#brute forced under leveled

[brutermonger]

til next time Lighter.. 🫡..😔

[zaynes-left-chesticle]

After just beating two trial levels that I've been stuck on all week with ease, I can say the Foreseer is no joke😳

Also, I could rewatch his freaking Ardent Oath animation like 18,000 times and still need more, lol.

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

ми��ая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

[your-highnessmarvel]

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"

[androm3da868]

Martian Intelligence 🔥

I cannot stress this enough: Mars people — whether by rashi (sign) or nakshatra — are brilliantly and cosmically intelligent. It is baked into their very nature to be strategic, calculating, opportunistic, and driven by a relentless desire to overcome obstacles. These are the natives who do not simply sit on knowledge or take it for granted — they weaponize it, sharpening their minds the way a warrior sharpens a blade.

Mars governs not only our physical energy and willpower but also the discipline and mental sharpness it takes to tackle challenges, seize opportunities, and win. Too often people reduce Mars to anger, aggression, or pure physicality — but they overlook its deep ties to mental endurance, strategy, and applied intelligence.

Mars nakshatra and Mars rashi natives are frequently drawn to athletic careers because Mars rules the body, movement, competition, and discipline. But here’s the crucial point:

Do you know how most athletes get scouted? Through university.

Do you know how many receive scholarships? Yes, it’s partly because of their raw talent — but also because of their academic performance.

You can’t just enter the world of high-level sports on talent alone. From high school onward, athletes are required to maintain strong grades and demonstrate intelligence, time management, and focus. By the time they’re in college, especially in rigorous sports like football, they’re expected to perform both physically and intellectually at the top of their game.

And this is why Mars nakshatra women, for example, are often drawn not simply to rich men but specifically to athletes. Why? Because they recognize someone who has succeeded in a field that demands both strategy and calculation — not just brute force or luck. Athletes are often financially well-off not just because they can play, but because they’ve mastered the mental demands of their career.

When Mars natives are diverted from physical paths — say, due to injury — they often redirect their drive into lifelong intellectual or activist pursuits. These are the people who become scholars, teachers, or advocates, pouring their energy into informing others about the challenges, risks, or injustices in the very field they once inhabited. Even becoming coaches.

Mars is not just a fighter; Mars is a lifelong warrior for knowledge, for mastery, for action.

Take Mars rashi natives, especially Scorpio placements. Many of them go through trauma early in life. And trauma — particularly verbal or psychological abuse, especially for Jyestha tie to Mercury — forces them to develop mental sharpness as a defense mechanism.

Jyestha nakshatra, for instance, is famously quick-witted and verbally cutting. These natives are masters of the comeback, of the precisely timed argument, of the word that cuts like a blade. Why? Because they’ve been forged in environments where they had to outthink, outmaneuver, and outargue their way to survival. Anuradha placement shows up in many lawyers and scholars. Many artist who are know for their lyricism have these two placements in the planets of mars and Mercury and also known for their traumatic childhoods.

This is Mars intelligence in action — not just physical, but mental; not just passion, but precision.

I wish more people would stop underestimating the power and significance of Mars in the birth chart. Too often, we only look at Mercury, Jupiter, or the Sun when talking about intelligence and the mind. But Mars has so much to tell us — about not just willpower or essence, but how we approach knowledge itself.

Mars is the sharpener, the strategist, the commander. It reveals how we learn through challenge, how we apply our intelligence under pressure, and how we turn knowledge into action. To overlook Mars is to overlook one of the most potent sources of strength, brilliance, and mastery in the entire chart.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Overhauling Exploration with the Illuminated Room System

Artsource

Despite playing D&D for over 20 years, every so often I'll encounter a bit of DM advice that completely changes the way I run my games. When it happens, it often feels like I've discovered a way we were always SUPPOSED to be playing, solving a problem that I'd had for years and sending me into a rage spiral about why no one seemed to figure this out back when I was first learning the game.

Lo and behold, two of my favourite online DM channels happen to hit upon the same idea mere months apart.

TLDR: To improve the efficiency and clarity of our exploration based gameplay, we should borrow from videogame UI design which makes it easy for players to know what to do by highlighting things players can interact with. From there, escape room design takes over, as interaction reveals new information, challenges, and puzzles. 

More ideas about how to use this system (and my own ideas about spicing it up) under the cut.

Again, I cannot overstate how much this technique has overhauled my games, improving everything from dungeoncrawls to mystery investigations. It’s succinct, it’s direct, it’s easy to both design around and run at the table.  It helps focus the party on what’s been prepped without restricting their options, and it’s even communicable to other games like MOTW. 

One of the things I like most about it is that it’s scalable: while the system works to describe individual rooms, you can also use it to describe entire floors in larger structures, or even regions of wilderness for far ranging adventures.  You can even mix and match, detailing the exterior region around the dungeon as the party searches for an entrance before zooming in to smaller and smaller areas. 

Tips and tricks:

Since this system is all about revealing information, it’s important you know what that information is pointing to. What’s your party’s goal in the dungeon? Are they exploring ? Give them information about the background of the area? Are they looking for something specific? Hints and clues towards its actual location (though they may need to connect the dots).  You can also use this hidden information to forecast future threats, or tempt them onto exploration sidetracks.  

On that same topic, you can give your dungeons a sense of life and history by connecting a few of these points of interest into their own narrative threads. Escalate the threat of a haunted tomb by leaving clues about a group of thieves who tried to delve it beforehand. Play up the chaos and comedy of an absentminded mage by leaving his research notes scattered about. Players are completionist by nature, and humanizing the lore will only make them want to know the endings even more. 

MIx minor hazards into your investigation to keep things interesting. A chance for minor damage or afflictions every couple of “rooms” will keep the party on edge without punishing them for their curiosity. You can also through a more major threat in there (room level trap, lurking combat encounter, debilitating curse), but in this instance the “highlighting” should give the party a chance of not getting ambushed. 

I like to pair the illuminated room system with my framework for random encounters, having every “round” of exploration adding a unit of time. I also let my players spend time to  “brute force” any of the failed rolls they might have suffered, (fully tossing a room looking for a single journal, trying every combination on a safe etc.)

You can even have illuminated room exploration in the aftermath of the battle, mixing clues dropped by the party’s foes with things that were already in the area.  This is a great way to double up during the dungeon design process, designing a setpiece combat arena as a place of investigation and viceversa. 

[dearstvckyx]

It hurts, but I won’t fight you - Bucky Barnes

After disappearing following the events of The Flag Smashers, Reader returns as a brainwashed operative under the control of a Hydra-like organization. During a mission at The New Avengers Tower, the Thunderbolts confront her. Bucky Barnes, recognizing her, strives to break through her conditioning. - The Neighbourhood, Afraid

Bucky Barnes x Reader , mentions of thunderbolts members

Warnings: Violence, brainwashing, emotional trauma, mild torture (electric shocks), angst, hurt/comfort, romantic undertones.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The New Avengers Tower – Common Room - 11:42 PM

It had been a rare, quiet night.

Yelena was dramatically spilling crumbs on the couch. Alexei, legs wide like a king, was halfway through a passionate rant about how “in his day,” super-soldiers didn’t need protein powder. John Walker was ignoring him entirely, focused on whatever was on his phone.

Bob hovered above the ground with a book in one hand and a glowing soda can in the other. Ava had her feet up on the table, head leaned back, resting.

And Bucky? Bucky was enjoying the peace. The quiet rhythm of camaraderie that didn’t always come easy to him. Until—

BANG.

The power died.

All the lights snapped out, the screens glitched, and a high-pitched, shrill alarm shattered the calm.

“Warning: Breach detected. Level 12. Unauthorized entry.”

Everyone snapped to their feet.

Yelena groaned, grabbing her knives. “Why always when I’m relaxing?”

“Level 12’s main security is offline,” Bob muttered. “That’s not easy to do.”

“Could be sabotage,” Ava said sharply, tightening her gloves. “Or worse—inside help.”

“Let’s go,” Bucky ordered, who was already halfway to the stairs followed by the team. Excluding Bob who’s stayed behind in case the intruder came down.

⸻

Level 12 – Maintenance Corridor

The air was thick with smoke and flashing red lights. A security door lay blown off its hinges, wires sparking. The smell of scorched metal clung to everything.

And then—a blur.

Someone in sleek, black tactical armor lunged out of the smoke and kicked Walker full-force into the wall with a mechanical whirr.

“Damn it!” he growled, winded. “Who the hell—?!”

“MOVE!” Ava shouted, phasing just as a throwing disc nearly clipped her head.

Yelena ducked and retaliated with twin knives, slashing with military precision. But the intruder blocked it—clean, calculated—before flipping her over their shoulder like she weighed nothing.

Alexei charged with brute force but was met with a rapid-fire stun shot to the chest. He stumbled and fell with a groan. “That one was unnecessary…”

Everyone was on the ground, in pain… everyone but Bucky.

“Who the hell fights like this?” Ava hissed, panting.

“Like someone trained,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. There was something hauntingly familiar about it—the stance, the precision, the brutal efficiency.

And then—Bucky lunged.

Steel clashed against upgraded tech. They fought close, gritty—Bucky landed a hit to the helmet, and the figure staggered. He pushed them back again, growling, “Take off the damn mask.”

The figure hesitated. A split-second of stillness.

Then—they whispered it.

“James?”

The voice. Muffled through the modulator, but Bucky heard it like thunder. His stomach dropped.

“Y/N?”

That moment of recognition—a crack in the armor—was punished instantly.

A violent shock pulse surged through their suit, and they cried out, buckling to the ground in pain.

“NO!” Bucky shouted, catching them.

You looked up at him, eyes flickering with something broken and terrified.

“It hurts…” you whispered. “But I won’t fight you.”

Another jolt. You screamed. His grip tightened.

He saw them now—small emitters on the spine, flashing red. Some kind of remote control. Surveillance.

Without hesitation, Bucky used his vibranium arm to rip them off, wires sparking and shorting.

The suit powered down. You collapsed forward, gasping, into his arms.

Helmet off. Face revealed.

It was you.

And the others—Yelena, Ava, even Walker, who the last time he saw you, you were limped and out cold in Bucky’s arms—stood frozen in disbelief.

⸻

Recovery Wing - 44 Hours Later

The recovery wing of the tower was quieter than usual.

You sat propped up on a medical bed, bandages wrapping the worst of the burns where the shocks had hit your body. Your hands trembled every so often, more from the cold emptiness in your chest than from the physical trauma. You hadn’t said much—not since the fight, not since Bucky tore the device off you and held you like the world had cracked open.

“Head still spinning?” Bob asked softly, sitting in a chair pulled close to your bedside, a half-eaten granola bar in his hand. “I can stop talking if it’s too much.”

You blinked at him and shook your head. “No… it’s fine. I like hearing your voice. It helps.”

Bob gave you a small, gentle smile. “Well, that’s rare. Most people say I talk too much.”

You managed a weak laugh, the first sound resembling life you’d made in hours.

Across the compound, Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei were suiting up. The footage pulled from the hacked suit had given them a lead—an offshore facility run by remnants of a HYDRA-adjacent group. The same bastards who had taken you.

“They’re gonna find them,” Bob said, his voice quieter now. “They’ll make sure no one does this to you—or anyone—again.”

You nodded absently, fingers curling around the blanket on your lap. “I was awake for some of it. They’d… talk to me. Reprogram me. And I couldn’t scream, or fight back. I was just—trapped in my own head. But when I saw Bucky… everything cracked. Like he punched through it.”

Bob didn’t interrupt. He didn’t press you to keep talking. He just stayed, steady and warm, the way good people do.

⸻

Hours Later…

You heard the familiar shuffle of boots before the medbay doors opened. Your heart jumped when Bucky stepped through the doorway, bruised and bloody from the fight, but very much alive.

Bob was still next to you, now showing you funny dog videos on his phone to try and distract you. But he paused when Bucky entered, giving him a smile and a knowing look.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Bob said, gently squeezing your shoulder before getting up. “Holler if you want another snack. Or a better phone.”

Bucky watched him go with a slight huff of amusement before stepping forward, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only solid thing left in the world.

“You okay?” he asked first, as always.

You nodded. “Physically? Yeah. Emotionally? I’m still trying to sort through the static.”

He knelt by your bedside, gloved hand finding yours without asking. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered.

“I scared me too.”

You tried to smile, but it broke halfway through. “They were in my head, James. Controlling me. And I couldn’t stop it. I thought I’d hurt you. I thought… I’d lose you.”

His brows furrowed, eyes going glassy. “You didn’t. You never could.”

He stood up slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles before sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “You said something—back in the fight. ‘It hurts, but I won’t fight you.’ I’ve never heard anything more honest.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the softness in his voice. “Because I knew you. Even if everything else was gone… you stayed. And I… I stayed for you.”

Bucky cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a tear away before it could fall. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

You leaned your forehead against his, your breath mingling. “Then don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

Outside the room, the rest of the team passed by the hallway, glancing through the window and spotting the two of you curled together on the medbed.

Bob grinned as he walked past, whispering to Ava, “Told you he was a goner.”

John had rolled his eyes but smirked at the two. “Finally.”

⸻

SOOOOOO THE NBHD MIGHT BE COMING BACK IM GONNA CRYYYYYYY

[loredrinker]

Felassan's Role in Psychological Warfare

Some time ago, I wrote about Elgar’nan’s terrifying display of power - the act of erasing emotion from existence, burning it from the minds of every living being, and letting its spirits die out completely. 

This is the scale of the enemy Solas and Felassan were up against. When your enemy can unmake feeling, extinguish spiritual presence, and reshape the metaphysical architecture of your people, what choices remain? What kind of war do you wage against opponents like these? 

What Elgar’nan did was spiritual genocide - brute force on every level. From the war on the Titans, to the destruction of spirit communities, to the devastation he continues to unleash in Veilguard, Elgar’nan has ruled through annihilation. (I feel real sympathy for Mythal trying to placate this being.) And what’s more terrifying: he’s only one of the Evanuris.

This reframes Solas’s rebellion. It wasn’t just a fight against political oppression - it was a fight to also preserve the emotional and spiritual reality of the world. 

In that context, it’s no surprise the rebellion turned to psychological warfare. And this is where Felassan emerges not merely as a soldier or lieutenant, but as an architect - just as good at it as Solas. 

The Dread Wolf: A Weapon, Not a Hero 

The Felassan codices confirm their psychological campaign was deliberate and coordinated. The Dread Wolf myth was used as a weapon to frighten the Evanuris, inspire hope, and manipulate belief.

“Yes, we have to keep playing up the Dread Wolf. The people need someone they believe is strong enough to protect them… Don’t worry. I promise to mock you viciously if you ever start believing those stories yourself.”  - Felassan

This wasn’t about heroism - it was about mass mobilization under existential threat. These codices suggest Felassan played a far more integral and strategic role in the rebellion than often acknowledged. He wasn’t just Solas’ lieutenant; he was a partner in both ideology and execution. 

This was myth as infrastructure. Felassan understood that when your enemies are divine, survival requires more than tactics. You need narrative power - a symbol strong enough to counter fear. The Dread Wolf, once hurled at Solas with contempt, became that symbol. And Felassan and Solas wielded it with precision. 

It’s easy to see Felassan as a wry commentator or moral counterweight to Solas, espeically when taken in hindsight of his death. And yes, Felassan is those things - but the codices reveal he's just as much the strategist as Solas, someone who helped forge the emotional weaponry of the rebellion. He didn’t just believe in the cause - he helped shape how it would be remembered. 

This is especially clear in two parts of that codex: 

“Yes, we have to keep playing up the Dread Wolf.”  “Don’t worry…” 

It reads like a continuation of an ongoing conversation. The “Yes” implies Solas has raised a concern - maybe about the direction of the symbol, perhaps discomfort with what it’s making him become - who knows, but we have missed out on some initial conversation here because Felassan’s response is affirmation and reassurance. Yes, we have to do this Solas, it’s necessary for the rebellion. But don’t worry, I’ll pull you back if it starts to consume you. That casual “Don’t worry” does heavy emotional lifting. It acknowledges the toll already settling on Solas, and Felassan, aware of it, offers the only balm he can: I won't let it consume you. 

In this way, the codex isn’t just a strategic log - it’s a record of emotional triage. As the war escalates, the emotional and ethical toll begins to shift. Felassan becomes not just a planner but a witness to a conflict spiraling beyond anyone’s control. 

“The bad news is that Andruil and Ghilan’nain made a big show of putting down a protest… Andruil left a crater where the town stood, and Ghilan’nain is using the people taken prisoner as fodder for her experiments.” 

What follows next in that codex is the line that piqued my curiosity: 

“This isn’t your fault, but still, this is exactly what I was worried about.” 

That line marks a quiet, painful evolution in Felassan’s thinking. The emotional core is regret. 

He isn’t blaming Solas - he’s acknowledging that the symbol they created is now drawing divine wrath. Each act of rebellion is met with devastation so complete, even victory feels like loss. Yet “this isn’t your fault” stands out. He knows Solas is carrying the rebellion’s cost - perhaps already retreating inward, calcifying under the burden of the costs of war. 

But “this is exactly what I was worried about,” when read alongside the other codices, suggests something deeper: guilt. Felassan sees Solas changing. The man he once teased to not take the myth too seriously is now becoming it. The line between mask and self is blurring. And Felassan, who once promised to pull him back, may no longer be able to. Part of that guilt, perhaps, comes from the knowledge that he encouraged it - that he helped craft the myth, pushed Solas to wear it, and now must watch as it consumes his friend. 

In a war like this, no one remains untouched. The Evanuris long ago abandoned morality - experimenting on the living, erasing emotions, killing without hesitation. But the rebels, too, are marked by compromise: truths sacrificed, lies forged for survival. Felassan isn’t innocent. Neither is Solas. 

Felassan helped build the myth. Solas bore it. Now, both are shaped by it in turn. 

The tragedy is that when you wield psychological warfare, there's always the risk that the story you create to move others will begin to reshape you. That’s what Felassan feared. That’s what began to happen.

And when Mythal is murdered - well, we know what happens from there.

This is part of a larger series. The first being Solas and Psychological Warfare.

[heritageposts]

In his seminal The Wretched of the Earth, Frantz Fanon could be writing about Gaza when he said: “In all armed struggles, there exists what we might call the point of no return. Almost always it is marked off by a huge and all-inclusive repression which engulfs all sectors of the colonial people.” In Israel, Gaza and the West Bank, that point has arrived. From Gaza to the Red Sea, on all fronts the West is now unmasked as a lawless killing machine in terror of losing control. Genocide, starvation and war, defended with Olympic-level diplomatic double-speak, are its only answers to the fact that the Global South, and the nations of the Middle East (if not their leaders) no longer wish to live under US hegemony. Jean-Paul Sartre, in his preface to Fanon's work, wrote of western colonialism: “Our Machiavellianism has little purchase on this wide-awake world that has run our falsehoods to earth one after the other. The settler has only recourse to one thing: brute force… the native has only one choice, between servitude and supremacy.” Fanon was a revolutionary thinker and a practising psychiatrist of colonial racism and its psychic impact on the colonised, and the coloniser. He and Sartre were writing about France’s imminent defeat in Algeria after seven years of brutal war. [...] Western powers are involved in conflicts thousands of miles from home, as they were in Fanon's time in Algeria, Congo and Indochina. Today the western political class has united behind Ukraine and Israel, but for millions of people it is no longer clear that the wars are worth fighting.  As Yemen’s spokesman, Mohammed al-Bukhaiti, put it: “The war today is between Yemen which is struggling to stop the crimes of genocide, and the American and British coalition [who] support its perpetrators. Every party or individual in this world has two choices that have no thirds… who do you stand with as you watch these crimes?” Fanon, writing 63 years ago, agrees: “The colonial world is a Manichaean world… at times this Manichaeism goes to its logical conclusion and dehumanises the native, or to speak plainly, it turns him into an animal. The native is declared insensible to ethics; he represents not only the absence of values, but the negation of values… he is the enemy of values, and in this sense he is the absolute evil. “The native knows all this, and laughs to himself every time he spots an allusion to the animal world in the other’s words. For he knows he is not an animal, and it is precisely at the moment he realises his humanity that he begins to sharpen the weapons with which he will secure victory.”

. . . full article on MEE (1 Feb 2024)

You can also find a free copy of Fanon's The Wretched of the Earth on the Internet Archive (available as a PDF, EPUB etc.)

[contentloadingandstuff]

A Little Relief - Mualani x Male!Warrior!Reader

A/N: The MO for this one was "write, don't think". Hope you enjoy! CW: Vanilla smut.

The recent Abyss crisis meant the People of the Springs needed to always be on guard. Mualani wasn’t very happy with this state of things, but the situation did have an undeniable advantage - she got to see you fight. 

In the heat of combat, you were a sight to behold - more impressive than each man she saw battling in her life. Each monster that approached you was served with a flurry of efficient, but brutal strikes from your claymore. Your muscles, drenched in sweat and blood, flexed smoothly under the weapon’s weight as you smashed it down. Despite this you were deceptively quick, able to doge the claws of a Rifthound before cleaving it in half with a primal warcry on your lips. It wasn’t uncommon for the beasts to freeze at the power of your voice, even if just for a moment. They feared you, as subtle as it was - their Abyss handlers had to force them to attack you. Even if they managed to land a hit, you would just grit your teeth, growling in anger as you retaliate.

After each fight she would see you at the tavern, downing whole cups of beer with your brothers in arms, roaring with laughter and comparing kills. But you weren’t just a brute, far from it. Mualani watched countless times as you helped the wounded and the elderly, fighting without hesitation to ensure their safety. You care for those around you, rarely letting any of the warriors under your command fall during battle, and when they did, you mourned with their families. You frequented any festivals there were and weren’t ever afraid to dance your heart out on stage. And you were good with kids, shamelessly going along with their games and making sure they were safe while at it. The sight of the little ones climbing on top of you was as heartwarming as it was… exciting. 

Mualani couldn’t tear her eyes off of you, off your scarred, powerful body. She couldn’t get enough of you telling her to stay back before charging into the fray, or wordlessly commanding your saurian with your eyes alone. You were a hunter, a warrior, a force of nature, a man. A man that poked the buttons in her brain, absorbing her attention and filled her body with a dull, restless tingle. You talked, you got along, you went out together, but her body needed you. Mualani wanted to feel your hands sink beneath the hem of her bottoms, she wanted you to wrap your big, warm hands around her boobs and pin her small hands to the bed as you fuck her dumb. 

She talked to you, but never told you about the heat pooling between her legs every time you spoke, groaned or placed your hand around her shoulders. Was it too early? She could only hope to alleviate the urge at night, moaning into the pillow and desperately thrusting her fingers into her wanting pussy in a pitiful attempt to simulate the feeling of a real cock inside her - your cock. Her mind wandered to your shirtless form, imagining the bulge forming in your pants before you would pull them down and nestle yourself inside her, using her as a relief for your masculine urges; the orgasm from grinding her wet slit disappointing.

One day she couldn’t take it anymore. When you rode off on your saurian for a regular shore patrol, she followed suit, catching you near a small sandy island.

“Hey…” she said, touching your stomach; the hard muscle wet with seawater. “How about a break?”

You shook your head, but before you could reply, Mualani looked up at you with a knowing smile and a blush on her face. Her hand went down, resting over the belt. Her finger tugged at the clip keeping it in place. “Need a hole, brave warrior~?”

Your lips crash against her, you having to lean down to reach her level. Mualani smiles against you, holding onto you with her hands on your shoulders. Her tongue is quickly overpowered by yours as your hands roam over her tanned body, as if checking her to see if it would suffice. 

Mualani doesn’t resist as she feels your hands pull her down by the waist. Her blue eyes stare at you, her lips curling into a smile as she unbuckles the belts and releases your dick from its confines. Her hand wraps around the shaft right away and she brings it to her face, giving your swollen head a long lick. The taste is hot, heavenly in her mouth as she sinks her head down, engulfing your length with her warm throat. 

Groaning, you watch as she bobs up and down, drooling over your dick as her tongue grinds against your frenulum, creating delicious friction that makes your knees tremble. She doesn’t bother to muffle the slurping, as she worships you. She hums to herself - such a strong man, and yet he trembles under her-

“Mngh-!” Her thoughts are interrupted as you shove your dick all the way inside her. Mualani gags around it and her hands latch onto your calves for support as you fuck yourself with her throat. Her drool mixed with precum leaks from her mouth and splatters onto the sand below with each powerful thrust. 

She feels you throb in her mouth. You pull her by the hair to look at you. There are tears in her eyes from your rough treatment, but her hand is working hard between her legs as she feels you reach your peak. “Mualani…” you moan weakly, speeding up as your body tenses up. With a groan of satisfaction, you sheathe your cock for the last time and unload inside her warm throat. Her eyes never leave your face as she audibly gulps down your essence, one hand gently massaging your sack to coax more out. 

After pulling your cock out with a pop!, Mualani stands up on shaky legs, leaning against you for support as she gets her breath back. 

“Uh, you have no idea how much I needed this, Y/N.” She chuckles, wiping her mouth with her forearm. Mualani catches your hand by the wrist and brings it to rest on her clothed breast.

“How about we finish things up here and go home for more~?”

Thanks for reading!

[froggibus]

Me again! Surprise, not Kurt!

May I request headcanons for rivals to lovers with Jason Todd?

— Rivals - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd/Red Hood x gn! vigilante! reader

Genre: headcanons, fluff?

Summary: there's a new vigilante on the street, and they've made themself busy being the bane of Red Hood's existence

CW: vigilante reader, robbery/theft, canon typical violence, intimidation, fear gas, v brief mention of sex trafficking, Batfamily jumpscares, typical stuff for Gotham

hello my beautiful amazing incredible fwren :) thank you for requesting this, it was sm fun to write! i hope you enjoy & have a really good day <3

you are a colossal pain in Jason’s ass, and you have been since the first night you met

a random—presumably civilian—running around in the dead of night, taking his targets? yeah, Jason is pissed

he’d laughed when he saw you that night, ‘no way the Bat is gonna let some rando run around’, and simply bided his time until you were off the streets

except that time never comes, and are you actually…cleaning up the streets?

he wonders if maybe Bruce simply doesn’t know about you, paying his adoptive father a begrudging visit and casually slipping it into conversation

imagine his fucking surprise when he shrugs it off and claims you’ve been holding your own just fine

Jason is livid, and if Batman won’t get you off the streets, Red Hood will

your first confrontation is terrifying

you’d never technically set out to be a vigilante, it was something that had just happened

originally, you were just on the hunt for a group of particularly nasty robbers who had broken into your home and ransacked the place

but that group had just led to another which led to another—and lo and behold, here you are every night

you’re not an idiot—you know the Bats run Gotham’s vigilante underworld, but if you can help them out by taking out a few low-level lackeys (and get your stuff back in the process), why not?

it’s simply bad luck and being at the wrong place at the wrong time that puts you on Hood’s radar and has your list of targets combining with his

you’re simply finishing tying up some goon dressed like the Riddler (presumably one of his lackeys, but you can never be too sure) to a lamppost when there’s a soft thud behind you

you feel his presence before he even casts a shadow, spinning around with a knife in your hand to face your attacker

Please be Nightwing, please be Batgirl—fuck, you’ll even take Red Robin

tonight is not your lucky night, you realize when you come face to face with Red Hood

“What are you doing?” his voice from under the helmet is honestly terrifying

despite all of your effort, all of your training, and the many, many large men you’ve put behind bars recently, you find yourself shrinking back

“Well?!”

you swallow and suddenly the idea of retiring forever doesn’t seem so bad—but you’ve come so far, and you can’t let him of all people drive you away

“Your job,” you snap. “Better than you, I might add.”

your heart is utterly pounding in your chest. there’s no way you just spoke to Red Hood of all people like that

he laughs, but there’s no humour behind it

he clicks the safety on the glock in his hand and tucks it into his holster, stepping towards you until he’s close enough that you can smell the blood and sweat on his skin

“I want you to listen really carefully.” 

you raise your eyebrows from behind your mask

“You’re going to go home, and you’re going to stay the fuck out of my way. Clear?”

“Crystal,” is all you manage to say before he’s running off into the night

since that day, you’ve made it your personal mission to be as much of a pain in his ass is possible

you show up every time he finds a new target, you fuck with his grappling hooks and wires (leading to at least one bad fall that had Dick in tears), you even insert yourself into his family’s life

Jason was an idiot if he thought threats and brute force would work on you, and now he’s paying the price

He almost pleads with Dick to get rid of you after a particularly rough night, only for the blue clad vigilante to shrug it off

your next interaction with him goes about as well as the first

he’s leaving a seemingly abandoned warehouse after beating you to a target, feeling particularly pleased with himself, when he feels his wire goes slack

not this shit again

he manages to catch and brace himself on a nearby rooftop, eyes darting around to find you sitting on the building he was grappling to, laughing your ass off

“There are plenty of crooks in Gotham, stay the hell away from mine.” 

“What, did you call dibs or something?”

“Dibs?” You can hear him scoff all the way from here, “are you a child?”

you’re not sure if it’s his tone or his words, but something about that sets you off and before you can think, you’re making your way down to him

“Do I look like a child?”

Jason’s glad for his helmet so you can’t see where he’s looking—because with a body like yours, you certainly do not look like a child

but any lust he feels towards you is drowned out by sheer anger and frustration

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk, and then you’re tumbling off the building and disappearing into the night

Jason resists the urge to punch a wall. Random vigilante 1, Jason 0.

when Jason doesn’t see you for a few weeks, he can’t help but feel like he’s won

but then paranoia sets in and he thinks this must be another ploy, that you’re hiding in the shadows and waiting for him 

that’s what leads him to track you down, watching you fight off some low rate car jacker

he watches you fight, tracks each movement of your body, and he’s kinda impressed at—is that a bruise? 

he’s dropping from his vantage point the moment he sees the mark peaking out from your domino mask 

the car thief sees him and runs off into the night, leaving the two of you alone 

“I had that,” you say and wipe blood away from your mouth 

Jason cringes at the sight of your bruise up close

he’s never seen you injured before—he’s never even seen you take a hit from someone, you’ve always been too fast

he’s taken some bad hits both in his time as Robin and as Hood, but something about your injury has turmoil brewing inside of him 

“You got hit.”

You look up at him through tired eyes. “I’m sure you must be happy about that.”

“Who was it?”

you take a deep breath and consider not telling him, but you’re sure the Bat or someone else will eventually 

“Scarecrow. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

any trace of amusement Jason felt is wiped away. is that why you’ve been gone for so long? you were dealing with the volatile effects of Fear Gas? 

he almost feels bad for the relief he felt in your absence.

“I should go. Making up for lost time and all that.”

you’re entirely surprised when Red Hood grabs your wrist. you’re not sure what to expect—anger, advice? 

“You’re not cut out for this life.”

you break free of his grip without a second word, running away like that didn’t just break something inside of you

you actively avoid Red Hood after that—any hope you’d had that your tricks would humble him is gone

of course, it’s impossible to stay hidden from him forever and your paths cross again when you’re stopping known sex traffickers at the docks

somehow you managed to beat him here, which is bad news for you given there’s upwards of a dozen men here 

you would never admit it but you’re grateful when you hear the sounds of his guns. It's almost…comforting? 

you try to slip away at the end of the fight but he stops you in your tracks, his big arms crossed over his chest

“You’re avoiding me.”

“And what about it?”

He looks almost surprised at your retort. “Why?”

you laugh if only in exhaustion with his antics. “Are you kidding me? You’re an asshole.”

Jason’s grateful for his mask so you don’t see how stunned he is. yeah, he’s an asshole—but that never stopped you before, so why now?

“I—”

you bounce on your heels in anticipation about what he’s going to say next. I hate you? I think you’re an asshole too?

“I’m sorry.”

you choke on stunned silence. he’s sorry? of all things Red Hood has been called—vicious, murderer, antihero—he’s never been sorry

“I should go,” he taps awkwardly at his ear, “The Bat’s calling.”

he leaves you responsible for calling the cops and rounding up the group of traffickers strewn around the dock

ever since that night, Red Hood lives rent free in your mind. every minute of every day (yes, even at work), his stupid shiny mask and smug attitude haunts your memories

it’s the sincerity in his apology that confuses you the most. you hate him, god you hate him so much that you don’t even hate him at all

the two of you fall into a begrudging agreement after that night 

you don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother you and if (heaven forbid) you’re tracking the same target, you put your problems aside and take them down together

the night when you realize he has feelings for you is rainy and cold, a summer storm moving in above gotham and plaguing the skies 

every night this past week has been spent with Red Hood, trying to track down some mysterious rogue that was allegedly recruiting kids off the street for his cause

it’s that mission that brings you both face to face with Scarecrow

you’re brought back to the night of your fight—to the dose you had taken and the horrors you’d seen 

and the complete fucking beating you took

it’s those memories that have you jumping out of the way when he releases a dose of his gas, desperately jumping to safety behind a car

Hood does the same, albeit slower than you, and ducks his head in next to you

he coughs through the mask and that’s when you realize he didn’t fully clear the gas—and now it’s trapped inside with him

“Take off your helmet.” You command

“What?”

“Just—trust me. I’ll get him but you need to breathe.”

the shock you feel when he peels off his helmet is nothing compared to the warmth you feel knowing he trusts you

you dip away to go fight Scarecrow before you get to see his face, ready to give your greatest foe the ass-kicking of his life

it’s not so much of an ass kicking as it is fending him off until his face turns white with fear and Batman himself emerges from behind you

he’s got it from here, you think, and rush back to Hood’s side only to see Nightwing tending to him

seeing Hood’s face for the first time is like having water dumped over you

he’s ruggedly handsome with blue eyes and dark hair streaked with grey

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Nightwing perks up at the sound of your voice. “He’s fine,” he nudges the vigilante in his arms, “hey, Hood, your friend’s here.”

he says it teasingly, like the way a brother would to their younger sibling

Hood offers you a weak wave, his head resting on Nightwing’s shoulder

“I missed you,” he slurs

“I…I missed you too.”

his cheeks turn pink and you genuinely cannot believe your eyes—Red Hood is blushing

“Do you guys need help? I can take him home, or—or something.”

“We’ve got it from here.” You flinch at the sound of Batman’s voice. God, when did he get behind you?

fucking terrifying.

you’re hesitant but let them leave with your partner, staying put until they load him into the Batmobile and speed away down Gotham’s roads

it’s a few days before you see him again, each passing hour painful and lined with worry

you’re taking a break on Wayne Enterprises, your feet dangling off the side of the tower while you eat a cheeseburger

“Hey”

you no longer cringe at the sound of his voice, instead raising a hand to beckon him closer

he sits down with you on the edge, close enough that his thigh touches yours

“Glad to see that you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you,” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t thank people often. 

“Thank Nightwing.”

He snorts and you’re tempted to ask what’s so funny until he says

“They told me you made a good call with the helmet. Said the dose would’ve been ten times worse if I’d kept it on.”

“I just didn’t want you hurt,” you admit.

you’re ready for him to tease or to shrug off your feelings, but he does something that surprises you even more

he reaches a hand out to brush at the fresh bruise on your cheek

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he says and his voice is so quiet that it sends shockwaves through you.

“Hood—”

he cuts you off by rubbing his gloved thumb over your lip

you watch as he pulls off his helmet, resting it on the ledge next to him

“Jason,” he says. “Call me Jason.”

if you thought he looked handsome when he was high on Fear Gas, he looks practically ethereal now

“Y/n.” 

your voice is quiet as you hold out a hand for him to shake. his grip is firm and his hand lingers too long and god, did it get hotter outside?

and then Hood—Jason is leaning in and pressing his lips against yours, a gloved hand grabbing at the nape of your neck to pull your closer

he pulls away with a smirk that has your heart rate spiking, “so,” he looks out on the city, “should we get to it?”

thanks so much for reading! i hope you have a great day <3

masterlist | dc masterlist

[ssj2hindudude]

Ok, so with Hades 2 getting an update and one step closer to finally coming out of early (hopefully), out of pure excitement, I decided to make this based on patterns I've seen in the past two games. Buckle up, because this is a long one! I bring you

Hades 3 Predictions

Protagonist

Hades 1: Zagreus (Zag)

Hades 2: Melinoe (Mel)

Hades 3: Macaria (Max) - Goddess of Blessed Death

I don't care what the Mythology Guy on YouTube says, multiple sources have accepted her as a daughter of Hades and not just a mix-up of Heracles' kid. Even if it was, Zagreus had a similar problem with Dionysus and the game was able to circumvent that so I don't see why that couldn't happen again here.

Also, I'll say this now, I'm not against woke stuff being in the game as long as it doesn't overstep any boundaries (gotta remember this is someone's religion after all). But even though it literally says she's Hades' daughter, I think it would be amazing to make her She/them (hence, the neutral name "Max") just for the sake of Persephone going around screaming "I collected the whole set!"

Class

Zagreus: Fighter

Melinoe: Mage

Macaria: Thief/Rogue

Using Pokemon's Gen 6 starters as a reference point (and then Google), I found out the basic RPG classes are Fighter, Mage, and Rogue and noticed a pattern in the games' fighting styles. Mel is obviously a Mage, Zagreus could go either way but with how much he just brute forces his way through his game, I opted more for Fighter.

So that leaves Rogue for Macaria which is actually pretty interesting that a child of Hades hasn't had a more stealthy role yet. Imagine your character having times where you don't have the option of forcing your way through like where you could instantly die or lose an important item or something. Instead, you work from the shadows and find yourself in situations where you have to sneak by, like a boss you're completely under-leveled for or a chamber that'll lock if you're caught and then you have to fight your way through.

It also fits because with how little sources there is on her, the only logical explanation besides it being fake is that she's so sneaky that no one can get any solid information on her!

Color scheme

Zagreus: Red/fire colors and Black

Melinoe: Green and Orange (plus Arachne's dresses)

Macaria: Yellow/White and Blue/Purple

This is more of an aesthetic thing that I noticed where Zag wore red and Mel wore orange and they had cooler colors as accents to their looks. I figured Macaria could continue the trend of warm colored clothing with a darker accent or as a change go dark with light accents instead. Maybe a cloak over her clothes like Raven from Teen Titans for extra mystery.

Eyes

Zagreus: Left Red Right Green

Melinoe: Left Green Right Red

Macaria: Switch on command?

Another aesthetic that a lot of people probably noticed was that the siblings had one of each of their parents' eyes and they were inverse to one another. I figured to be different, something could be done where Macaria can actively switch both of her eyes to change from Overworld green to Underworld red and that could have some impact on gameplay such as how she sees the world, switching between the dimensions to get to different areas.

That or she could just have an inverse where one eye is White with a Red iris and the other is Black with a Green iris because genetics are fun like that.

Parental Figure

Zagreus: Nyx

Melinoe: Hecate

Macaria: Helios

As much as I want Hadephone to give at least one of their kids a happy childhood, I think we all know where this is headed. Something will go wrong and Max will end up with a foster parent and according to the pattern, it's minor deities with some role in the story of how Hades "kidnapped" Persephone. Nyx is the river they crossed into when they entered the Underworld and Hecate is the goddess that helped Demeter figure out what was going on.

So, by that logic, I figured the next logical step would be the old retired sun titan that saw the whole thing go down. Of course, I'm not saying Apollo or anyone like him is fit to raise children, but I'd imagine this version of Helios would be more like an older version of him that's a lot more mellow and less likely to rant for two hours about his hit single after you asked him what time was on the sundial. Something more like a chill old man that also had a lot of energy (which is a HUGE help in raising a kid), kind of like Jiraiya from Naruto only he's not a total perv.

Hub/Safe Zone

Zagreus: House of Hades (Castle)

Melinoe: The Crossroads (Camp)

Macaria: The Chariot (Mobile home)

This one's a little tough but I figured if Zag was raised in a permanent structure while Meg was raised in a stationary campsite, maybe Max could grow up in a structure that moves, kinda like a mobile home. And no, Helios' Chariot would definitely not be the same as Chester's place from the Fairly odd Parents. But since he's retired, it would have little power and be more like a dimly lit abandoned mansion creeping slowly on the ground to the tune of the sun's position as if instinctually following an old routine.

Teacher

Zagreus: Achilles (Illiad)

Melinoe: Odysseus (Odyssey)

Macaria: Perseus

Ok, this one was also tough because the Iliad and the Odyssey were the two major Greek mythology works and the other two games already covered them. Meanwhile, Homer's other works cover literally everything else so it wasn't like I could just pick the protagonist from it for Max's teacher.

Why Perseus? Well, while he's not exactly the only Greek hero, he's one of the more iconic ones that strangely haven't been covered yet by the other games. Hercules was in 2, Jason's ship was there by reference, Theseus was a villain in 1 (and for good reason) even though his idiot brother who was into Persephone wasn't (but that could change here, who knows?) I mean, there's also Atalanta but at the same time her story basically goes raised by a bear (badass) kills a boar (also badass) and then gets "tricked" into marriage by a clever dude with Golden apples who stops her competition leaving a bunch of dead suitors in her wake (again, badass)

But I chose Perseus not only because he's iconic enough to stand out (not nearly as Jackson but I digress) but also because his main myth was focused on stealth. He didn't fight Medusa, he snuck her while she was asleep using a magic invisibility helmet (much like Hades' helm!) and chopped her head off. Perfect hero to train a rogue ninja like Max!

Goal

Zagreus: Escape the Underworld by going up

Melinoe: Save the Underworld by going down (and up as a side quest)

Macaria: Explore the Underworld? Spy/Reconnaissance? Go sideways?

So, one thing that Hadephone ficlets from Webtoon said that caught my attention was that Macaria was known to help souls escape the underworld without Hades' permission. Not sure if this is mythologically accurate but it does suit her rogue role really well so I'm using it here.

Her goal could be to travel around the Underworld looking for lost souls that want to go back for something in the Overworld (like finding out how they died, leaving a message for a loved one, etc.), taking pity on them, and sneaking them above and then sneaking them back down when the time comes. It shows her mother's compassion and even a little bit of a rebellious side like her brother!

Mini-Bosses

So, what I noticed is the three bosses you have to fight in each run fall under three categories:

Someone close that the MC regularly interacts with in the main hub: Meg and the Furies; Hecate

Rampaging beast that has to be put down: Lernie the Hydra; Cerberus

Annoying egotistical jerk that won't listen to reason: Theseus; Scylla and the Sirens (and Eris)

I won't count the Olympus route in Hades 2 though since that part doesn't seem to be finished yet and I haven't seen the update.

Since Zag did Friend-Beast-Jerk and Mel did Friend-Jerk-Beast, I think Max should do Beast-Jerk-Friend. It would be a nice twist to have her have to fight through a friend before reaching her goal. Also, she could start with Jerk, but it doesn't seem right to put them through a Jerk fight at the beginning of every run since the first boss is the one she has to fight the most and the Jerk has a tendency to be straight up obnoxious and annoying.

Also, since Zag fought a group of familiar friends (except Alecto) and Mel fought a group of jerks (mainly Scylla), I think it would be fitting to have Max fight a group of beasts at the start.

So, I probably would pick these three:

Beasts: Chimera

Ok, before you say it, yes, I know Chimera is one monster. However, both beast bosses were monsters with multiple heads so this one should follow the trend. Plus, it's practically three different monsters because when fighting it, Max would have to fight the Lion head, the Goat head, AND the Snake tail. I figure it's gonna be one of those monsters that just happened to settle near where Max has to lead the souls between the worlds.

Jerk: Cottus the Hecatoncheires

Ok, Zag's jerk was a Greek Hero while Mel's jerk was a Greek Monster, and I was thinking the next logical step would be a minor deity, but then I remembered Eris covered that. Then I thought we could do a Titan instead but Chronos is a titan who was the final boss in 2 so that wouldn't really work either.

However, I remembered that the three main groups tossed into Tartarus during Titanomachy were the furies, the cyclopes, and the Hecatoncheires who weren't even mentioned yet. So let's fix that!

Percy Jackson already used Briaries so even though he's the most famous and was said to be the only one left, I decided to keep the three of them this time and chose Cottus instead because his name either means the Striker or the Furious which definitely sounds like someone who won't listen to reason. Plus neither Theseus nor Scylla worked alone so this sorta follows the trend while also keeping it separate since, again, he has multiple heads, literally a hundred. In fact, he could even be made bipolar or have multiple personalities to reflect this, leaving him prone to extreme mood swings and be hard to reason with.

I imagine he'd be imprisoned around where Max is sneaking souls back in since she logically can't use the same entrance twice or she'd risk getting caught.

Friend: Tom

Yes, you read the name right. This one is interesting because while Zag's friend was a love interest, Mel's friend was her Foster Parent so to follow the trend, we have to pick someone close that they regularly interact with. I was thinking the usual child of Nyx but again, Eris already did that so that's out. (I know, she's even making my work difficult -_-)

Looking at friendly characters, there was usually two love interests (one a child of Nyx), the mentors, and the comic relief friend with a mysterious past (Skelly and Pandora)

So, what bigger twist than to have your comic relief friend be that final boss? The obligation to fight Max could be related to their past and they could still be on good terms with Max back at the hub.

Seeing that Skelly is a skeleton and Dora is a shade, they pretty much cover a dead body and spirit already, leaving just straight up living mortals left. UNLESS we went with something more mechanical.

I was thinking Max could find an abandoned Automaton in the Overworld (perhaps near Hephaestus' workshop), find a way to fix him, and when he activated he has no memory because his microchip or something is missing. For the time being, seeing that he's an auTOMaton, Max decides to call him Tom and he goes with it.

As for the boss fight, I was thinking Tom gets hacked somehow, which explains why he has no idea what Max is talking about when she brings it up. In the first half of the fight, Tom is normal sized and uses a barrage of mechanical weapons, but after getting him down to about half health, Max finds out he can actually change form to become colossal sized and she has to sneak her way into his head to temporarily shut him down. By the time Max gets back to the Chariot, Tom's miraculously back to normal, meaning the hacker can only trigger him at the entrance to the final level. As the game progresses, Tom keeps going back there to find out what's going on, only to get hacked every time and end up in a Re-Zero situation.

Main Villain

Zagreus: Hades

Melinoe: Kronos

Macaria: At first Ouranos, then Gaea

Ok, hear me out: the pattern here is generational. First it was Hades, then it was his dad, so logically, what would come next is his parent's PARENTS.

More importantly, both games have a twist-but-not-such-a-twist in the boss reveals. "OMG, you mean the guy running the underworld DOESN'T just sit at his desk all day?!?" "WHOA, the guy showing himself as a silhouette was the guy in the phrase 'Death to Chronos'?!?" So, I figured I'd complete the chain of iconic Greek myth villains by having Ouranos appear as a puppet for Gaea. "Wait, I thought I was listening to Ouranos hatch a plan to get revenge on the gods, you're telling me it was his ex-wife?!?"

Yup, you read right. The plot would follow that Max would keep sneaking shades to and from the Underworld and whenever you complete a run, Max first overhears someone talking about manipulating the Gods to have them overthrown, talks to Helios who says it sounds like Ouranos trying to get his body back and take back control, only for the later twist to be it's actually Gaea. I know, big surprise, Mother Earth hates the gods. Go figure.

Love Interests

Zag: Meg and Than

Mel: Moros and Nemesis (and Eris, I think?)

Max: Oizys/Miseria and Hermes?!?

Ok, just gonna get the token child of Nyx love interest out of the way and I thought it would be interesting to make it the girl this time. Oizys is a daughter of Nyx who is the goddess of misery (hence Miseria. I imagine she tells Max to call her Miseria because it's easier to pronounce). I figure she'd be introverted and quiet much like Thanatos but in a more awkward and shy way, kind of like Dusa in 1 and Echo in 2. She would be timid especially because some interpretations have her also be the goddess of Anxiety.

The other love interest is usually someone else related to Hades' realm. So, for the guy, my thought is this time it could be Charon...just kidding! No, as tempting as that is because this one was REALLY hard (seriously, I couldn't find any non-Nyx male characters related to Hades' realm and there's nothing online about Max having a canon husband or anything!), Charon is too weird an option as he serves more as an uncle figure for the three of them (ugh, there's a Hadephone joke in there that I don't wanna touch)

I was also considering one of the three kings picked to judge the shades, but they're just dead mortals. The others were deities with Meg as the exception but the furies are still a huge part of Hades' gimmick.

Then, I thought of something insane. There is one god that's related to Hades' realm, extroverted (since Miseria's already an introvert), and they even have something in common because he's also the god of stealth.

...ok, before you call HR, hear me out: Hermes. The man's known as a psychopomp which is very similar to what Max does, he's one of the younger deities and doesn't even have a wife, and he's basically the ninja of greek mythos. Ok, maybe he does have his dad's promiscuous nature that makes him unlikely to settle down with anyone, but we're talking dating here, not necessarily marriage.

Look, I couldn't find anyone else to fill the role besides mortals and the man's already got the favor of Max's siblings. I can at least see it working, but I am open to better ideas for guy deities related to Hades' realm.

Boons

Zag: Aphrodite; Ares; Artemis; Athena; Chaos; Demeter; Dionysus; Hermes; Poseidon; Zeus

Mel: OLD - Aphrodite; Ares; Chaos; Demeter; Poseidon; Zeus; NEW - Apollo; Hephaestus; Hera; Hestia;

Max: Chaos; OLD - Artemis; Athena; Demeter; Dionysus; Hermes; NEW - Apollo; Hephaestus; Hera; Hestia; Rhea; BONUS: PERSEPHONE

Lastly, we've gotta have a list of 10 main Gods that they can get boons from. (It's dangerous to go alone, take this!)

First, Chaos is pretty much indispensable. Their boons are the most interesting of all of them because they all have a big help coupled with a big detriment.

Next, we can pretty much cut out all of the old gods used again in 2 because we gotta keep this interesting! Except for Demeter tho, because Grandma. Or, we could also throw in Rhea because she hasn't been mentioned yet either and actually likes her kids so DOUBLE GRANDMA

But, that just means bringing back the rest of the old ones from 1 that got either cut out or side-tracked. And yes, I also suggested Hermes as the love-interest AND am bringing him back as a boon.

Finally, that leaves the four newer gods from 2 to make things fair. But I'm not keeping it all old though, because as an added bonus, I think Persephone should finally be around to give one of her kids a boon. After all, she's more likely than Hades to condone what Max is doing, so of course she's gonna lend her support. I imagine it'll be kind of a cross between the boon Hades gave in 2 and what Demeter has been giving only for grassy spring magic instead of icy winter magic. Something to show her duality as the Goddess of Spring and the Queen of the Underworld.

On that lovely note, that's all I could come up with for now, so reblog with what YOU think should be in Hades 3 if Supergiant decides to make it a trilogy.

[possessionisamyth]

Vergil fight style: Clearly saw a sword that looked like his in a book and proceeded to copy the style from movies and other books that went into more detail. Fisticuffs ability gained for the moments he lost/may drop his sword. Leans more heavily on magic abilities with sword in hand. Mild amount of weapon improvisation.

Dante fight style: Gun skills learned from mercenary work to go with sword skills that are less refined in appearance. More style than substance for intimidation effect, but always manages to get the job done via brute forcing things. Excellent threat level assessment skills with minor gaps for new information. High amount of weapon improvisation.

Nero fight style: Despite having official training under a religious military sect and specialized weaponry, the preferred and most utilized method of combat is, "Hands Rated E for Everyone."

[knight-a3]

Humanformers: Decepticons

Megatron: Victor Morrigan

Lugnut: Logan Graves

Shockwave: Shaun Whaley

Longarm: Aaron Langford or Liam Armstead?

Blitzwing: Gunther Arnold Kriegsler (aka Blitz or Blitzer)

Notes under the cut

Yes, Megatron's human design was inspired by the villain from Disney's Atlantis.

TFA Megatron is more level-headed than other iterations (I'm looking at you and your drugs tfp). While others rely on brute force, tfa Megatron is calculating and collected, but still has the strength to back up his authority. It's my favorite interpretation of his character.

So he gave me mob boss vibes. He'd dress nice, smoke cigars, and drink wine.

Lugnut has a semi-official human design. It was made by the art director for the show, the late Derrick J Wyatt. But because Lugnut technically has more eyes than most of the other characters, I didn't like the eyepatch he had. So I tweaked the design a bit. I really wanted to emphasize his sheer bulk.

For Shockwave, I wasn't sure how supernatural I wanted to go. So I opted not to just give him shape-shifting powers, and instead used the costuming to alter his appearance. As Longarm, he's more nerdy and his loose clothing hides his body and helps him look smaller and less threatening. As Shockwave, his clothes are more form fitting and helps emphasize his height so he can loom over others.

I've shared Blitzwing's before, but I didn't want to leave him out of this, so here he is again.

[yuurivoice]

NOT THE EVIL TWIN 😭

Revisiting the point about Boo not having any impending drama coming their way, I really think people are not used to their listener character not be the center of the universe and all of the drama their own. How tired and played out would it be if we ran into some sort of cliche conflict for Boo when we've just got done dealing with criminals, violence, and parental abandonment? Like? What could there feasibly be that the trio wouldn't just scoff at and dunk on, because they've already handled massive levels of bullshit together?

Boo got to be the person dealing with their partner's past coming to haunt them. Trying to brute force them into scenarios where the dynamic shifts towards Boo having the mess to clean up is an exhausting thought from my perspective.

Folks want to experience a variety of feelings and scenarios with their favorite trio, I get it. But when we're talking this particular story, I think it would be ridiculous to try and flip the script when we have significant road left to travel based on what we've already covered.

People will always have that question and desire for that kind of direction, but also...I didn't get this far listening to every whim and desire of the audience. Sometimes ya gotta trust yourself, and limit who you take input from. And unfortunately, I haven't ever managed to find someone to sit under creatively and look up to. As much as I wish I had an OG to look up to and seek advice from in times where I could use a critique, I got here without a teacher. So I gotta trust my gut and what brought me to the dance. There have been dozens of times I wish I had someone who'd been there and done that to bounce ideas off of or get a little extra guidance from, but that was never in the cards.

One day I'd like to be that for people, though. I always try to be engaged and encouraging when creatives of all sorts hit me up for advice or thoughts. I recognize how much that can mean, because I never really had that, and I know how much it would have meant to me.

Anywho, totally not the original point, but y'all know where to find me if you want some advice. I'll do my best.

[captainamericasmotercycle]

secretary

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, 18+, kind of dark!hotch, cheating themes, boss/secretary, p in v sex, cursing, office sex, semi-public sex, female reader (afab reader), dark themes

wc: 1.7k

a/n: if you do not like reading a boss/secretary relationship or cheating - DO NOT READ. i put warnings for a reason so please, if you know you’re not going to enjoy it, save yourself the time and skip over it. my writing is not for everyone. also I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING. just because i write about it does not mean i condone it in real life - all of my works are purely fictional for entertainment.

*smut under the cut

You began working as Aaron Hotchner’s secretary about 8 months ago.

When you first started at the BAU, it was an understatement to say you were intimidated, but as you broke down the emotional walls of your boss, everything became better.

You didn’t travel with the team, but you waited for their return from every case. But mostly Aaron’s return.

Anyone in a 10 mile radius could see the tension between you two, though you denied your crush on him, and him, you.

He would never admit his attraction to you, he was married for God’s sake! But his marriage was failing and everyone knew. While he suppressed his feelings for you, they only grew stronger, with every waking day.

But in your case, who wouldn’t fall for the strong, head-strong, tall, damaged, father?

Both of you kept your relationship professional, albeit, tonight in particular seemed different. Aaron was locked in his office as normal, and you worked at your desk in the bullpen, silently.

Except, you were the only two left on your floor. The clock on your computer shifted to 11:26 as you yawned. Scanning the room, you looked up to Aaron’s office, still seeing him hunched over his work.

Stalking up the stairs to the higher level of offices, you knocked softly on the door. A low, come in, followed.

You entered the room, he didn’t look up at you, but God, did he look hot.

“You need to go home, Agent Hotchner. It’s almost 11:30, I’m sure your wife and son are waiting for you,” he finally looked up from his papers.

“Jack’s at a friend’s tonight and Haley is out of town. I’m fine, go ahead and head out.”

You knew it was wrong but you felt bolder tonight, something took over you. You walked behind his desk, looming behind his chair, you set your hands on his shoulders, moving them slowly in a massaging manner, “You’re too tense, Agent Hotchner. You need to go home, too.”

He froze in his chair, is this some fantasy he’s hallucinating? Are you really here or is he just exhausted?

You lowered you hands to his pecs, leaning over his shoulder, “Come on, Agent, it’s late.”

This feels real, but is it?

He says your name firmly, but you don’t stop. You lightly kiss his cheek, feeling his stubble on your lips.

He knows it’s wrong, but he deserves this. He leans back into your touch as you kiss down his neck.

He pulls away from you and stands up. Grabbing your waist, he pulls your lips to his, harshly. Your hands rest on his torso as one of his rests behinds your head and the other on your ass.

As he deepens the kiss, he moves both hands to your ass, squeezing tightly, under your short skirt.

Picking you up with his brute strength, he sets you on his clean, organized desk. He pulls from your lips and gets down on his knees at the edge of the desk.

Yanking down your skirt and underwear, he shoves his head between your thighs, licking a rough stripe from your asshole to your clit.

He maneuvers his tongue between your folds at a rapid pace, provoking a roaring moan. Your clit throbs as he circles it with his tongue and sucks at it. You keep a firm grip on his hair, driving his face deeper into you.

He pushes you to an orgasm quicker than you’d like, you don’t want this to end. As you cum, your legs shake over his shoulders with pleasure.

He rises from your sex and presses a hard kiss to your lips. He forces off your blouse and bra, taking a breast into his mouth. He moans at the feeling, you feel the vibrations in your chest. Pulling away, he lightly grazes your nipple with his teeth.

Fiddling with his belt, he finally gets it off and nearly jumps out of his pants. He pumps his erection a couple of times before pushing it into you.

He grabs you hips, pulling you closer to him. Your hips slam into his. As he begins to thrust into you, he presses both his large hands to your tits, using them as a grip to move quicker.

Neither of you can barely contain your moans, screaming out into the empty office.

Your back arches off the desk, “Oh my fuck,” you shiver with arousal.

The quiet office, now becoming loud, would most have definitely caused an uproar if the office had been full.

He thrusts hard, hitting his pelvis to yours, which is most definitely going to bruise. As you approach another orgasm, he pulls out of you, making you gasp at the sudden loss of contact.

He flips you over and has you bent at the waist over his desk. He pulls his hand back and lands a firm, rough slap to your ass, leaving a red handprint. He smacks you another time and you moan out.

Aaron bends down to whisper in your ear, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for something like this.”

He shoves his cock into your cunt, creating a fast, but steady pace. He holds down your hips on the desk.

He lands another slap on your ass, “This is what you deserve, after walking around in your short skirts, teasing me during meetings, and getting me hard during work.”

Tears rolls down your cheeks, “I don’t regret any of it, Aaron,”

“We’re on first name basis, now, are we?”

You shivered at his gravelly voice, “No, sir,” stuttering out, he spanked you again.

“Good girl.”

As he continued to move, you felt his pace falter, he pulled out of you and finished himself over your red, handprint stained ass.

“Fuck,” he breathed out heavily, leaving back in his chair.

You stood from your position and rubbed your sore ass.

You stalked over to him, straddling yourself over his bare lap, you grab his tie, pulling yourself to his face. You kiss him gently on the mouth.

He wants to pull away but he just can’t. As you move in for another kiss he turns his head, “This is wrong, Y/N.”

“I know,”

“We shouldn’t be doing this, I’m married,”

“I know,”

“I need to stop,”

“Mhm,” you hummed as you placed soft kisses along his jawline.

You shifted your body over him, making him hard once again.

“Fuck it,” he lifted you from his lap onto his cock.

Holding your hips, he bounced you up and down his shaft. You kept your arms over his shoulders as you breathlessly rode him.

You rolled your hips over his and he whimpered. Fucking whimpered.

You kept going as he let out obscene sounds. As he was about to cum again, he pushed you off and stood up.

You stood vulnerably in front of him, fully nude, watching as he finished himself off over some blank paper. You watched his seed drench something that wasn’t you.

Why wouldn’t he just cum in you?

“Aaron, you don’t have to do that,” he came closer to you, his eyes dark.

“I do. I’m not trying to get my fucking secretary fucking pregnant,” you rolled your eyes at him and went for another kiss, he hesitantly reciprocated.

God, this is so wrong.

He picked you up, shoving your back against the wall. He had you pinned between him and the wall, your legs around his waist. Nipping at your neck, you arched your back. He teased your entrance with his tip, just grazing over the sensitive areas.

He did this until you begged him to get inside of you, “Please, Aar-, Sir, I need you,”

“Again?” Letting out a strangled moan, his voice got heavy, “Use your words,”

“Yes, fuck, I need you,”

He slowly let you drift onto his cock. Keeping you up against the wall, he was practically fucking you into the wall, his hips moved at a rapid pace.

Your tits sprung up and down, forcing a tugging feeling on your torso, only adding to you pleasure.

You watched Aaron’s face as he fucked you. You watched the sweat bead on his forehead and the rough ridges between his furrowed brows. You watched as his focus on your tits only grew.

It was like a scene right out of a porno.

Your walls clenched around his hard cock, and he pulled out once again. He dropped you down from the wall and pushed you down to your knees.

You stared as his impressive endowment before taking it into your mouth quickly. He watched from above as you looked up at him.

He watched your eyes flutter and your pretty little mouth around him. He watched as you worked up and down his shaft, only growing closer to an orgasm.

He felt a knot in his stomach, knowing he was about to cum again. With your mouth still on him, he let go, his cum shooting into you, hitting the back of your throat. He watched as you pulled back at the contact and swallowed.

You pulled away from him and quietly gathered your things and got dressed. Before walking out of his office he landed another slap on your ass.

You stopped at the door and turned to him, “Call me, if you ever get bored of your wife.”

Walking down from his office and across the bullpen, Aaron watched you sway to the elevators from his window.

As you stepped out of the elevators, you said goodbye to the night time security guards on the way to the parking garage. They did not miss your completely disheveled look and slight limp in your walk.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I’m perfect,” you smiled at them as you left.

The next morning, you walked into work, with a smile on your face and the tightest skirt you could manage.

Aaron peered through his office window, watching you flirt with Spencer. As Spencer looked away from you with a blush, you looked up to Aaron’s office.

He wanted to take you right there. He craved you. And he was so fucked.