Morita-sensei see you or we'll get kicked out," you remind him in a low voice. Suna only stands up half of his height, hiding from Morita's view behind the rows of students sitting in front of him.

 Once Atsumu catches his raised hand and makes eye contact with Suna, he mouthes a "fuck you" at him. Unfortunately, he doesn't really have a choice other than answering, "yes?"

 "Do you know if the samurai practised magic?"

 A snort escapes from you upon hearing Suna’s question. You then see a text come in from Osamu, who must’ve sent it from behind the computer while everyone was paying attention to Suna just now. It says "I'm gonna feed you two shit tomorrow". You almost lose it seeing how pressed Osamu is right now— it’s a rare sight. You reply with “sounds good 😋” to him and he sends a middle finger emoji back.

 Ah, what better way to enjoy the trivial life as a student other than being a pain in your brothers’ asses?

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AO3

Thank you for reading till the end!! World building is my passion LMAO jk it's super hard I love creating it but writing it?? Phew... Anyway, this is just to give context of the AU they're in!! Hope it gave you a good idea!

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Meant to Be (DonnyxReader)

@owba-chan​ @war-obsessed​ @inglourious-imagines​ @tealaquinn​

Let me know if  you wanna be added to the taglist! :) Requested by @cybernobody44

The boys muttered and cursed under their breaths as they marched through some mud on the outskirts of the forest. Their vulgar and amusing strings of words becoming frosty breaths in the winter evening.

There was an agent that the OSS had let the British intelligence "borrow". And now the basterds needed that agent for a mission, or two.

Hrischberg muttered, "I don't see why we gotta have this spy tag along. We've been doin' fine on our own!"

Omar nodded, "I hope he's not snobby about being an agent and being smart and all that."

Hugo huffed, "Unlikely." He mostly didn't feel like dealing with one more person than he already had to.

The basterds crossed into the empty back alleys of a questionable side of a small French town.

Smitty narrowed his eyes, making out the dark figures of shadier characters scattered about and slinking around in the shadows. "Aldo? How are we supposed to know who our contact is?"

Aldo was glad to hear something that wasn't a complaint...for the first time in a week. The only thing keeping him sane by then was his supply of tobacco, which was running dangerously low.

He sighed as he turned around, "Two allied airmen will be escortin' our spy."

Wicki raised an eyebrow. "Allied airmen? Under what flag?"

Smitty nodded, "Yeah? Canadian? British? Australian? Soviets? Brazilian? It could be any-"

Aldo sighed as he sat down, and inhaled the last of his snuff, hoping the newcomer would be a peacekeeper among them. "They don't fuckin’ tell me shit, son."

The basterds stood around, hoping their silence would draw less unwanted attention.

About an hour passed...

Omar narrowed his eyes, having an ear for accents, as he found three figures appraoching them. "Fuck...it's the tommy's."

The basterds groaned in annoyance, as they heard one of the airmen muttering under his breath, "Bloody hell...it's the yanks!"

As they came into the clearing, light from a shattered street lamp revealed the spy.

And it stopped Donny's heart.

He whispered, astounded, "Holy shit...it's her..."

Smitty turned to Donny in confusion, "Her?"

Omar followed in confusion, "Who's 'her'?"

Wicki, Aldo, Hugo, and Hirschberg turned to Donny. Analyzing the loosness in his stance, the loss of words in his parted lips, and the sheer panic in his eyes.

Her...

From the stories Donny had told them about you, the way he once lovingly and painfully drew your face with his words, they knew what you looked like...

Hugo looked to the two younger basterds... and murmured, "Her..."

The last time Donny saw you was back in 1941...

Pearl Harbor had just been bombed.

Stories about nazi Germany, and millions of broken, tear-stained, blood stained, stories made their way across the Atlantic.

The US had just declared war.

Donny had enlisted without hesitation. He had a baseball bat, signed with names of people he needed to avenge...

And there you stood, by his side, just as you had for years...

He didn't want you there anymore.

He looked down at you, his thumb pressed against your cheek. You were no longer what he wanted most in the world... At least, that's what he made you think.

He loved you more than anything, more than his own life, but he thought it was selfish to keep you tied down.

Especially if he didn't know if he'd ever come home...

The most painful part of it was seeing the love still in your eyes behind the broken depth of the world he'd built with you... He'd built up the courage to say goodbye to you, forever because he thought it would be easier if he saw that world in your eyes collapse and go up in flames. But he was wrong. Dead wrong. Your eyes were the same eyes that had loved him for years, and probably would for a million more.

You saw the reflection of that very love and life in his eyes.

He still loved you... You knew that, and that's what made it worse...

All you could manage to do was whisper a broken, "Why?"

Donny lied.

He lied blatantly to you, and to himself.

"It never would have worked out between us, doll, I'm sorry..."

You shook your head softly as tears streamed down your face, pleading quietly. Begging him to rethink everything with two simple words. Words he'd only listen from you, words only you could string together to break his heart, "Donny, baby..."

He looked down at you, the pain of his torn heart taking over his eyes...

He would never tell you why.

And you knew that....

On December 6th, 1941,  Donny was sneaking away from you, and hiding around the shops in downtown Boston, looking for the perfect ring. He wanted you by his side for the rest of his life. He wanted more than anything in the world to make you his wife...

Everything changed on December 7th.

On December 8th, the US entered the war. And Donny enlisted. He finally had a chance to make things right, for his family, his people, and every single name on the bat he'd gotten signed that morning. At that moment, that was what he wanted most: justice...

Justice...

He loved you, more than he loved anything else in the world, but it wasn't right to give you the ring then.

Not when there was a chance you would have to bury him in a coffin wrapped in a flag...

But you didn't know all that.

And you knew he'd never tell you any of it.

You just nodded, tears still streaming down your face as you stepped away from him. You turned your back on Donny Donowitz that night. Something that nobody ever did. You didn't answer the phone when he finally wanted you to know why. You didn't open the door when he wanted to say goodbye...

That was goodbye enough for you. Years passed, and somehow, there you were.

It was January, 1944...

Hugo nudged Donny rather crudely, and he snapped out of it.

Your hair was tied up with a bandana. You wore a jumpsuit, and boots. You packed a gun, a knife, and cigarettes. You stood at attention, saluting Aldo, your current lieutenant.

You were introduced to the other basterds...

You looked at Donny, and nodded once, without a trace of the past in your eyes as you acknowledged your sergeant, "Sergeant Donowitz."

Donny clenched his jaw... He never thought he'd hear your voice again. He'd never heard your voice so neutral...

So loveless...

He'd never heard you call him by his last name.

He didn't know what to call you... He couldn't call you doll anymore.

You weren't his.

You were a spy under the MI6, agent under the OSS, a soldier under the allies, and as of that moment, a basterd.

You were a hero and a fighter in your own right.

You weren't his.

He nodded once after faltering for a milisecond, "Private..." He trailed off, unable to even call you by your last name after calling you so many beautiful names for years. Things you'd never expect a boy like Donny Donowitz to have known...

You managed to keep the bare minimum of contact with him for the next few days. Seeing those eyes, hearing that same old voice... It was almost too much for you...

And seeing you, seeing what he lost, what he once wanted more than anything...

It was too painful for him,..

The night before your mission, the basterds were sitting around a campfire, drinking and laughing...

At some point, you and Donny made eye contact.

And for a moment...there was something. The flicker of an ember. A distant memory, echoing from the beat of his heart...

You blinked and turned away... It was the last thing you needed.

Feelings.

You bade the basterds goodnight, and slipped away,

You were just inside your tent when you heard a slight shuffle behind you. You would've thought nothing of it if you weren't a spy.  But you knew better. You knew it was him.

"Y/n...I can explain..."

His voice was soft. It was almost a whisper. It was urgent, and stern, like a sergeant's. But it was candid enough to hear the droning guilt and pain in his heart.

"And what makes you think I want an explanation?" You turned, you faced him, and looked him in the eyes, scorn sculpting the expression in your face.

He looked at you, seeing through a spy's act. He looked at you, not the double or triple identities you held around the world to shield yourself from what could have been. His head tilted slightly, as he murmured, "It's harder to love someone that's dead than to hate someone who's alive..."

You unclenched your jaw. You lowered your arms. Your fists opened. Your eyes lowered.

You understood then...

That was why he broke up with you.

To Donny, the hardest part of all of that was leaving you. He loved you, and had loved you all along.

You took a breath, and admitted something you couldn't have admitted to yourself a day sooner, or perhaps a moment later.  "I don't...I don't hate you."

The  light of a bright white cloud, every color of the sunrise, every simple joy in life was shining through Donny's eyes at that moment, as he looked at you with all the hope a soldier could have. "You still love me..."

In that moment, it broke you to see he never stopped loving you.

What was worse was that you didn't know what you felt for him. A love lost to tears, years before...

"Honestly, Donny...I don't know..."

He knew you. You weren't a liar. He could tell that was the best you could do, and he admired you for it...

You shook your head before anything more was unburied, "We... we have a long mission tomorrow," and stepped forward, ushering him out. The ember was gone. The memories were meaningless. "Goodnight, sergeant."

But he noted the false frigidity in your cold words when he saw the longing and rememberance in your eyes. *****

The mission went as planned, and the OSS sanctioned another one. Then another. And another. You were to stay with the basterds until further notice. Nearly a year passed...

The basterds ambushed a patrol, and held five nazis captive, hoping one of them would tell them more than what they needed to know.

As you all knew, the basterds weren't in the prisoner taking business...

As you waited around for Aldo's threats to take effect, Wicki's translations, and Donny's 'show,' you and Smitty got along well...

A little too well, for Donny's liking.

He eyed you from behind the line of nazis.

He glared at Smitty...his bat fell to the ground, as he trudged through the melting snow.

You knew that look...

He was jealous.

And when Donny Donowitz was jealous, no one was safe. Smitty froze up, only able to move his eyes...and he mistakenly looked up at Donny. Smithson Utivich had never been more afraid in his life than he was at that moment.

Donny ripped Smitty away from the boulder he was sitting on with you. Donny's fists were clenched around Smitty's sweater. "YOU'RE GONNA TALK TO Y/N LIKE THAT?! IN FRONT OF ME?! YOU'RE GONNA TALK TO MY GIRL LIKE THAT?! HUH?!"

The basterds piled onto Donny, trying to pry him away from Utivich, but they couldn't move him.

Not even Aldo's orders worked...

Only one thing in the world could make him listen.

"Donovan." Your voice was stern, demanding like only yours could be. But it was familiar, and almost loving. One that he had known many years before...

Once, when he was younger.

He immediately let go of Smitty... He slowly looked beyond the basterds, and met your eyes.

Everyone was silent...

Then Aldo cleared his throat, and suggested the basterds get right back to business.

You eyed Donny, as he muttered a questionable apology to Smitty, and patted him on the chest twice, attempting to roughly and quickly patch up their friendship.

He went back, and took up the bat.

You watched as Donny disposed of each nazi that Aldo deemed useless. Smitty....well...he kept his distance from you for about a month or two after that.

You watched Donny raise his bat, just as you had amillion times before. Some things never change...

You watched as a spray of nazi blood shot onto nearby trees, and brain matter leaked onto the snow below.

You cleared your throat, and shifted a little as you watched Donny. It was impressive.

Donny was an impressive man, to say the least... After everything, even you couldn't deny that...

You looked away, fearing the things in your heart that might return if you looked too long at him. And just like that, the basterds had the information they needed. Aldo marked a lone survivor with a swastika on his forehead. The basterds took the rest of the night off... You were rummaging through supplies, taking inventory for no reason. You just wanted to avoid any other sudden bouts of jealousy and misunderstandings. But of course, the buckets of water you kept in your camp were just beside the supplies. And of course, Donny felt like washing off some blood after that. You knew him all too well. His grunts and muttering made you lose track over and over until you set down your paper, and looked at him, "Why're you mad now?!" He had been splashing water on his face. He was startled hearing you speak to him first... He wiped the water away with his forearm, and turned to you, unexpectedly reproaching you, "You called me Donovan in front of them!" You kept your temper as you cooly remarked, "And you called me yours." "No I..." He narrowed his eyes as he made a futile denial, "I didn't..." Knowing damn well he did. He sighed as you looked back at the paper where you kept track of the inventory. You thought about Donny's Freudian slip... How he called you his after all that time... You looked at him, and thought of when you called him yours... You saw him joining Aldo and Omar by the fire. You looked down at your paper as you sighed and thought, "Some things never change, Donny baby..." ******* A few months passed... The basterds were ambushed by a group of nazis in the forest. You were all split up and cut off from any viable and possible escape routes, from your ammunitions, and from each other. You and Donny were cornered by two separate groups of nazis, and pushed together. So... It was you and Donny against the world, just as it used to be.

In the midst of the blood and the bullets, you and Donny fumbled into each other. He practically enveloped you in his arms, and pulled you down to the ground behind a dense line of trees, saving you from gunfire. His arms were wrapped around you protectively, and he fell on top of you. His cheeks were flaming red in embarassment. He looked down at you for a moment by accident, and his heart fluttered seeing the same eyes looking up at him from years before. It was as if nothing ever changed... You giggled a little, seeing his embarassment and remarked, "Donovan, darling, I'm sorry but it never would have worked out between us." He smirked a little, knowing damn well he never should have worded it like that years ago,  as he pulled you back to your feet, and you got back to the firefight... Seeing as the results may be bleak, Donny turned to you, and started shooting at the enemies lining behind you through the trees. He gritted his teeth as he looked away from the nazis, and to you for a moment, "Y/n. I can't do this anymore. I want you back and you want me back. No more games."

You looked at him with a smirk and a squint as you aimed your shotgun to a nazi approaching behind him. You took a shot, looked up at him with a smirk and remarked, "Apology accepted."

He saw the laugh caught in your smile, and he saw your forgiving and loving eyes and the cheeky grin.

He smiled softly, and looked at you, silently but visibly wondering if you meant it. Suddenly, his eyes went wide with realization at something you didn't quite catch on to yet. Donny took you in his arms, he held you, and he spun you over, taking your place, as he shot a round at the remaining nazis.

You didn't understand yet. He looked down at you, perhaps for the last time, and kissed you. You kissed him back... You assumed the love and passion that went into it was to make up for the years that were lost. It wasn't until you felt the warm blood pooling through the back of his shirt, soaking your hand over his back.

"Donny?!" You pulled your head away from his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were glazed over with dullness and pain, but you could still see your reflection in them. The love of his life.

He exhaled shakily as his knees buckled. You held onto him tightly, lowering him down gently, as the basterds started emerging from corners and bends of the forest. *** Donny was bandaged up, laying against the backboard of dusty, ancient mattress, in a hidden attic from one of your contact's homes. A medic working under the French resistance was called for Donny under the mask of the night. Donny, feverish from the bloodloss, pain, and fear of losing you, started to get up, "I need to see her!" The medic had just finished sewing up Donny's wound. Donny blacked out before he was sure all the nazis was dead. He wanted to make sure you were alright. Aldo’s word was not good enough for him. "Stay down, Donny!" Aldo stopped pacing back and forth as Hugo and Omar held Donny down. He hadn't stopped screaming in pain as the medic pulled the bullet out of his back, without any medication. Wicki was ordered to stay downstairs with you and the contact, and make sure you didn't go upstairs. Smitty and Hirschberg were stationed at the doors to make sure no one followed. You had sat with the contact, an elderly French woman who's seven grandchildren were fighting in the war, or with the resistance. She tried her best to comfort and distract you, but nothing could tear your mind away from Donny's muffled screams. You understood everything then. That was why he didn't want to stay in your life... This was exactly why... You heard heavy, slow boots stepping on the creaking, ancient ladder from the attic. You were tense... It felt like the whole night passed waiting for the news to reach the bottom of the steps. Hugo cleared his throat, and you stood up. Hirschberg peered in from the door. Omar stood at the top of the steps. You rushed to Hugo, looking for a sign, but you couldn't read him. He looked at you, forced to go downstairs by Aldo to tell you that, "Donny is alright." You took a breath, and sighed, smiling, clasping your hands over your lips. Hugo acknowledged what Donny had done for you...frankly Hugo'd never admit it, but he thought you were sweet together. Unbearable as he found other people, somehow seeing you and Donny together amused him. "He always gets dramatic when he's hurt." You nodded with a reminiscent smile, "Oh, I know." He walked back upstairs with you. You and Donny looked at each other... He was sweating from the hack job surgery, and running a low fever, but he would alright. And he smiled, when he saw you. He stopped fighting against Omar and laid back the moment he heard your footsteps coming up the stairs. Aldo sniffed some tobacco, walked past you, and gestured to Donny, "Humor him, would ya, Y/n?" You smiled and nodded, though it hurt you to see him like that. That bullet was meant for you... "Y/n, come here..." Donny reached out for you, his fist was balled around something. Aldo cleared his throat, catching the rest of the basterds' attention. Everyone grumbled as they filed downstairs with him, leaving you alone with him. "Donny?" You sat by him, laying your hand against his face, noting the fever. "You're gonna be ok." He nodded, but that didin't mean he didn't have a lot to say.  He took your hand, and put something in your palm, and closed your fingers around it, "This is yours." You opened your hand and found a beautiful silver ring, with what seemed like a million stars from the night sky, studded over it. You didn't understand. You thought he lost his mind. Maybe he'd found it somewhere, and was just delirious at the moment... You'd never even seen such a beautiful ring in your life. You shook your head, trying to give it back to him. He refused. "It's always been yours. My heart's always been yours, doll..." "Don, you lost a lot of blood, you're not..." You took a breath, "You don't know what you're saying." He smiled at you, "This is the only time I've been sure about what I was saying. I know you might have moved on...and I just want you to be happy But I need you to know, this was meant for you, and I'm sorry I left the day I should have given it to you." You looked at him, and realized what he meant. "Donny, baby..." "I was going to ask you to be my wife three years ago...then..." You nodded and spoke softly, "Then we went to war." "I didn't want you to be a widow. I  just wanted to save you from this." He sighed, in defeat, "From myself..." You smiled a little, as you held the side of his face, "Some things were just meant to happen, Donny." He looked up at you, his eyes reflecting his confusion. "I'm still here," You smiled softly. He nodded, smiling, "You're still here..." as he watched you slip the ring onto your left ring finger. Some things really were just meant to be. In the end, not even a war could keep you apart. You kissed him... You'd always be there, and with that kiss, Donny knew it to be true.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Hogwarts Mystery Survey!

I was tagged by...well, a few people actually! Sorry, I know it took me a while to get to this, as it always does with tagged posts. Nevertheless! This was created by the epic @carewyncromwell So go check out her blog!

I shall now signal @missnight0wl​ @electricslytherindog​ @nostalgiaslithersin​ @ladyluckqueen​ and @treebels​ Unless you’ve already done this, of course. But otherwise square up! Y’all have been tagged :)

Let’s do this! 

Favourite Gryffindor: 

Oh, I’m not going to make many friends with this choice...

But my favorite Gryffindor is Patricia Rakepick. Look, even if she turns out to be completely evil with no plot twists about her loyalties...at least they gave us a genuinely evil Gryffindor, right? I’m sorry, I just...really want to believe we don’t know the whole story. Because Year 5 gave us so many great moments with Rakepick, as well as her bond with MC. The Potterverse has never had a character quite like Rakepick before, but she’s just as interesting as Snape or Dumbledore. She’s infinitely complex and it’s such a waste if she amounts to nothing more than the Cabal’s lackey. Honorable mentions: Jae Kim. He is such a mood. 

Least Favourite Gryffindor: 

Did you think we were done talking about Rakepick? Oh no, because right now she is my least favorite Gryffindor too, for reasons that are much more obvious and don’t really need to be explained. She’s done terrible things, and she needs to pay for her crimes...and on a personal level, she broke my heart. I don’t want this to be how her story ends. I don’t want to hate her, but with what she’s done, what else am I supposed to think? 

Favourite Hufflepuff: 

You can tell that the Haywood sisters were the main project for Hufflepuff, and while I find both of them to be quite interesting, I just have a real soft spot for Beatrice. I love the way she went from being a tiny Penny to being anything but. I love how she went from being little more than a plot device in Year 5 to forcibly carving her own identity in Year 6. I like the parallels between her and MC and Jacob. Both sisters are interesting, so you can consider Penny an honorable mention, I just like Bea more. 

Least Favourite Hufflepuff: 

Sorry to any of his fans, but...it’s got to be Diego. I will fully admit that we do not know enough about him right now to judge fairly, but that is, in some ways, the problem. When I first saw him in Year 5, he gave me the impression of being a total sleaze who would be weird toward the other students (particularly the females) because he was into them. And while the scenes he eventually gets haven’t really given credence to that...they haven’t disproved it either.

Favourite Ravenclaw: 

Let me tell  you a fairy tale, everyone: Once upon a time there was a fascinating and compelling character, a queen of pranks, who had a curious history with the girl who was the game’s antagonist at the time. She had a great bond with MC and a cool backstory...but the developers soon forgot she existed, and removed her from the dating quests even though she had already been there for the first two. This is the story of the underrated flower. The tale of the toad-keeper. This is the story of Tulip Karasu.

Least Favourite Ravenclaw:

Probably Andre. For similar reasons to why I don’t like Diego that much, I just don’t think his character was handled very well. Don’t get me wrong, he had a promising start....but then they didn’t do anything with him. Furthermore, his personality just isn’t my favorite. He strikes me as being a little self-absorbed and not especially nice to other people, at least from the vibes that I get.

Favourite Slytherin: 

Let me tell you a fairy tale, everyone. About the toad-keeper’s true love, the song of the shadows...Merula Snyde. Okay, okay, no more fairy tales. But in all seriousness, she’s a a real contender for being my favorite character in the game. Right up there with Rakepick. I just find Merula to have so many layers to her character, she has so much history influencing her actions. And yeah, she’s frustrating as all hell, but that’s part of it. And while she may be an acquired taste, I know I’m not alone in thinking that she can be positively adorable.  She’s a character that I hope reaches her full potential, a character I just wish I could rescue and get her the therapy she needs.

Least Favourite Slytherin: 

This one is genuinely tough for me. None of the Slytherin characters in this game are badly written, and none of them are that unlikable. Do I pick Ismelda, for her stunt with the Love Potion? Well, even in spite of that, I find myself hoping she can learn from her mistakes. Do I pick Barnaby, because as sweet as he is, he’s normally kind of one-note? Well, even in spite of that, I always love it when he’s onscreen. Could go for Felix, but he’s actually my favorite Prefect, and choosing a Prefect for a least favorite would feel way too easy anyhow. No, let’s go with Liz. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Liz. But she’s extremely under-utilized and we just don’t know that much about her. 

Favourite Quidditch Character: 

This one, on the other hand, doesn’t require any pondering at all. It’s Orion. I can’t even begin to describe how much I love this lonely sage. He deserves the world. He deserves a hug from his Quidditch family. Every time he’s onscreen, passing on his wisdom, I just get a big goofy smile on my face. He’s basically all the best parts of Dumbledore, and he’s a better big brother to MC than Jacob could ever be. Also, his hair is fantastic and I can’t wait until I get him to LV 10 because I want it. 

Least Favourite Quidditch Character:

This one is purely a matter of choosing someone by process of elimination. It’s not Orion, of course, and if you’ve been on my blog for a while then you know I do not hate Skye Parkin at all, so it isn’t her. I also quite like Murphy, so...the only character left, who we still don’t know that much about, is Erika Rath. In this case, “least favorite” is a default term. I like Erika and I will gladly defend her...just, not as much as the team trio.

Favourite Teacher: 

My immediate answer is Flitwick. Even though McGonagall is one of my favorite characters overall, from the original books...when it comes to HPHM, she hasn’t been as involved. Flitwick on the other hand, has gotten fantastic development as a character and some genuinely great moments of bonding with MC. He was one of the nicest surprises about this game. There are so many little things - like him realizing, without MC needing to say anything, that they are going to keep pursuing Beatrice’s rescue no matter what he says. Another moment I love comes in Year Three, when he’s the only Head of House to show any sympathy to MC about banning them from Hogsmeade. Unlike the other Heads, you really get the sense that Flitwick doesn’t want to do so, that he’s being overruled by Dumbledore. An honorable mention could go to Rakepick, but....eh. 

Least Favourite Teacher: 

I’m gonna get a bit out of the ordinary for this one. Sure, I could say Snape, but in this game he’s miles beyond his usual quality. He’s much more tolerable and even pretty funny sometimes. Sprout is kinda boring to me, I suppose, but she’s not that bad. I don’t know if Dumbledore technically counts, and Filch certainly wouldn’t. Rakepick, despite everything she did, was technically a good teacher. No, for my least favorite teacher, I’m gonna go with Madam Hooch. I’ve never liked her. Not just in this game, either. One moment she says “I don’t believe you, but I don’t have any proof you’re lying.” and then five seconds later, “Don’t ever let me catch you in a lie again.” I’m sorry, what do you mean again? Not believing someone is not the same thing as “catching” them in a lie, you arrogant bludger. 

Favourite Non-Teacher Adult: 

Both in the books and in the game, it is Hagrid and it will always be Hagrid. He is the biggest cinnamon roll and I would gladly eat his rock cakes no matter what they do to my teeth. Friends are more important than teeth! Just let MC take a break from all this Cursed Vault nonsense and go off to the Reserve with Hagrid to pet some nifflers.

Least Favourite Non-Teacher Adult: 

Folks, here’s a fairy tale about-no, we’re not doing that again. It’s Dumbledore. The punch line is Dumbledore. Setting aside all of the terrible things that he does in the books...HPHM sees him constantly rewarding MC’s dangerous behavior and once again stuffing the ballot for the House Cup...only to abruptly change his tune at the end of Year Four and give MC a year’s worth of detentions for doing what he previously encouraged, and only MC gets these detentions, not their friends. The very next year, he sanctions Rakepick’s apprentice team and they continue where MC left off. Not to mention that post Portrait-Vault, Dumbledore appoints himself as MC’s makeshift therapist and keeps talking like he understands MC’s feelings, like he knows what’s best for them. The game fucking forces you to tell him about your feelings, and god damn it where is the option to say “None of your business.” Like UGH. 

Rate Rowan on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “Why are we even friends?” and 10 being “BFFs for Life!”: 

100,000,000. What’s that you say? I went well over the cap? Nonsense. I simply gave Rowan a score as high as they deserve. I know we are all appreciating them a lot more now, for obvious reasons...but I can recall back in the day when most people didn’t spare them a second glance. (Though to be fair, MC didn’t either, some of the time.) Not me though. I was always loyal, thank you very much. I always knew this adorkable cinnamon roll who would have taken a bullet for MC (and...pretty much did.) deserved more love. They deserved the world.

Rate Jacob on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “You’re dead to me” and 10 being “Love you forever, big bro!!”:

A solid 5. I believe that’s the only score I can fairly give, because there’s still so much of Jacob that is uncertain and hasn’t been explored. But the character we released from the Portrait, assuming it is the real Jacob...has been kind of an asshole since he got back. On the other hand, he was sealed in a Portrait for five years. Five times longer than even Beatrice was. That has to mess a person up, right? So perhaps I should be more forgiving. I honestly don’t know. 

Rate MC and your similarities on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “MC is nothing like me” to 10 being “MC is ttly a self-insert lol”: 

Is this just like, MC in general? Or our own personal MCs? Because with Gail...I’d have to say, maybe a 4. She does inherit some of my qualities but she’s primarily inspired from one of my friends. Luca, though? Luca is easily a 9. After all, when I first created them, I used a file that was once my “personal” file. So it was that they inherited a lot of them-self from me.

Favourite Side Quest: 

You’re all going to think that I’m weird, but my favorite quest, at least right now, is the Comet TLSQ. I like it for a lot of the reasons that people hate it. I think that it’s an interesting and amusing story. How can I not love a quest that ends with a whole field of cruppies? Beyond that, if was during this quest that I really grew to love the Quidditch characters as a team. And, yes, this quest only made me enjoy Skye as a character all the more. What can I say, I just had a big smile on my face during the whole ordeal, especially when the three Quidditch characters were together. Honorable mentions: The Frog Choir TLSQ. I’m a major Tulula shipper, enough said.

Least Favourite Side Quest:

The one that immediately comes to my mind is the Knighthood TLSQ. I’m sorry but the whole thing just felt incredibly pointless. Why does MC even want to be a knight? Couldn’t they be doing something better with their time, like pursuing the next vault, doing some homework, practicing Quidditch, playing Gobstones with friends or....basically anything else? Sir Cadogan is funny in small doses but he gets old really quickly. He has that in common with Lockhart. Oh, and Penny is shoe-horned in. Again. Big surprise. 

Your Ideal Ending for Patricia Rakepick: 

-Sigh- Okay, you all know what’s coming. I don’t really want Rakepick to die. I don’t want her to go to Azkaban. I’m convinced that she probably will die no matter what, but that isn’t what I want. First and foremost, I want her to be a double agent. Working for Dumbledore or otherwise. I want Rowan’s death to have been staged - not just because it would absolve her of the crime, but also because it would mean Rowan comes back...and that the forest scene would actually make sense. There’s no explaining away her torturing Merula, other than her stalling for time, which isn’t an excuse but it would be enough to return her to being the “ruthless good” that she was before. I want her to sacrifice her own life for MC and Merula, but she need not necessarily die in the process. She could be saved. On the other hand, a death might be more poignant. But if not that, she could go on the run. I mean, she did cast an Unforgivable on a child. I’m not sure even Dumbledore’s protection could get her out of paying for that. Either way, I want her to blindside R the same way she blind-sided us in the Portrait Vault. 

I made it to the end! And somehow, I managed to praise Beatrice, Merula, and Skye...along with bashing Dumbledore...and insisting that Rakepick is secretly good, all in one post! This is like...the ultimate trailer for my blog. 

[c-is-for-circinate]

I wasn’t expecting it, but I think one of the most fascinating things to watch in Campaign 1 of CritRole (and increasingly interesting in Campaign 2!) are the different interactions characters have around gods and religion, and I’m so excited for more.

Pike loves her quiet, distant god of healing and second chances in such an easy, sure-footed way, with bright faith and service.  It’s so simple for her, in the middle of all the chaos and muddle and ethical doubt in the hearts of everyone else she loves, and it’s exactly the bright contrast the whole group needs, without being cheap.  Faith and sureness in a god doesn’t actually make Pike less confused about everything all the time either.  Piety doesn’t make her less fierce.  Pike’s fascinating, because she’s sweet and she’s good, deep to her bones, she heals and cares and builds temples and gives council, and she’s also a dragon-slaying monstah who’ll charge out of her room in a midnight assassination attempt naked in her gauntlets, shield in one hand and mace in the other, bleeding from everywhere and ready to fight.  And those things don’t conflict for her, because sometimes goodness is fierce, and the pieces that wouldn’t fit together for someone else do for her, and damnit I miss Pike again already.

Percy will make a deal with any god or demon who’ll offer him a good enough bargain.  That’s who he is, Percy the Negotiator (do we have official alignments on Vox Machina?  Is Percy actually Lawful Neutral or does he just really, really feel like it?).   It’s selfish and arrogant and full of a very deep respect for the gods all at the same time.   Percy in the Raven Queen’s temple is as humble and honest and bare as he ever gets, stripped down and vulnerable, and even then he’s controlled and deliberate in offering his own vulnerability, like it’s a gift, like it’s something she might want, like a price he’s willingly choosing to pay in hopes of getting the thing he desperately needs in return.  He respects gods, and gives them his humility, but he doesn’t have faith, not really, not the soul-deep belief that some other power would do anything for him that he didn’t pay for himself.  And meanwhile he reveres people--not person, but people, the work of human lifetimes, the metaphysical enormity of cities, of countries, of history, of concepts and beliefs and things built that become more than the sum of their parts, for good or for ill.  The sacred glory of Westrun and Whitestone.  The near-divine horror of evil for the firearms he made with his own two hands and then released into the world to become a force, and a terror, and perhaps very soon a power beyond any mortal’s control ever again.  Any real reverence Percy has for gods as more than ultra-powerful allies, to be courted and implored and bargained with, comes down to the power he sees in belief and religion and the things people do in their name.

Keyleth never wanted or expected to have anything to do with gods until they decided they wanted something to do with her and hers, and it’s freaking her out so bad.  Gods are people, to Keyleth, an there’s nothing sacred about divinity.  They have powers and they do things, and that’s all--and in this world of Exandria where gods walk and want and war between each other, and distribute curses and favor at their own whims, who’s to say she’s wrong?  A god is just a person with a whole lot of power, and she doesn’t understand reverence, and it scares her.  The idea of a being with that much power over her and her loved ones scares her, when there’s so much she doesn’t have power over already.  The idea that her family-friends-team doesn’t stand with her in that fear, that they’ll kneel and pray instead of standing themselves, that scares her so, so much.  Keyleth believes in what she sees and touches and experiences, sun and seasons and living people, and gods have no place in her world, but they keep inviting themselves in anyway and she doesn’t know how to block them back out.

Vax breaks my fucking heart.  We spend a lot of time in fandom talking about sex and love and BDSM-done-like-religion, but the only metaphor I’ve got is that Vax just straight-up does religion like BDSM--not the penance and self-flagellation and humiliation and punishment, but.  The submission.  The boy is so desperate for solid ground to stand on.  Long before the Raven Queen, he’s looking up at Sarenrae and praying and hoping for a gentle hand.  For someone to tell him what he’s meant to be doing with himself, with his time, with his life.  Someone to promise that he’s done right, someone he can trust to know all the things about the wild, terrible, chaotic world that he doesn’t.  He wants a god so badly, to help him be good, to make him good, to give him a purpose and a guide and a promise for tomorrow that he actually trusts, and he wanted it to be Sarenrae but it’s the Raven Queen now, and he’s given himself to her body and soul with all the hope and terror in his heart.  He didn’t want this master, but he wanted a master.  He’s living right on the push-pull edge of trapped vs secure.  Fear and faith and peace are combining into the resigned horror-hope of something that’s been rattling loose for so long now clicking unbreakably into place, and it’s delicious to watch.

I know Vex falls into company with Pelor eventually, and I am so very on edge to see it, to see what it means to her.  Vex doesn’t blink at gods, except to nod to Sarenrae in passing on Pike’s behalf, to reread the Raven Queen book a dozen times inside of a month on her brother’s, a bit of a nod to Pelor for the sake of Whitestone.  Vex spectates everybody else’s drama and meltdowns, for all she plays selfish and vain and pushy and gossip-hungry, and tries to help, and tries not to control, and tries, and tries.  Vex watches her brother and her friends and her someday-husband slip and trip and bruise themselves stumbling through life, and walks the line between keeping an eye on everything she can and keeping out of the way.  Vex hasn’t even looked at the gods for herself, not really, not yet.  I cannot fucking wait.

There’s Grog and Scanlan, who don’t seem to have any particular relationship to gods so far, and that’s real too, the down-to-earth contrast for everybody else’s drama, and even they’re not bereft of their own little interactions with the divine.  There’s the horror of Kashaw and Vesh, there’s Zarah and Lilith and their not-a-god moon patron, there’s Kerr the paladin of no-apparent-god-in-particular.  There’s Thorbir and Lyra and Gern who don’t appear to have gods at all.  There’s a million NPC’s and there’s Kima’s faith in Bahamut and Allura’s faith in her, and there’s the whole city of Vasselheim, and Whitestone’s once-desecrated temple to Pelor, and its temple to Arathis where people prayed for hope and began a rebellion, and its temple to Vecna deep below ground.  There’s the shrine to the Raven Queen in the Whitestone graveyard and the shrine to the soul of Westrun in an underground bunker, and people will find them and see them and react to them in their own ways for as long as they stand.  There are so many different angles!

(There’s Jester and her very best friend and the favors she does him in exchange for affection.  There’s Caduceus and his Mother and his fears and doubts in himself that never extend to doubting her.  There’s Fjord with a dead god’s half-divine offcast in the back of his head, scared enough that he’d make a new deal if he could find a god to back him.  There’s Yasha, who follows devotion and worship as a matter of gratitude and honor and not-like-she-has-anything-else-left-either.  There’s Caleb and Nott and Imperial state-sponsored religion that they grew up with and don’t even notice, not really; there’s Molly covering himself in the symbols of all those state-sanctioned gods entirely for display and then praying to Moonweaver in some chaotic mix of secret and sincerity and show; there’s Beau praying to Ioun without being told to for the very first time in her life, just in case.  There’s the Krynn and the Luxan and so much more to come.)

Fantasy-fiction doesn’t always get a lot of deep exploration of religion and faith and what it means to have actual gods, whose presence can be known and measured and felt, marked down as an objective fact of history.  I love that we’re legitimately getting that in these campaigns, and I love that we’re getting it in a D&D format, where it’s so different for each different character, and so valid for each and every one.  I can’t fucking wait to see the rest of Campaign 1.  I can’t wait to see where Campaign 2 goes next.

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 20-26

Complete

The Winter Stallion by fancyh (Medieval AU, Animal transformation | 35K | Mature): Prince Steven Rogers and Knight James “Bucky” Barnes of Mar-vell have been inseparable all their lives. But when a mission against the warring kingdom of Hydra goes wrong, Bucky is thought dead, leaving Steve to his grief. Two years later, Steve has almost succeeded in ridding the land of Hydra, and in the final battle finds himself coming face to face with their infamous warhorse - known only as the Winter Stallion. There is something familiar in his eyes, something that begs for help, and after freeing him from Hydra he decides to save him, beginning the long journey of winning his trust. The Winter Stallion is wild and fearful from abuse and more intelligent than any horse he’s ever met, but as their relationship flourishes Steve is unaware of the dark secret that lays beneath – a curse that turned man into beast. For the Winter Stallion, who remembers nothing of his past, it will take the kindness of humans to mend his heart, but much more to unearth his true identity. For maybe, just maybe, Steve isn’t such a stranger after all.

like magnets by birdjay (Canon | 1,6K | Teen): “I’m dead, aren’t I?” Steve asks, tilting his head at the being again.Not-Erskine nods again. “You really weren’t supposed to make it this long…” He -- It -- They -- flick a hand behind them, and suddenly Steve’s life begins to play, flashes of memories, of faces, of things he’d done. They go quick, just blinks, mere nanoseconds in time as flicker across the white. (Part 1 of like magnets)

we snap together by birdjay (Canon | 7K | Teen): “Captain Rogers?” A doctor says, yanking Steve’s attention away from Sam. He turns, winces, but meets the woman’s eyes. She stares at him with friendly brown eyes before saying in a stern, professional voice, “You were clinically dead for five minutes before we were able to restart your heart. We thought we lost you.” (Part 2 of like magnets)

💙 Civilian by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves​, CoraRochester (Canon divergent | 72K | Explicit): In 1937, Steve Rogers joins the army, and by 1945, he’s back in Brooklyn, dishonorable discharge in hand and nothing to show for years in the Pacific.In 1947, a seventeen year old Bucky Barnes meets Steve Rogers in a Brooklyn gay bar, and Steve Rogers finally comes home.

💙 i'm a believer (got a fever running through my bones) by voxofthevoid (ABO AU, Shrunkyclunks | 17K | Explicit): Bucky gets it, alright? Alpha/omega is the norm. Matches sanctioned by god or whatever bullshit your conservative Christian sect of the day likes to ramble about. It’s the twenty-first century, and the world still runs on a maddening policy of straight until proven otherwise. Thing is, Bucky has most certainly proven otherwise and has been doing so since he was a wee alpha panting after some knothead or the other because being queer didn’t magically make him any less stupid than your average horny teenager. Bucky’s an alpha, Bucky likes alphas, and he’d love nothing more than to climb Steve Rogers like a goddamn monkey bar. 

Between Midnight and Dawn by The_She_Devil (Modern AU, SHIELD Agents Steve & Bucky | 53K | Explicit): After a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission gone bad, Bucky is left with no memory of the past year, which includes his and Steve’s divorce. Steve, who has never really gotten over his ex-husband, is left to navigate the fine line between helping and hindering Bucky’s recovery while trying to protect himself. At the same time, both men are fighting to uncover the truth of Bucky’s disappearance, what was done to him, and why.

Something Great by dragongirlG (Post-WS | 1,5K | General): The Soldier knows he is not Bucky Barnes, but he still seeks out Steve Rogers after the helicarriers fall, inexplicably craving Rogers' affection. Rogers gives it. (Basically, the Winter Soldier wants a hug. Steve gives him that and a little more.)

Secret Identity by lesbuchanan (Shrunkyclunks | 52K | Teen): Bucky is just a regular guy. He works as a nurse, lives in a moderate Brooklyn apartment with his pet cat, oh, and he once dated Captain fucking America. After a pretty rough breakup over a year ago, he's been re-adjusting to regular life, with only a moderate amount of success. But what little progress he had made goes straight out of the window when Steve shows up at his door, and the two of them are finally forced to confront their feelings.

WIP

💙 Some things you do for money by pushdragon (BDSM AU | 13/14 | 65K | Explicit): Steve’s wholesome take on domination has suddenly become the hottest thing in the business. He should be cashing in on his newfound celebrity, but instead he’s distracted by the guy who works odd shifts in the club’s bar, fresh out of prison and damaged in ways that don’t show.

💙 What else should we do when talking’s for functioning people? by SinpaiCasanova (Porn AU | 2/3 | 8,8K | Explicit): “Tony wanted me to talk to you about an upcoming vid we’d be doing with a third party.” “Uhm–like a three-way?” Was Steve’s very eloquent response to that. Bucky snorted, which made Steve feel like an inexperienced idiot. “Yeah, like a three-way. Just imagine me as the creamy center of a double-stuffed golden oreo. Two slabs of meat in a single bun-” (Part 3 of 💙 The adventures of Steve and Bucky: Professional porn stars)

💙 A Company Man by mambo/ @whtaft (Modern AU | 9/16 | 43K | Explicit): No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.