#how long it would have taken for him to snap under the pressure because people can't live with the “my pain is irrelevant” mantra forever

[ariavar]

lol yeah, it is just that Shirou is basically the poster child of "Maybe this whole martyr hero complex is not good for you?", so my mind clicked with the connection.

I kind of wish they had taken some pages out of Shirou's routes in Fate Stay Night for Wyll's arc? Like a bit more exploration of Wyll's brand of heroism and how much it relies on self-destruction (not just in terms of bodily harm, but also on the fact that his "fate" as the Duke's son also got squashed... and how long it would have taken Mizora to lead him into destroying his own heroic ideals? Considering the trick she was pulling with Karlach)... like, I think the path of the Blade of Frontiers (pre-game) was set to have a pretty grim ending.

Or playing a bit more with Wyll's development in either rejecting this extreme selflessness and being critical of his father's lessons, or embracing them "for the greater good".

so we all know that one of wylls biggest flaws is his selflessness to the point of danger, but i kinda wanna talk about his weird, like, feeling of duty to suffer? its not masochism, hes not having fun. but theres almost a sort of... i wanna say autonomy? to get from believing that theres meaning in it all. hes not stupid about his own wellbeing. he knows what hes doing to himself. but theres this hint of "its inherently noble for me to choose to suffer" which i guess makes sense if he wants to not go crazy over the whole "i dont regret my pact" thing. i get the feeling he was told shit "builds character" a lot as a kid. i bet mizora is a bit easier to swallow if you think her "pain for the sake of pain" shit inherently makes you stronger

its 2 AM so i dont have a conclusion yet. hoping this makes sense?

[ghosts-bandwagon]

This one’s for all my burnt out bitches; I see you and me too 😭 (this is super self-indulgent and I might be projecting a bit here and I apologize)

You were always told to muscle through it. From a young age, the phrase “grin and bear it” was seared into your mind. And you did. You bore the weight of the world with outward facing grace, whether it was balancing school and multiple jobs or holding it together for the sake of others, you did it with minimal complaint. It’s no different now that you’re with the 141. You’d do whatever was asked of you with no qualms, you’d bear the weight simply because it was your Captain or your Lieutenant that asked you to. You’d do anything for them, for your team, even if it meant swallowing your own tears after a mission gone sideways just to ease the ache of others. You’d do it.

Someone told you once that the thing they appreciated the most about you was your ability to keep it together for the sake of others. You’ve been riding that compliment for years.

And while it was certainly appreciated among your team, there was one who despised it. The rage would build in his stomach when you’d accept a task, knowing damn well you’re overwhelmed with everything else you’ve taken on. His jaw would clench when he’d see you willingly take over for others, molars threatening to crack under the pressure.

It needs to get done anyway, sir, what’s one more item on the list?

You ignored your body’s cry for a reprieve, you ignored your mind’s plea for a single moment of nothing, you ignored the squeeze in your chest that longed for a chance to catch your breath. I can do this for them. I don’t need a moment. I can’t stop because if I do, I might not be able to start back up again.

You were sat in your room, leg bouncing under your desk as you typed away report after report, empty styrofoam cups littered along your desk, you chased your coffee with more coffee, just one more and then I can finish this. A knock on your door couldn’t even force your eyes away from your computer but still you invited them in,

“We need to talk.”

Fuck, how you hated that phrase. It plunged your stomach to your heels, but you took a deep breath, saved your document, and turned to face a very pissed off Ghost.

“What about, sir?”

And then he saw it, he truly saw it. The dark rings under your eyes, the empty coffee cups strewn about your desk, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands as you picked at lint on your shirt.

“This needs to stop.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know what you’re doing, and you need to fucking stop.”

Why was it so terrifying to be seen? Shouldn’t it have been a relief? But the accusation forced a lump to form in your throat and made your heart rate pick up speed,

“I don’t-”

“Don’t argue, shut the fuck up and listen.”

You’ve heard your Lieutenant snap at people, but he’s never directed it at you. It was terrifying and it invited the tears you’ve long since buried to come forth and join the fray,

“The last thing I need is for you to fall over, half dead, because you don’t know how to stop.” His words were harsh but you knew him. You knew how to read between the lines. He cares, he sees how hard you struggle, and it kills him.

“I just wa-” You bit your lip to try to keep it from quivering, a last ditch effort to keep your tears at bay,

“I know.” He walked in and stood in front of you, “I need you well. And you’re no good to us buried in a grave of your own making.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and that was it. That simple touch is what broke the dam. Without realizing you slumped forward, head pressed into his abdomen as the tears started to fall.

“It’s alright. I get it, I do.” His voice was low, his rich tenor soothing you as his hand moved to rub soothing circles into your back. Your own came up and balled the hem of his shirt into your fists, the fabric wrinkling instantly in your white knuckle grip. His self-proclaimed cold heart ached in his chest,

“Just breathe, sergeant, I’ve got you.”

[highfantasy-soul]

I'm really glad they went the route where Sol never apologized for what he did or admitted any fault.

It would have been nice and clean and feel-good for him to have realized what he did was so incredibly wrong, but the thing is, a lot of people don't get that closure. The person who hurt them genuinely will not entertain the idea that they were wrong.

They will use their 'love' for the other person as justification for any and all of their actions, they will refuse to accept blame, they will ignore the person they hurt crying and screaming at them that what they've done hurt them yet still look that person in the eye and say 'no, you're wrong to be upset at me over this - I did this because I love you, what you're telling me now about the real effects of my actions, I am refusing to listen to - you must be wrong to feel the way you do'.

With the Jedi as a whole, they're held to such a high standard. They're told they must be perfect, yet also the fact that they are Jedi makes them perfect and so provides no leeway for falling short of that standard. For many people, that leads to a disconnect in their mind where they cannot accept that they might have done something wrong because if they didn't live up to the perfect standard, in their eyes, the entirety of themselves and the system will crumble under that.

Of course WE know that's not true, people are going to make mistakes no matter what organization they're a part of - but if you aren't given the space to make small mistakes and learn from them - and talk about how that made you feel and learn to work with your emotions in a healthy way, then the pressure compounds and compounds and suddenly, a BIG mistake happens and you're unable to face it. So you justify, you rationalize, you make every excuse in the book - many times being enabled by others in the group to keep silent about your failure and coming up with twisted logic to make it 'ok'.

I think if Sol had been allowed to admit what happened on Brendok to the council and if the Jedi actually cared about their people, hopefully gotten him the therapy he needed, the events of the story would never have taken place. Osha being trained as a Jedi wasn't worth the cost - and she would have agreed. If you keep refusing to address the issue and try to just cover up and cover up the mistake, it's going to explode at some point.

The one who was lied to will snap and the one who did the lying will have lied to themselves for so long that they won't be able to admit any fault or it might snap them.

They've GOT to hold onto the idea that they can still be a good person and if they admit they messed up, in their mind, they won't be a good person anymore. And if that's what your entire self-worth is based on, it's almost impossible to admit any fault.

Allowing people to admit their mistakes and get help for them is healthy and good and helps people actually be good people rather than just put up the appearance of being a good person.

[tinyinvadr]

So the tadc brain rot is so strong right now, and naturally, I had to bring g/t into it! Not sure how many parts there will be to this, but yeah!

Hide & Shrink

Chapter 1

I couldn’t sleep the first night. It wasn’t like I needed to. All that was once essential for living is now pointless. Trying to retain any sense of normalcy is a waste of time that could be spent trying to find a way out.

The exit door turned out to be a bust, but surely there’s another way to leave. I just have to keep trying, even if it drives me insane, even if I end up in the void again. There’s no way I can stay in a place like this.

But… if I keep this up, and I DO end up driving myself insane, I’ll just end up like Kaufmo and however many others before him who’ve been “abstracted”. Yeah, that’s what they called it. I’m not exactly sure what it means or if there’s a way to undo it, but since Caine has a whole cellar full of abstracted people, I can only assume that it’s irreversible. That, or this is all just a part of his games.

The others seem to trust him to some extent, but I can’t bring myself to. He has to be the one who’s keeping us trapped here, right? He’s insistent that there’s no way out because he doesn’t want us to leave, so that must mean an exit DOES exist, right?

The worst part is that no one else seems as eager to leave as I am. Clearly no one wants to be here, but they still managed to adapt to this world. They accept it, they play along with whatever Caine has to throw at them. It’s… normal to them.

No, I can’t reach that point. None of this is real, and I refuse to let myself believe that it is. I had a life before this. A real life that was taken from me. A face, an identity, a name. I can’t remember the details, but it’s enough to know that I don’t belong in this twisted program and I have to get back to the real world.

The entire night, my mind was racing in this vicious cycle. Do I keep trying? Do I give up? Do I have to just accept this as my new life from here on out?

I was finally snapped out of my spiraling when I heard a knock on the door the next morning.

“Hey, uh, Pomni? You okay in there? I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re still… here.”

Just hearing Ragatha’s voice hit me with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Why was she still bothering to help me? I abandoned her twice when she was hurt, how could she forgive me so easily?

I opened the door for her, and she just stood there, nervously scratching the back of her head. I guess it wasn’t entirely water under the bridge, but she still made the effort to reach out to me.

“Um… Hi, Ragatha. Thanks for checking in on me.”

“Oh, yeah, of course! I’m glad you’re okay. Yesterday was… a lot to deal with all at once for a new person. But I promise, it’s usually not like that here.”

We just stood in awkward silence for a minute. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, but I was worried I would make things worse. I didn’t want her getting hurt again.

“Anyway, the rest of us are having breakfast, so feel free to join us if you want. Don’t feel pressured if you don’t want to, just thought I’d offer, since it can be nice to spend time with other people.”

In all honesty, I really wasn’t up for it, but I knew I couldn’t lie in bed stuck in my own thoughts forever. Maybe leaving my room would help me focus. Or it would make things worse, subjecting myself to all of the chaos of the Digital Circus again.

No, I had to. Attempting to do something was better than not doing anything.

“Yeah… I think I will.”

I followed Ragatha down the long hallway, filled with unease as I remembered our encounter with Kaufmo only a day prior. It was terrifying to think that the huge, glitching monster that attacked us was a person deep down. I didn’t know him, but the others did. I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for them to lose him in such a horrible way.

And any one of us could be next.

We arrived at the main area of the circus tent where everyone was already seated at the table, feasting on digital, artificial pancakes.

Jax was the first to notice us.

“Oh hey, Pomni. You’re not dead.”

Ragatha sighed as we made our way over to the table, sitting at the two empty seats.

It seemed like everyone had a preferred seat at the table, so I ended up sitting between Gangle and Jax again. This was all part of their routine that they’ve been keeping up for god knows how long.

“Good morning, Pomni! I hope you’re feeling better today.”

I was caught off guard by Gangle’s smiling mask and cheery attitude. She was crying the entire first day.

“I don’t know… but you seem to be in a better mood.”

She chuckled, touching her mask with her ribbon hands. “That’s ‘cause my comedy mask regenerated. It resets every morning.”

I was about to ask her how often her mask breaks, but my question was answered when Bubble suddenly popped up behind Kinger, startling him to the point where he fell back onto Gangle, pushing her over and knocking her mask off.

“Aw… it broke again.” She said with a sniffle as she collected the remains of her mask.

On the other side of me, Jax smirked, crossing his arms behind his head. “Never gets old.”

Man, what a jerk.

Breakfast carried on pretty much the same as dinner the previous night. I was trying not to let my thoughts wander to darker places and focus on trying to connect with the others. It was difficult, though, since everyone already knew each other pretty well and adjusted to the insanity of this world in their own ways, so I was just kind of there. But I knew I needed them. As long as we were all on the same page, maybe I could stop myself from going insane.

Of course, it wasn’t long before HE showed up.

Just as we were finishing breakfast, Caine appeared beside Bubble.

“Rise and shine, my wonderful performers! A new day of exciting adventure awaits!”

Everyone got up and followed Caine to the stage area. I reluctantly joined them, unsure of what would happen if I didn’t.

“The star of today’s adventure will be selected with…”

Suddenly, a huge carnival wheel fell from the ceiling and crashed on the floor next to him.

“The Wheel of Whimsy!”

Each section of the wheel had a picture of one of our faces on it. Mine was already added to it, even though I only just got there.

Zooble rolled their eyes at the sight of the wheel.

“It better not land on me again.”

Caine gave the wheel a strong spin, and I watched in nervous anticipation as it slowed down. I had no idea what kind of adventure he had planned, but I knew for sure that I definitely didn’t want to “star” in it, whatever that meant.

I let out a sigh of relief as it seemed like the wheel would stop just before it landed on me. But, with the last bit of force, the pin crossed over onto my section.

“Well, would you look at that! Our star today is our newest member, Pomni!”

Jax casually strolled up beside Caine, that smug grin never leaving his face.

“Still picking on the newbie, huh Caine? I like it.”

Caine chuckled in response.

“Now, now, you know I don’t pick favorites! The Wheel of Whimsy is completely random, and all of you have an equal chance of being selected! That being said, considering yesterdays events and the fact that Pomni is still fairly new here, I’m going to give her a say in today’s adventure! So, what’ll it be, Pomni?”

I looked around at the others, each with differing expressions. Ragatha looked optimistic, Gangle worried, Zooble annoyed, Jax amused, and Kinger… Kinger. Whatever I decided to do probably wouldn’t please everyone, but I had to accept that and just go with whatever I felt was the best option.

“I dunno, maybe… hide and seek?”

Caine froze in place for a few seconds, as if he was buffering, and then sprang back to life.

“Excellent choice!”

With a snap of his fingers, I was teleported to somewhere I didn’t recognize. I was floating in place in a void of some sort, but not the same void I got stuck in the day before. It was pitch black, and almost felt suffocating. It felt like the space itself was small, but I couldn’t move far enough in any direction to prove it.

Then, even stranger, I could hear Caine’s voice, though it sounded like it was coming from underneath me somehow.

“Alright, everyone! Today’s adventure is… Find Pomni! Your new friend is hidden somewhere in this Amazing Digital Circus, and you’ll have to work together to find her! But it won’t be easy! Make sure you check everywhere, she might be someplace you wouldn’t expect! Now, get to it, superstars!”

After he finished speaking, I was hit with a sudden sensation that felt like I was moving really fast, even though I wasn’t going anywhere. The kind of feeling I got when Caine was giving me a tour. But that didn’t make sense, there was no sign of him anywhere.

“Uh… Caine? What’s going on? Where am I?”

I didn’t get a response. Instead, I felt something grab me and drag me down. The endless darkness was replaced with the bright and cheery colors of the circus all at once, but my eyes immediately went straight to Caine, who was now massive and holding me in his hand.

“Would you look at that! I pulled Pomni out of my hat!”

My first instinct was to panic. Squirming, kicking, screaming, it was all useless, but I was desperate.

There was a combination of confusion and concern in Caine’s eyes as I struggled in his grasp. How did he not expect me to hate this?

“Whoa there, no need to panic! It’s just me, your old pal Caine!”

“I’ve known you for less than 24 hours.”

“Haha, right! But there’s nothing to be afraid of, Pomni. This is all just part of the adventure! You see, the others have played hide and seek before numerous times, and they know all the typical hiding places, so I thought it would make things more challenging if you were smaller and harder to find!”

I kept helplessly struggling, but he made no moves to release me. He just kept watching.

“C-Can you put me down now?”

It finally hit him that I didn’t like being held, and he complied, setting me down on the floor with a pat on the head.

“There ya go! Now, I’ll leave you to go find a place to hide! Good luck!”

He disappeared before I could say anything else, and I was once again alone in this nightmarish circus. Only this time, it was much, much worse.

I could feel my heart racing as I looked at my surroundings. The circus was already huge to begin with, but everything at this perspective looked 10x more threatening. Part of me wanted to be found as soon as possible so I could return to my normal size, but I also didn’t want to think about encountering the others like this.

All I could do was hide.

[ay0nha]

The Sweet Refrain of Temptation | Remus Lupin

SUMMARY:  Remus meant no harm and unwillingly became the target to place your frustrations. Yet, just like the other Marauders, Remus had an undeniable charm that he knew how to use to his advantage. Due to him, your original penance was cut to something manageable, but something tied to his company. 

PAIRING: Remus Lupin x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: nothing really, canon-typical things, semi enemies to lovers, slytherins, some yelling, detention-ish scenario, I seriously have a whole fic idea that is just ugh, Remus being a little awkward but so warm, etc.

A/N: This came out of nowhere. I just had to get this out of my system. Many thanks to @queerdeadwizards, the entire first section is from their beautiful brain which inspired me to write this fic (find it here)! and thank you @kalllistos​ for everything always. Enjoy.

"I understand your anger, Remus." Dumbledore sounded condescending; almost as if he really understood what Remus felt like, his heart thrumming against his chest, and a feeling of faint nausea as he looked into those eyes that he had known for so long. "However, and I am sure you will understand, because you're a very smart man, it is as follows: There is nothing we can do."

Remus felt his body heat with anger, "Can you not do anything?" He tried to contain his feelings as he continued, "Or do you not want to do anything?"

"I cannot, unfortunately," The older man said, remorse lacking from his response as his gaze went to his hand. "Trying would be in vain, my boy. And, had I tried, had we tried, you know, with that name..."

"Bullshit!" Remus shouted, slamming his hands on the antique table, its hinges groaning over the unexpected pressure. His anger spilled out at his feet, burning him, consuming him.

Dumbledore had been taken aback by Remus's outburst; He glared at him, and his eyes were of a calm that he had never seen before.

"Sit down."

"You're not telling me what to do," Remus hissed under his breath. "Pardon me, but you have to be one of the most uninterested people I have ever had the displeasure to meet. She's been on your side, and you won't even-

"Remus, listen to me." Dumbledore's voice was strained, and his eyes had darkened. "There is nothing we can do."

"You haven't even tried!" Remus let out a laugh, ugly and bitter and filled with her, still. He wished he could just forget. He never would, though. You had been his own secret, his only love. He could never forget that. "You haven't even fucking tried! You know what? I'm—I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you."

"Remus, you have to realize," Dumbledore said, his voice sharp before his former student had the chance to escape his warning, "...That your actions will have consequences!"

Something inside Remus had snapped as he continued his way to the door, slamming it tightly behind him. With everything he had in him, never again would he repeat the same mistake.

—-

“Mmmm what a heart for such a powerful name, I see…I see…hmmm….” The hat on your head made your palms sweat. Eyes were on you with unwavering expectation. Those before you were sorted so quickly and yet felt like you were in front of an audience for an eternity. You needed to be Slytherin.Your future relied on it, even at your young age, you understood that plainly. “Slytherin, eh?...Are you sure?”

You thought there would be relief in joining the notorious house, secured even. Yet, years had passed and you were growing weary of waiting for the feeling to settle in. Therefore, you did the only thing you knew to do; carve a rudimentary space for yourself that people never dared challenge. It was far too easy to scare your peers into submission, the real challenge was found with the professors.

They noted your potential, as they did with all the bright students. But they never failed to turn a blind eye to your lack of belonging. And they never seemed to understand your preferred solitude.

“Mister Lupin!” Professor McGonagall’s shrill voice broke your concentration. You were moments away from the final beetle, meaning your freedom from transfiguration was fleeting. “Do perk up! I suggest you start helping your partner before I threaten points.”

As her wand tapped harshly against the wood to pair with her words, Remus jolted awake. The beetle had made its way to him, hoping the unassuming boy would provide it safety. Yet, just as quickly—well, clumsily—Remus shook his wand with an ill-practiced manner.

“Don’t—” You warned him, but the damage was already in motion. Instead of a brilliant jet of light came from his wand, exploding into a vivid burst of red light, an ugly yellow color shot out and missed entirely.

What received the unfortunate incantation was your notebook, the white pages fluttered away as newly born moths. Your peers around let out gasps that quickly turned to laughter while anger bloomed in your chest.

Transfiguration was a finicky thing only because it was the one thing within the magical world that felt more like a science. Holding your wrist steadily, repeating practiced words, and seeing accurate results caused a pride that made you soar. Yet now, everything you knew about it flew away.

“I–I…I’m so sorry—” Remus struggled to form something coherent when he met your glare. Without a hint of sympathy, you squashed the remaining beetle under your palm, your anger welcoming the repercussions McGonagall would have for you.

In hindsight the action felt out of character, Remus meant no harm and unwillingly became the target to place your frustrations. Yet, just like the other Marauders, Remus had an undeniable charm that he knew how to use to his advantage. Due to him, your original penance was cut to something manageable, but something tied to his company.

Carrying his guilt on his face, Remus looked like a kicked puppy. He was quick to find a solution, though; a charm to replicate his notebook to pass along to you. You filtered through the pages, having tangible evidence of what a good student he was. It seemed like an innate ability of his to pick things up so simply, that all you could do was curse it.

“And this must be him?” The portrait looked down its oiled nose at the stumbling boy behind you. “A Gryffindor, no less.”

“Remus–” Coming from your lips, his name sounded flat. To him, you held a consistent disappointment with his presence. Yet, he missed how mortified you were to be caught talking about him. “What do you want?”

“You weren’t in the library, I figured…” He answered, tucking away parchment into his inner pocket. Then, he paused due to the scoff coming from behind the ornate frame. “...If I’m interrupting, we can always…”

Remus’ politeness made your skin crawl. The time working together proved his kindness was genuine rather than performative. Trying to match it was in vain because any attempt you gave it felt more sardonic than anything.

“I’ll be at the library tonight.” You intentionally kept your answer vague. At some point you’d be there as Madam Pince was employed by McGonagall to keep an eye on you and your collective progress.

“That won’t be a problem will it? I do believe it’s almost time.” The portrait spoke knowingly. It always looked to stir trouble. Successfully doing so, Remus folded into himself while you eyed him with suspicion. “You think I don’t see you disappear into the night when it comes time? Hmm?”

“Enough.” You hissed, stopping the conversation from furthering. If you couldn’t call upon politeness, you could offer your protection. Looking at Remus, you left no room for arguing. You wanted to be done, so you agreed, “The library, tonight.”

Remus gave an appreciative, tight-lipped smile. The expression was becoming a habit and you saw it again later that night when he found you tucked away in the library. You didn’t notice him at first, far too engrossed with people watching than the work in front of you. But when you caught his eye, just hidden behind stacks of books and other students, there was that smile again.

“Sit.” You instructed him. The work was near completion, all you needed was for him to scribble throughout the paper like he’d done the work as well.

“I see my notes have been helping…” Remus nodded to the open book as his greeting. You were enamored with it, catching his mannerisms even within his writing. “Although—” He spun the book toward him, “M’not sure how much David Bowie can help us with transfiguration…”

The notes that you were determined to memorize were the lists that weren’t meant to be there. They were like forgotten grocery lists of scribbling notes-to-self not meant to be shared with you. So, you felt the need to defend yourself for lingering so long on what Remus found noteworthy.

But he laughed it off as his mistake, “I should have gone through this before I gave you this.”

“I had to ask Sir Aloysius who he was…” You were surprised by your own admission. The homework was becoming drawn out and you were set to do it on your own. Yet when trying to determine the theorist names, you struggled. “...said with a name like that, must be a wizard insane.”

“You and the portrait—Sir Aloysius—talk often?” Remus��� eyebrows cinched together at his clumsiness. Small talk was never easy, but with you it felt impossible. He wished he told you more about the iconic rockstar you seemed interested in.

Remus wasn’t nearly as awkward as you made him out to be. He was smart, clever. Those around you admired him for his subtle wit, but you struggled to elicit that from him, only being met with hesitance. The reasoning being Sirius’ connection to you. It was hard to call him family despite being raised beside him, but every external perspective, Remus included, considered you thus.

“He speaks in riddles,” You commented off handedly. “Don’t take it personally, everything is a game to him.”

“Not many people actually talk to the portraits.”

Your eyes flickered to his to decide if he was teasing you, though, all you noted was honesty. He was impressed; that there was a side of you that proved rumors otherwise.

“I’d rather…keep that between us.” Your lips threatened to turn downward. But when Remus began to smile, you matched it best you could.

“Of course.”

It was late into the night, but you found most comfort in the time. There were less students roaming the halls and things were quiet. But as with time passing steadily, the harder it became to fight off the shared exhaustion. Remus tried to hide it, as he did in class. His head would sway first, then bob. The grip on his pencil became slack, while the graphite became softer against the paper. He avoided your eye, embarrassed by the lack of self-control as hours passed.

There was something endearing about it, the way Remus fought sleep. However, even in his current state, he was unusually perceptive. He saw how you not only grew languid but also stretching the shared time.

“You know, David Bowie could rival that of the theorists.” Remus hummed pushing his book closed. “Some people even think he’s from a different world entirely.”

The sentence before you still seemed scrambled. You’d read it over and over again, but nothing seemed to stick. Remus’ words pulled you away entirely. Looking to him, you noted how heavy his eyelids grew and how the conversation was the only hindrance between him and sleep.

“Isn’t he a wizard?”

Sometimes you felt like you were from a different world despite belonging to the same one your entire life. There was comfort in the thought that another wizard could share the sentiment.

“Muggle...”

You hid your flinch at the word. The word wasn’t inherently combative, but it cast a shadow on the conversation. Your commons’ password haunted you just the same. Pure-blood. The concept followed you, reminded you of something you were forced into.  For some, muggles were from another world. For you, they were the exceptionally isolated unknown.

“...he makes music.” Remus commented, his warm demeanor seeming always present. He had an uncanny ability to read the mind and the discomfort that laid within yours.  “It’s quite good...I’m sure we could find some used records around, the Junk Shop, maybe... ”

You heard him trail off, leaving you room to accept his invitation. The longer you held onto your answer, the harder it became for Remus to fight off a yawn. The action reminded you of your position, what caused you to sit so uncomfortably under the burning gaze of Madam Pince when you touched the books. Shaking your head with reservation, you brushed Remus off, eyes averted from his questioning gaze and fingers trailing the book once again.

��Get some rest.” You knew of his condition, but you’d never admit it unless Remus told you directly. This was your form of politeness; never direct or prevalent, but always omniscient. “I’ll wake you when I’m done.”

The work was completed, had been for awhile, but you kept your nose buried in the books, ones that spoke on lycanthropy. The stigma around it was sickening, but the information was helpful to understand the companion across from you.

You weren’t sure what to do with the information. You could swallow it whole, pretend like you’d never read it. Or you could open the next book, looking for remedies for the scars littered across Remus’ face. You hadn’t minded them as much as he had, his self-consciousness carried in his shoulders. For you, it paired well with his house, representing his bravery and nerve to face it time and time again.

You had caught yourself. You were staring. Blinking hard, you dismissed it as exhaustion. The dreams of the night before were slowly shifting into nightmares. That wouldn’t have scared you away, but what unnerved you the most was how accurately the dreams transcribed the curve of Remus’ nose.

The dream was the same that very night. It started off forgettable, a fantasy-like world that could be misconstrued for a fairy tale. But the fog in your mind started to swirl. The colors became deeper, more like shadows that soon transformed into familiar figures. Remus and Dumbledore.

They were older, but perfectly recognizable. The perspective of the dream varied as the night did. This was the first time you felt like you too were present in the room, not just a hovering presence. They spoke of you as though you weren’t there. Remus defending you against the unsympathetic Headmaster with an anger you hadn’t known he possessed.

You were wary to call it a premonition, but before you could do anything—as sleep typically constituted— there was a flash of light. Once translucent, the light revealed connected hands; your own and a hand that held scars patterned similarly to the boy who sat across you merely hours ago. They were conjoined by a thin tongue of brilliant flame that wound its way around your hands like a red-hot wire.

An unbreakable vow.

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday

Howdy y'all! @fangbangerghoul reminded me it was Wednesday and also tagged me in a wonderful fic rec list for Delgado content that you can find HERE with lots of of great recs as well as a peek of her latest Delgado fic, Heavy Metal Lover. If you like great action and fight sequences and have a hankering for quiet, snarky assassins and grumpy Delgado, give their ao3 a look. They also write for My Time At Sandrock and Baldur's Gate 3!

As far as tagging others, today I'm openly tagging anyone who sees this and feels they have something to share. I know a lot of us are going through it atm and so no pressure.

For my WIP sneak peek I have some more from a currently unnamed fic that follows Rokov through the back half of Work-Life Balance and afterward, giving a glimpse at what was going on with Della's other half during the chaos. The WIP is a little slower paced with lots of hurt and comfort going on and a better look into Del and Rokov's dynamic in their little triad.

Del sat with Rokov near the pool, failing to keep the icepack on his swollen left eye as they waited for word. He refused to be looked at by any of their trained medics despite looking like he’d been through hell himself. Every time someone approached he ordered them to make themselves useful for Samina.

“At least lay down,” Rokov motioned at the rest of Del’s chair, “so they think you’re taken care of?”

“I don’t need to lay down,” Del snapped, looking back at the medbay as the ice pack slipped out of his hand, “I need to know that she’s alright.”

“Da,” Rokov reached down and picked up the pack. He carefully dragged his chair closer and gently placed the ice on Del’s face, causing the man to jump and curse at him in Spanish.

Delgado raised his hand to backhand Rokov’s hand away but stopped himself, shuddering as he stifled a sob. He relaxed his shoulders as he fought to keep himself together, “I thought I could keep Naeva’s focus. I thought we had it covered. If I’d hidden we might have…”

“It could have been a lot worse too,” Rokov said softly as he leaned in, “the whole thing was a gamble from the start.”

“I thought I knew her,” Delgado let the words fall out of his mouth in a whisper as a tear escaped his uncovered eye, “I used to count on her to have my back. I trusted her. But when she walked in…it was like looking at a stranger.”

“She’s been on this path for a while,” Rokov said while studying Del’s bloodied lip. It was split down the center of his lower lip, swollen enough to create a slight lisp when he spoke. Rokov wiped the drop of dried blood from above the patch of hair on Del’s chin, drawing his leaders focus away from the medbay and to him.

“I didn’t think she’d go this far,” Delgado admitted, “I knew she was intense, I knew she didn’t like Bella, but I thought I things under control. Sure, she pushed back but I was always able to…no that’s a lie I’ve been telling myself. That’s clear now.”

“She had a way of getting in people’s heads,” Rokov pulled the icepack back to look over the bruise, “and under people’s skin. She knew what to say and do to gain favor and how far she could push back without losing standing. After the shit with Rake happened she lost face with a lot of people around the Key, including you.

“Then she brought in this unknown to her rook only to learn the blonde nobody is actually very well known and skilled. That would be embarrassing on its own but then you took a shine to the beautiful blonde. Bella got more and more of your time and attention and had better ideas with less mess than anything Naeva could come up with. She felt threatened and did everything she could think of to threaten and discredit Bella and failed every time, likely pissing her off further. You were looking at a stranger because she took the mask off she’d worn around you for so long; she could no longer control the narrative so she no longer had a need to be whatever passed as nice with her.”

Delgado sighed, his shoulders and back slumping as he leaned forward to rest his face in his hands, elbows on his thighs, “we talked about it so many times. How Bella wasn’t interested in that sort of position, she was content as a rook and then later as a captain. Naeva’s position was never at risk. Bella would have gladly buried the hatchet with her if the dumb bitch would have given her a chance.”

“Naeva was a survivor,” Rokov leaned in and rested the side of his temple against Del’s.

“So is Bella, so are you,” Del leaned into him, one hand dropping to reach over and touch Rokov’s arm, “same as me.”

“And you know how easy self-doubt and paranoia can worm its way in if you aren’t careful,” Rokov whispered, “it didn’t matter how many times you told her she was safe when Bella continually made her look inept in front of you and the crew in command. What would normally be playful jabs turned into venom tipped fangs.”

“I could have ended this weeks ago,” Del mumbled.

“You had no reason to think it was going to get this bad,” Rokov looked in and nuzzled Delgado’s cheek, “Bella will pull through and we’ll be back to taking what’s ours in no time.”

Delgado snorted, “That’s if her friend doesn’t kill me first.”

[shipthecarsons]

WAS IT A DREAM?

Elsie started slowly opening her eyes. The intensity and amount of light trying to pierce through her eyelids were unbearable.

In the end, she wasn’t as shocked as one would expect when she fully took in her surroundings. Maybe it was because she thought it was a dream or maybe it was because she knew she was very old, and that this day would have to come eventually.

“Elsie Carson?” She heard a man’s echoing voice. At first, she didn’t realise where it was coming from, but there was a ray of light showing her the way and so she followed it. She was holding her long nightgown up, her bare feet landing softly onto an unknown surface covered with clouds.

“Elsie Carson?” Said the man again once she appeared in front of him.

“Am I dead, Peter?” She recognised him immediately.

“Funnily enough, no. You are not dead Elsie.” Peter sniggered under his beard.

Elsie just narrowed her eyes, inhaling deeply, readying herself for whatever is to come.

“Good news for you, you are only here for a reference so to speak.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s your husband who’s dead.”

Elsie cried out loud , trying to cover her crooked expression and wide-open mouth with her palm.

“How is that good news?” She said once she pulled herself together again.

“Well, perhaps not the best way to put it.” Peter ran his hand through his beard apologetically. “Good news is I think your reaction might be taken as a good sign-”

“Could you stop referring to things as good news-” Elsie stopped herself and added “-please,” playing with her long braided grey hair.

“I’m sorry, I won’t say it again.” He offered her a sympathetic smile.

“What am I here for then?”

“To vouch for him.”

“Ok.” She held her chest up high.

“The boss isn’t necessarily sure if he should let him in here.” Peter was studying his nails.

“Why ever not?”

“Let’s say your husband wasn’t always a kind man.”

“But he was.” She argued, her fists clutched together.

“Are you sure?” Peter raised his eyebrows. “Because according to our records, Charles Carson was a bit of a bully.”

“He might have made some mistakes in the past, but at heart he is a very good man.” She understood her assignment well and was eager to fight for him.

“Was a very good man.” Peter corrected her and then jumped slightly upon seeing fire growing behind her teary eyes. She could run the whole of hell, he thought, they’d love her down there.

“Well you just said he wasn’t.” She snapped back at him.

“I don’t think you getting clever with me will necessarily help your husband, Elsie.” Peter warned her steadily.

“Mr Carson was sometimes acting out due to the pressures of his job.” She decided to continue calmly.

“Is that an excuse, when he drove a man into committing suicide?”

Elsie swallowed loudly. “I don’t think that this situation is as black and white as you say” She bit her lips. “Mr Barrow always has been the author of his own misfortunes. Not everyone understood his nature, but I think Charlie did understand, as much as a man of his time could. When it came to his constructed dismissal, there was pressure from outside or rather upstairs and I know Charlie regretted it deeply afterwards.”

“Did he?”

“He did, he was upset for weeks.”

“Alright.”

“You’re not going to level with me?” Elsie asked carefully.

“Not necessarily, we just want to hear what you’ve got to say, whether it’s enough or not is another question. We already heard his poor arguments, and that’s why he had to call you in.”

“He called me in?” Elsie stepped closer to Peter as if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband behind the gate.

Saint Peter looked behind his shoulder and back at her. “He’s not here now.” He shuddered at seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he got up and walked around a bit. “But we asked him for suggestions. Suggestions of people that see him for who he really is. When he put you forward, God wasn’t best pleased. There is a reason why people say ‘love is blind’ he never lets spouses and lovers vouch for people, they can never stay objective.”

“Then why am I here?” Elsie was blinking fast in confusion.

“I insisted.” Peter admitted as he was sitting back down in his highchair.

“You did?”

“I like you. I like you a lot because you remind me of me.”

“Why.” Elsie was baffled.

“Your keys for one.” He pointed his finger toward her hip.

Elsie suddenly felt her keys heaving her down, dangling by her thigh. She looked down only to realise she was wearing her housekeeper outfit out of the blue (literally).

“You are very fair, and you guard the house, and most importantly people, the same way I do with Heaven.”

“I see.” Elsie didn’t know how to take such a compliment.

“So I wanted to see you, see how you fight for your sinful man.”

“Sinful, is that what you call him up here?” Elsie had to laugh sarcastically.

“We do now, but that’s why you’re here, to prove us wrong.”

“Try me.”

“What about Mr Molesley then? The poor man only needed a job, a few shillings to survive… Yet your husband was adamant in not hiring him.”

“He hired him in the end.”

“Then bullied him for wanting to be the first footman, then bullied him some more for wanting to change his career…” Peter raised his eyebrows. “The list goes on, Elsie, I’m waiting.”

“Well… he…” She needed a minute to gather her words.

“I can see you agree with me, Elsie, I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not ashamed to admit I think his behaviour was wrong, but I also remember he had to deal with other things at the time. Alfred was leaving, for one, his favourite subordinate.” She explained. “He would never let on it made him upset, but it did. Then the tremors started and he was terrified he might not be able to do his job properly.”

“So?”

“Well it’s only human, no?”

“Is that your argument, Elsie?”

“I’m sure he regretted it afterwards.”

“That’s a bit better.”

“He was kind and helped Mr Molesley on many other occasions.”

“Give us an example.”

“He erm-“

Saint Peter just laughed.

“He guided him through his work. He always looked out for all of his subordinates.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.” Elsie stood her ground not willing to budge.

“What about Miss O’Brian, Daisy, Jimmy, or even your friend Mrs Patmore?”

“I am not sure why you are mentioning Miss O’Brian and Jimmy, whatever treatment they got from my husband they thoroughly deserved” She said sternly.

“Alright, what about the other ones?” Peter was testing her.

“You know he learned through his mistakes. Maybe a little slower at times. That surely doesn’t make him worthy of hell!” She wailed the last sentence with such urgency. Tears started falling from her eyes again like raindrops.

“Hmm.” Saint Peter was gaping at her for a few moments as she was quietly whimpering, before he continued. “Why don’t you give me an example then? An example of his kindness.”

“There is myriad of examples.”

“A person then, that he was kind to.”

“I mentioned Alfred already didn’t I.”

“You mean the boy he was unnecessarily rude to for having bad relatives?”

“You call it rudeness I call it caution.” She claimed decisively. “And he gave him a chance and became a good friend and a sort of father figure to him.”

“Hmm.” Peter was observing her with interest. She really was quite determined.

“And what about the family and lady Mary? He was nothing but kind to them.” She was still sniffling a bit but her voice was steady.

“At the expense of others perhaps.”

“Not always.” She corrected him.

“At the expense of you for example.” Peter probed her.

She looked him in the eye and frowned.

“Or your friend, Mrs Patmore.”

“Hm.” Elsie ran her tongue over her teeth thinking. “I know what you’re doing, but you are never going turn me against him.” She exclaimed.

Saint Peter just smiled slyly.

“Charlie’s always been so kind to Lady Mary, even when she was a little girl.” She tried to hide her own feelings regarding that matter even though she suspected Peter knew. “He protected the family no matter what, he did his duty more than very well.”

“Well-“ He wanted to continue bit she jumped in.

“He always guided and set an example to all of his and my staff.”

“Including Mr Branson?”

“He warmed to Mr Branson in the end, and he was never unkind to him.”

“Because of you.”

Elsie bit her lips again. “Why should that make a difference.”

“Do you not think it should?”

“Surely not.” Elsie rolled her eyes in frustration.

“Why not?” Peter kept being insistent.

“Because it’s still the same kindness coming from within his heart and not mine.” She shook her head and earned a smile from the saint.

“Very well then,” Peter started again. “That’s his kindness towards others but what about you, Elsie? What about his lack of kindness towards you?”

“There’s always been more than plenty of kindness in our marriage - never a lack.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Saint Peter just raised his eyebrows.

“I never complained.” She gradually succumbed to his omnipresent judgement.

“Never?” His eyebrows were so high they seemed to be floating just above his forehead.

“No.” Elsie said inaudibly, swallowing her nerves.

“Not even to Beryl Patmore?” He reminded her.

“Well-“

“I didn’t ask you here to fabricate a wishful story-“ Peter thundered but the housekeeper interrupted him.

“Maybe one or two times I complained.” Elsie was now fidgeting with her skirt. “But we always resolved it in the end.” She added with fervour. “We love-d each other dearly.”

“Hmm, I see.” He backed down a tad.

“To me he is…” She dithered. “He was a kind husband, a loving companion, a caring friend…”

“And?” Peter sensed she had something on the tip of her tongue.

“…and a selfless lover.” She added proudly, unashamed. She never felt as loved and worshiped as she felt during their nights of passion.

“I’ve seen better.” Peter said levelly after a moment of awkward silence.

“I didn’t know you watched!” Elsie looked up at him - embarrassment now replaced by exasperation.

“Well-“ Peter started blushing as well. “We see everything.” He cleared his throat hoping they’d change the subject soon.

“Well then you must know.” She started again with passion. “Then you must know what a kind man he is-“ She continued reiterating everything that she already said and more. And Saint Peter just sat there, listening until he raised his hand to stop her heartfelt monologue.

“I’ve heard enough!” He rumbled decisively but also offered her a proud smile.

“I-“ Elsie found it hard to suddenly stop talking.

“Thank you, Elsie,” He said and pulled a lever covered with pearls beside him.

It opened a double-door under Elsie’s feet and she fell through it within seconds.

Then she opened her eyes again. She was back in their cottage, in their comfy bed. It was still dark. She could sense her husband’s body laying next to her. She turned to face him and hugged him from behind, whispering “I love you so much, Charlie.” He didn’t respond and she squeezed him tighter. “Charlie?” She checked after a moment and then panicked. “Charlie?” Her blood turned cold as silence prevailed…

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Also still FUCKING PISSED I saw someone use c!Tommy’s final request to c!Tubbo as proof he was selfish. Like, for one… in context it’s literally the opposite? c!Tubbo was (understandably) incredibly upset about the whole ““killing his best friend”” thing and c!Tommy was trying to cheer him up and snap him out of it a bit. He was joking around for old times sake, one last time. Do you really think he was fully serious when he was demanding how long c!Tubbo grieved for? Those are the kind of jokes c!Tommy makes all the time. He wanted c!Tubbo to have something funny to look back on because of course he did. He’s c!Tommy, he lives for jokes and fun, or at least he used to, and that’s the side of him he wants c!Tubbo to remember, not the drug-addicted, traumatised shell of a boy he was at the end. He wanted c!Tubbo to remember the times they were happy- the few moments c!Tommy felt life was worth living. That’s something he was doing all of the early stream. Trying to savour the few things in life he treasured- fresh air, the Prime Path, and of course, c!Tubbo.

Secondly, outside of that… his request was literally reasonable and understandable? Outside of specifying that c!Tubbo had to grieve for a long time, of course, but as mentioned that was almost certainly him trying to cheer c!Tubbo up so he could enjoy his last moments with him. His other request was… for c!Tubbo to make sure his loved ones remembered him and to pass on his stories. Which would be a fairly understandable last request for anyone, but especially for c!Tommy, who feels trapped under the weight and pressure of the stories already being told about him, to the point he developed a reliance on drugs to cope with it. Having someone tell the truth- that he wasn’t some hero, or some villain, but just… a kid, who was involved in a lot of crazy shit and tried to have fun and tried to help people- would understandably be a big comfort to him. And c!Tommy needed that comfort! It’s not even that he was walking into his death- that much would need it, sure, but what c!Tommy was preparing for was so much worse. He fully expected to be tortured both physically and emotionally, likely for the entire duration of his time spent stalling c!Punz and c!Dream. If the plan went awry, and both of them couldn’t be taken out simultaneously, he was also fully expecting for that torture to continue for a literal eternity. Even in the best case scenario, he’d be dying in a place filled with extremely triggering things to him, having to agonisingly count down the seconds and hope and pray that this would work. And he was tortured! Deliberately being killed and revived has been established as horrifically physically and mentally painful! A boy- because, let’s be real, that’s what c!Tommy was, being barely an adult- wanting the peace of mind that his loved ones would remember him after a death he knew would be painful, traumatic, drawn out, and humiliating isn’t being selfish, and the idea of it being such is… concerning.

[inkyorzo]

𝑆𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑦 𝐿𝑎𝑤𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 × 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑁𝑒𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Chapter 1 ~ New worker

It was an early morning, way too early for how energetic everyone was. Lawrence, the music composer, was one of the few people that had no interest in talking to anyone. He walked in, clocked in, and went to his office. Not one person made an attempt to talk to him as he would most likely snap at them, not to mention he's rarely ever in a good mood. Sammy only talks to one person whenever he has the time, Norman Polk. Occasionally, he will make small talk with others but he sticks to the music department to fix any mistakes while performing. He once kicked out a member of the band to practice on their own because they kept messing up multiple lines of the song, having to make everyone restart. As the day went on Sammy spent most of his time in his sanctuary alone working on music. The deadline was coming closer and there wasn't much time left and he knew that. Everyone in the workplace was busy which left him a lot of quiet time to himself.

It wasn't too long until a knock on the office door that knocked Lawrence out of his trance. It startled him for a moment, causing him to sit back and remain calm. He finally stood up and opened the door as another knock filled the room's silence. "Afternoon Lawrence!" The man on the other side of the door says cheerfully. It was his boss, Joey Drew. Sammy was quick to change his demeanor and respond to the man, "Hello Mr. Drew, is there something you need?" His appearance was odd, the only times that Drew really talked to Sammy was when they met walking in the hallways. "Tomorrow there's going to be a new worker, they will be switching between the music and animation department." A new worker? Someone willing enough to be switching between two completely different jobs. Animation, you have to be artistic in order to even get in this department. Joey gives hard criticism to everyone in this department. Music, you must know how to at least play an instrument. What's the point if you don't know what you're doing? They better find it easy working under so much pressure.

"Lawrence" Joey spoke up after about five minutes of silence, "Meet me in my office tomorrow morning." Sammy nodded and apologized for the silence that came after he talked about the new worker. Blaming it on the music. Although, it wasn't entirely a lie, he has a lot on his plate at the moment. "I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight Lawrence." Sammy closed the door after watching Joey walk away, sitting back down at his desk now wondering about the mysterious person he was going to be working with. Only time will show who this person is, it'd be better off heading out home for the rest of the night. Morning comes, Joey is found sat in his office with the new worker. They made small talk until the Animation and Music Department leaders arrived. The worker had just now learned the names of both leaders before they came in, Lacey Harris and Sammy Lawrence. Lacey was the nicer of the two, less strict but keeps everything and everyone in check. Sammy, stern and a perfectionist, they would have to be careful with both leaders no matter what.

For the first half of their shift, they will be working in the music department. The second half is in the animation department. Sammy didn't talk to them much, after they met he went down to the music department for recording songs for the cartoons that had just come in from the animation department. Lacey had taken the worker to the animation department and had everyone meet them. It wasnt too long after until they were finally able to start working. Lacey was glad that they had enough knowledge to get started right away with no help whatsoever. Before anyone knew though, it was their break. The worker made their way to the break room they were previously shown, remembering the way they came from. Walking into the room there was another female and two males. The female looked over and walked over to the worker excitedly, "Hello! You're the new worker correct?" They jumped a tad but quickly responded, "Yes, I am." They blurted out. She apologized and told the worker her name, Susie Campbell. The voice actor for Alice Angel, she was really pretty. Her appearance had consisted of a shorter female, smooth skin with barely any acne, a little dash of makeup it also seemed was visible. "It's nice to meet you Susie, you can call me Em," Em smiled back at Susie before she decided to bring you over to meet the other two people who were in the room. Wally Franks, the janitor. He was funny and looked like someone who could bring anyone's mood up. The other male, Norman Polk. The projectionist. He helps Sammy make sure the music goes along with the animation correctly by playing it on the back wall behind the instrumentalists. Em and Wally had gotten along pretty well but Norman is still iffy about them. He doesn't mind them but they seem to shy for his liking, just hopefully they'll warm up to everyone quickly.

After break was over, Em made their way to the music department with Norman. They made small talk about the job and all before reaching the department. Norman brought Em to Sammy before heading up to his booth. "What instruments do you know how to play?" Lawrence asked Em not taking his eyes off of the music sheet to make sure there were no mistakes on this copy. "Violin and piano. I specialize in violin mainly though." Em replies. Sammy nods as he gave Em the paper and a violin from a cabinet signaling he wanted to see how well they were at it. Em quickly skimmed through the paper taking not of what were flats and sharps, bass and treble, and other small details. It wasn't too much longer till Em put the butt of the violin to her neck area and started playing the song carefully and as perfect as possible. Managing to only miss one note by the end of the song, it left Sammy quite impressed. He was grinning for once, a genuine happy grin. Finally someone who could read sheet music correct and play it almost perfectly the first time looking at it. "That was perfect!" He said flatly but in a tone of thankfulness. A few of the other musicians looked over and whispered to one another about his actions. Even Norman was surprised, sitting in confusion just staring at the man as he flipped through the music sheet holder he had. Sammy had taken out one of two pieces of music that were to be recorded today. One had been recorded before break, and now the new one that will be recorded after practice. He handed the sheet to Em as they skimmed through the paper they had just received, again taking in the small details. Playing the violin part for this song took a lot more effort and perfection to make it sound good. Em had to restart a few times from messing up certain pitches of the notes. Finally Em had gotten most of it down except for the very last page, it was extremely complicated with how much goes on. Sammy was still very happy about it, but the last page is going to make his mood fall a lot once the whole band gets together. Everyone has had trouble with getting the very last page done correctly so they're going to be practicing it for a good 20 minutes. By the end of the day, the recording was able to get published and put in the cartoon. Everyone was very glad and relieved that the newest episode had finally been broadcasted on television now. It is now time to leave, the sun barely standing above the horizon. Em walked back to their shared apartment and laid on their bed smiling. Tomorrow is going to be a great day.

[landofloveandregret]

ASSAULT ON THE LABORATORY PART 2

-

It's good you came alone.

Just one is enough.

HER neck snapped under the pressure.

-

It took only a moment. A moment too long.

The elevator awoke. The floor rumbled beneath the Survivors feet with the descent and a horrible sinking feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. He hated elevators, he hated the anxious wait before it jolted into action, how his mind struggled to adjust to the change in forces, and the motion sickness that stewed in the bottom of his gut. After the end of the world, when said elevators don't get maintenance in half a decade and the only ones that work seem to lead into forgotten XEDRA laboratories, motion sickness met crippling anxiety and it might as well be a descent into hell. But he'd rather climb down into hell than ride an elevator into it. Maybe he could have taken the maintenance ladder? No, too late for that now. The elevator picked up speed, and inspecting the little hatch in the ceiling, he wasn't sure if he could even pry it open. His anxiety was worsened by frustration.

The humming of the elevator filled the survivors ears and he found himself compulsively checking his watch, but it had only been fifteen seconds. He gripped his M4 tight in anticipation of what lay beyond the thick steel doors. Twenty seconds. Twenty five. Just how deep did this place go? To keep his mind off the anxiety, he wondered about the elevator, what kept it powered and functioning. So caught up in the excitement of finding a mythical laboratory, he didn't pay mind to the more mundane surprises of post-apocalypse scavenging, namely the powered electronics. There weren't any cables or power lines outside, the lab entrance was in the middle of a dense forest and likely off the power grid. The monitor on the ground floor, the elevator, the flickering light above him, he guessed they were all kept active by some sort of internal power system within the Lab itself. Automated? Although presuming power was automated presupposed that the Lab was uninhabited; the Survivor began to dread the opening of the doors. Too many questions. Too many possibilities. The variables that awaited him were literally uncountable. Perhaps he'd find nothing but eerily deserted hallways and ransacked lab rooms, or maybe those halls would be filled to the brim with undead. What if the place is occupied by aliens, and he'd get cut into ribbons by a fucking Mi-Go the second the doors slide open? Or... could it be that the place was still staffed by actual people? And then he no longer wondered, because the movement of the elevator came to a jarring stop. The Survivor squashed all his fears and doubts, instinct and training took control, he raised his rifle in anticipation. Now it begins. With an ear-piercing ding that made him wince, the doors slowly slid open with the grinding of metal against concrete.

Empty. It was a large, eerie room with concrete walls and harsh white lamps, minimalist concrete pillars reached into a high ceiling. Right ahead of the elevator was a wood desk underlit by a flickering lamp, around the room were overturned couches and coffee tables. Sign of a struggle? No blood stains, no bullet casings on the ground either. He didn't move, he just listened intently. Nothing. The silence was deafening and as far as he knew it, he was alone. While he knew that he'd likely run into undead, he hoped deep down that it would be empty, scavenging would be a breeze, and he'd be done in no time, but now it appeared his wish was granted, and an instinctual paranoia arose in him. There wasn't much for it. He took his first anxious step beyond the elevator and walked, slow and precarious, with a death grip on his rifle. His lips peeking out the mouth holes of the balaclava stung at the chilly air, he inhaled and scrunched his nose at the old, stale stench hanging in the room that left a dry taste on the insides of his mouth. With every anxious breath it was like dust was slowly clogging up his throat, and he balled his fist to his lips and let out muffled, hacking coughs. There was a filter mask back in his car and regret swelled in his chest just thinking about it. So much he forgot in the excitement. Whatever. He'll breathe light, scout out this floor and once he heads back up, he'll take it down with him. As he stood alone in the middle, his long shadow stretched under the light of the flickering lamps and then he noticed the door. Out the view of the elevator, a little distance away from the desk, was a laminated glass door, emblazoned with the symbol of an atom in a flask. The door was ajar. He peered into a winding hallway, until a screech filled the air.

The Survivor panicked. He whirled around, rifle levelled, only to watch the elevator doors slowly slide shut with the agonising screech of metal against concrete. The elevator was going back up. For a few moments he listened to the gentle ding, muffled by steel doors and whirring of machinery. All his resolve built up from what Makayla said to him seemed to ebb away as the reality of the situation set in, the sheer reckless lunacy of raiding a mythical Lab, alone, and without backup for what could be days. He was stepping into a tomb. The shadows lengthened in the corners, the stale air made his stomach churn. Just what the hell was he thinking. His eyes focused on the elevator button. Anxiety bubbled in his gut like a cauldron of acid and a tinny little voice in the back of his head urged him to just press the button, call the elevator back before it was too late, and it would be a lie if he didn't consider it. Instead, harnessing the discipline garnered from years of scavenging, he squashed all his doubt and his fears. The Survivor visualised his goals; he turned his mind to Concord. From just an hour spent sifting through the Lab, he knew for a fact he could get wealthier than he could have ever dreamed of and not that merch or dollar bullshit, real wealth. Chemicals, materials, scientific tools, electronics, data — forget living behind the Fence — he could easily buy his way into one of the Old Guards cruise liners or any walled city he liked. And from there on it's a life of safety, splendour and retirement alongside the wealthy and other scavengers that got lucky. This could be the most dangerous job he ever took, but afterwards, he'd never have to work another day again. The risks were unimaginable, but the reward was everything he could ever want. The Survivor turned from the elevator doors with steely determination. He'll make this quick.

The halls were empty, the only sound was his gentle footsteps and the buzzing of the harsh lights. He glanced at the rows of beam lamps that lit up his path and found himself once again wondering about what kept them powered. Blackouts were regular during the riots, the end of the world ensured that the streetlamps would never shine again. Unless it was connected to a reactivated power plant or had its own generators, buildings typically didn't have electricity, much less working elevators. It seemed likely that the Lab had its own power-source, but how could it last so long? He reached the end of the hallway and with the caution of a veteran scavenger, he silently slid the door open. Another hallway, but almost all the lights didn't work. Further from the door, the hall was shrouded in darkness, two distant lamps flickered and buzzed softly in the ceiling, little islands of light in a sea of black.

The lights weren't enough. He let his rifle hang around his shoulder, unclipped his heavy-duty flashlight from his belt, and the dark hallway was lit up. Empty. Steadily he moved further down. A paper poster hung on the wall and it was in tatters. It was some sort of memo but who knew what it said. A red, rusted sign read Always keep your badge on. His flashlight began to dim, he swore softly and fumbled with the old tool, and it glowed bright once more, illuminating a wall that gave way to thick steel doors, a panel of buttons. Another elevator. But the Survivor's attention was caught by the pockmarks, deep and speckled across the wall. And then he noticed the blood. Discoloured splotches of dried blood were smeared across the walls, a dried-up puddle seeped from under the shut doors and formed a shaky line of red further down the hallway. The Survivor crouched down to minimise noise as much as possible, and followed the trail. The trail of blood grew thicker and thicker, becoming red handprints and smears on the concrete floor, leading into a wide and hideous stain against a wall. So much blood, the floor was stained congealed black that no scrubbing could ever remove. The Survivor wasn't an idiot. So there was a blood trail and a stain, but where was the body?

Deeper in the unlit hallway, only now did he notice it. He sniffed, an acrid stench was faint in the stale air, like rotten chicken, so faint and distant, but for any seasoned scavenger it was recognisable from a mile away. A stench that provoked revulsion and dread and set off every alarm bells in his head. He lifted his head up and sniffed deeply in the air. Oh, he knew where the body was. The body had gotten up again. He could recognise the smell from a mile away, and with how faint it was, it feels like he just did. Further down the hallway, the blood trail continued, and it led to the dark end of the hallway. The door was smashed open, only a battered doorway remained, countless shards of glass glimmered across the linoleum tiled floor. The Survivor turned off his flashlight and gripped his rifle.

It was a lab room. Cabinets with doors left ajar and empty sample fridges, tables laden with chemicals in beakers and labelled bottles. Some were toppled over, their contents pooled across the floor and went mushy with age. The lamp was off, and when he trailed his hands across the wall he found the light switch. He kept it off. There was enough light coming in anyway from a glass window out into a branching corridor. He didn't even need to sniff deeply, the smell was now unignorable. The body hadn't wandered off far. The Survivor had a hunch, so he decided to test the waters - he was going to do something very dangerous. He raised his leg and kicked a cabinet door with an ugly THUMP.

The harsh thump echoed through the dark lab room and into the hallway beyond. For a few moments he hoped his hunch would remain just a hunch, but from far down came footsteps, unbalanced, unfocused. His hopes were destroyed as the footsteps grew and grew, and then on the other side of the laminated glass, a man stumbled unsteadily into view.

Not a man.

A decrepit, walking corpse. The remnants of a lab coat stained vile and dark clung to thin arms, exposed bones rotted and discoloured. The Survivor didn't say a word. His decision came to him so quick that it might as well have been instinct. While the corpse stumbled in the light, he crept across the dark lab room, the steel bayonet of his rifle gleaming in the dark, and kept out of sight behind cabinets and workbenches. The single-minded corpse shambled towards the open glass doors, but the Survivor was only a few feet away. They met eyes. He stared into the corpses oily black eyeholes.

All in a moment. He lunged forward with his rifle in one powerful controlled motion and pierced the corpse through the forehead. Yellowed skin burst, a sickening squelch went through the corridor, the bayonet stuck out the other end, and he twisted the rifle violently. He yanked the bayonet out, trailing black gore and congealed blood. One strike was all it took. The zombie went like a puppet with cut strings and collapsed by his feet with the sickening crack of old bone against concrete.

So, the Lab was inhabited after all. Atleast he knew how to deal with it. He stared down at the corpse, nothing but rotting meat, puppeted by the blob, dressed in a filthy lab-coat. He kicked the body to face up. Black gore slowly oozed from the gaping wound in its skull, across the zombies twisted face, he'd gag if he wasn't so used to the smell. He pressed his boot to the skull and nudged it, watching how the sludge stuck to his heel in black strings. It was definitely dead. Unbothered by the filth, he knelt down beside the corpse, because something caught his eye. Something long was bulging in the lab-coat, protruding from where the belly should be. He lifted the vile fabric and it was a dark hilt embedded deep into yellowed flesh. Exerting considerable effort, he pulled the hilt out and something steel glinted in the harsh lamplight. It was a machete. A rusty, filthy machete that had marinated in the belly of a zombie for four years. He inspected the weapon curiously. So that was how the scientist died; he was attacked by something clever enough to use weapons. If it was what he suspected, it didn't faze him, because everyone knew the ferals all zombified years ago. That placed the scientists death almost five years ago, maybe even as far back as the riots. He was half expecting to find signs of blunt force trauma too. Ferals love throwing their stupid fucking rocks.

Under the balaclava, his expression darkened as he remembered an early scavenging trip, when he was once knocked out cold by a rock to the head, but he was torn away from reminiscing as something strange caught his eye. A thin black strip around the zombies neck. The fabric of a lanyard led away from its scrawny neck to the the sheen of a plastic coating sticking out from under the rags of a shirt. He snapped it off - it was an ID card with X.E.D.R.A across the top. Wiping off the blood revealed the photo of a balding man with accompanying information. So this was the corpse of Doctor Donovan, Medium Clearance, Senior Biologist. The Survivor stared blankly. Whoever the fuck that was, he won't need his ID card anymore.

The stench was overpowering. He pocketed the lanyard and held his breath as he searched the corpse for anything else. In the lab-coat pockets was the fossil of an old, blood-soaked notebook; pages ineligible, useless. An old lighter, still working. A few working pens. One packet of cigarettes. Could be sold as memorabilia. Nothing else. The survivor stomped its head in like a rotten watermelon and moved on. Doctor Donovan will stay dead.

-

Modern civilization is a memory but its wealth still remains.

Houses were robbed, supermarket shelves were emptied, gun stores were raided, but not everything could be taken in the initial chaos and rioting. Piled high in dockyards and behind barricaded warehouses, collecting dust in forgotten shipping containers, thousands of tons of consumer goods, clothes, electronics, all would have been sold and used by millions if not for the end of the world. Once ubiquitous and cheap, they now sell for a high, high price, and to get filthy old-world rich, all an enterprising scavenger needs to do is just reach forth and take it. The only problem was that between them and the wealth of the former USA were the untold millions of undead. Sometimes, even more. Fucking Mi-Gos loved plastic. But no matter what, the danger was always worth it. Scavengers dreamt of police stations, hospitals and military outposts, but above all were the Labs. After the secret was blown two years ago, everyone knew what XEDRA was and how they ended the world, and for a short while it sparked a gold rush. Just a short while, because finding a laboratory was like finding the holy grail. To this date, only one had been found, but that one Lab was what made elite scavenger groups like the Gold Squad the legends they are today. There wasn't a single scavenger in the entire former USA who wouldn't kill to be in his shoes.

It's been ten minutes since the first zombie. Throughout his exploration, the Survivor conducted himself like a professional scavenger. He kept track of his route and stuck to it. Every corridor and every blind spot, he checked. He didn't move on from a room until he inspected every nook and cranny. When at a corner, he'd always use a hand mirror to peek around. In everything, he moved as slowly and deliberately as he could, but for all his care, it didn't stop him from encountering more zombies. The Survivor snarled under his balaclava as he stared into his pocket mirror.

A zombie was motionless and alone in the middle of the hallway, and it likely hasn't moved since it first died. He watched it in the mirror. He needed to get past but there was no way to sneak around it, he'd have to fight it head on. That was an acceptable risk. The Survivor walked out from around the corner and faced the corpse from the other end of the hallway. Through a tangle of matted hair, it stared at him with oily black eyes, and it stumbled, frail broken arm dragging uselessly behind it. He approached, bayonet glimmering in the harsh light, and he dismantled the freak. The first stab left it bleeding out on the floor; the second went in the skull and put it down for good. The corpse slumped in a puddle of rancid blood. A cursory inspection revealed another ID card; Doctor Lucy, Low Clearance, Junior Researcher. Chunks of the zombies neck were missing, and its chest was pockmarked with bulletholes. The Survivor's initial assumption was wrong; this wasn't the first time it died, and already he was constructing a scenario. There was a zombie outbreak, the inhabitants of the Lab tried and failed to fight back, they either fled or joined the billions lost, and their dead rose back in their old workplace. Searching the corpse revealed a filthy notebook kept hidden in the lab-coats deep pockets, but this notebook and its pages were laminated, shielded from filth and the rigors of time. He could make out the title; patient treatment records. He flipped it open and was greeted with pale white notebook pages, covered in handwritten notes and printed sheets. He flipped past diagrams and gory details, and the balaclava didn't hide his confusion. The Survivor never graduated high-school, he didn't even have a GED, the medical jargon didn't make a lick of sense but it didn't matter. The notebook was the handwritten notes of a X.E.D.R.A scientist and this was worth its weight in gold. This alone made exploring the Lab worth it. Comparably the rest of the loot was lacklustre, a few more pens and that was it. He put the notebook into his runner pack. Pulp before reanimation then move on.

The Survivor had been a scavenger, a mercenary, a caravan guard; dealing with zombies was his job, and he was good at it. You had to be good if you wanted to last more than a week as a scavenger. The Survivor idly wondered when Makayla would come while stomping the zombies head in. Just a few months ago he was in Manchester with Makayla's company, burning down buildings, killing hundreds of zombies, salvaging what they can. After almost five years of this, plenty of cities were nearly zombie-free, excluding Boston, which remained utterly untouched because the fucking Mi-Gos grew their tower just on its outskirts. Scavenging in Manchester was higher risk compared to other cities due to not just an abnormally high undead population, but the sheer amount of slime that infested the sewers and train lines. Worse, he's heard rumours about a Shoggoth that lives in the subway tunnels. The zombies were the least of their problems, but the most common one they faced, and really they preferred it the most. Typical protocol with the undead was to dig into defensible locations with explosives and anti-infantry weapons, make a hell of a lot of noise, and funnel approaching hordes into kill zones. The equipment and manpower requirements of this task meant that scavengers were universally heavily armed, the largest scavenging groups resembled small armies with armored vehicles, trucks, and a litany of bizarre makeshift weaponry. Hell, by some amazing stroke of luck, Makayla had a fucking construction mech. The Survivor couldn't help but let jealousy stew in his chest as he stomped the zombie's skull into paste. Soon he finished up, and checked around a corridor before advancing. Behind him, the flickering light licked at his blood-soaked boots and the corpse of the zombie, oozing gore across the concrete from the ruins of its skull. Doctor Lucy will stay dead.

It didn't take long for the cramped hallways, dark rooms and sudden turns to gave way to wider spaces. He slid open a door and walked into an expansive office room. Under flickering lights, his boots tracked viscera across the thin blue carpet. He peered over rows of cubicles and under his balaclava came a small greedy smile. Computers, intact computers, printers, papers spilled across the floor, cables and keyboards and USBs, even a tray of laptops in a corner of the room and apart from the age, they might as well have been in pristine condition. Jackpot. Electronics sold well. Very well. XEDRA electronics, who knows how much, especially if they have valuable data on them. In his excitement the Survivor moved towards a cubicle, he swung the little door open with a gentle creak and reached out to turn a computer on. His little smile became a grin as the monitor flickered, the gentle whirring of a fan filled the stale air, and the cubicle was bathed in light. And then from the hallway came footsteps.

His blood ran cold. He ducked out from the cubicle and hid behind its wall as the footsteps grew louder. They came from the way he entered, and he realised they were the footfalls of something very, very heavy. His throat ran dry, he swallowed reflexively as he kept a tight grip on his rifle, and then silence came. Pulling out his pocket mirror, he dared to peek the glimmering edge just around the cubicle wall. A vast shadow stretched across the blue carpet, and just beyond the doorway was the hunched shape of someone huge. With the tiny pocket mirror he couldn't see much, but he saw how it jarred motionless and then continued on past the door. It lumbered with the weight and raw brute strength of a gorilla.

The Survivor was 6,4. 220 pounds, and even before the apocalypse he had more fights than hot meals. All that meant nothing against undead. Getting into a close-quarters fight was out the question. Zombies that didn't even reach his chest were a struggle, fights were won by putting distance between them, and his current method of bayonetting them with a short carbine like the M4 wasn't ideal. Anything larger would overpower him, and that wasn't even going into the different mutations. A zombie hunter would tear his throat out, a brute would just squish his head like a rotten tomato, and that massive thing had to be a brute, a very large brute. Not large enough to be a hulk, and the Survivor hoped to God that wasn't the case. Unable to get a good shot and unwilling to attract the attention of whatever that was, the Survivor took the safer option. He slowly crawled away and took a turn down a different path, sliding the glass door and stalking out into a new hallway. Electronics were not worth dying for. There should be better stuff in a lab, anyway.

He didn't recognise where this was. But he reckoned if he took a left then he'd be able to circle back. It was around now that he began to notice the security cameras. Suspended from the ceiling were little black orbs in their white cases, so small and unremarkable. They never worked because when scavenging electricity was non-existent in most buildings, but they still sold well. The Tower Fortress liked to keep an eye on their people, more than even the Center. He didn't pay them mind at first, until when he passed one by, the camera rotated with him. He froze, watching the lens. Testing the waters, he moved to the side. It moved too. His suspicions were confirmed. What the fuck?

For a while the Survivor just stared into the black lens, and anxiety stewed in his chest. They were watching him. Who? Someone was alive, and someone was watching him. So he decided to communicate. Tearing down a poster about the importance of keeping your badge on, he flipped to its blank side and wrote in blocky permanent marker, ARE YOU THERE? MOVE CAMERA MY RIGHT FOR YES AND MY LEFT FOR NO. He held the poster up and just waited. The camera didn't move. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Did they not want to communicate? What, couldn't they read? His handwriting wasn't that bad. And then realisation struck; this probably was an automated surveillance system, probably controlled by some robot, and a creeping frustration arose in his gut. Kept powered by the Lab, it was just doing the same task it's done for the last five years; watch intruders. How stupid of him. Amid wonders about what intentions lay behind silicon screens and dark camera lenses, he moved on, and the security camera turned to follow him.

The Survivor's main concern was finding his old path, but cut off by whatever that was earlier, he needed to loop around. His plan was to go left until he found it once again. So, he moved stealthily through a network of dark rooms. Not many zombies around, but the rooms were looted. Cabinets opened, fridge doors ajar with the light on, workstations were empty and bookshelves had nothing but dust on them. It was only a short trip until he snuck into an expansive lab room, keeping crouched behind the counters. He peeked over the counter. Bullet casings littered the tiled floor. Sandbags piled high in one corner of the room around an ajar metal door, where the backlit shapes of undead stood. One particularly bulky one was in a hazmat suit - how the hell do you die in a hazmat suit? The smell was atrocious, he had to force himself not to gag. He turned to the farthest corner and there swayed the source of the smell.

They congregated in their own gore. There stood maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen zombies; Some in raggedy lab-coats with lanyards around their necks, others wore torn shirts and limply hanging Kevlar vests, holsters empty. He could make out the finer details in the dimly lit room. The walking corpses bore wounds that betrayed the cause of death; holes pockmarking their chests, deep bites around their neck and faces. Some corpses, too mangled and brutalised to ever be recognisable, just lay there. Other zombies were too mutilated to stand but had just enough flesh remaining to ensure reanimation, one of those things spasmed softly in a mess of blood. Best not forget about the Crawlers. They hadn't moved and they likely hadn't since their deaths. Which, he's guessing, was some sort of last holdout by the inhabitants of this floor before they fought amongst themselves or Zombies overwhelmed them or both. Nothing stirred within the Survivor. XEDRA deserved everything they got.

Zombies are creatures with no ability to act on their own, only able to react to stimuli such as noise or smell or sight. They have no grasp of object permeance and simply remain in a comatose state, only a rare few such as necromancers, hunters and predators. When working with Makayla's scavenging company in zombie-infested Manchester, it wasn't uncommon to encounter wreckage and the stinking remains of scavengers, too brutalised to be reanimated, surrounded by hordes that haven't moved an inch. They're only spurred into action when they see prey, or smell prey, or hear prey.

The Survivor peered over the counter to the door that led into the light. Potentially, that led down into his path, but how was he even going to get there? Was he really going to try and vault over those sandbags, walk into the light, and attract the attention of every zombie? There had to be a better way. His confidence in exploring the Lab was evaporating and now he started to have doubts. Zombie presence of varying mutations had been confirmed and they exponentially outnumbered him. The Survivor was a risk-taker, everyone was after the apocalypse, but not suicidal, and this risk was intolerable. The mission was a bust; the new goal was to retreat. What the fuck was he thinking trying to scavenge from a Lab on his own? He let greed get to his head and look where it landed him, a dark cramped room filled with the undead. He needed to get back to the surface quickly and quietly, then sit tight in his car and wait it out until Makayla comes. It didn't matter because either way, he'll end up richer than he's ever dreamed of. This room was a deathtrap, and very carefully he turned back to the way he entered, but a zombie was in the way. It stared at him with wide, oozing eyes.

He froze in place. Perhaps it was a blind one. The room was dark anyway. But as the freak stumbled towards him, he remembered that zombies could still smell. He had his bayonet ready. A quick stab to the head would be all it takes. And then, the zombie jarred. Its decrepit leg caught on something sticking out from the shelf. Then the zombie tripped, and clattered down. And the freak brought the entire shelf down on top of it. Smash.

Shit.

The room was in uproar. The small horde spurred into motion, zombie scientists and zombie guards were tripping over themselves, surging towards the noise. Walking corpses shambled around counters and past shelves on all sides, rustling and thumping as they moved, and it became a feedback loop as more and more undead were drawn to the sound, in the textbook example of how a horde accumulates in the outside world. The Survivor immediately ducked behind a desk and scuttled in the darkness, his plan had gone out of the window. He couldn't go back now. Footsteps and the smell of rotting flesh was gagging as walking corpses swarmed where he just was a moment ago.

In close combat, a zombie always had the advantage. With no pain receptors and in a constant state of adrenaline, the constraints on their true strength are lifted. Even the most decrepit, maggot-ridden zombie oozing gore out from its eyeholes has in its bony fingers all the strength of a fit man. Even with a bayonet, fighting any zombie in close quarters is a calculated risk and unless you're a mutant or more machine than man, fighting more than one at a time is a death sentence. Mankind's greatest advantage against the creatures of the new World was its ability to strike from afar. With the M4 against his chest he could clear the room in seconds. But there was the problem of noise. In a desperate move to keep the zombies away from him, the Survivor picked up an empty glass jar from within a cabinet and hurled it to a far corner of the room. The zombies gathered, blindly. Stupid fucking creatures. But that was nothing but a temporary solution to an immediate problem. It granted some breathing room, but now more undead had come, tripping and stumbling into the room. He peeked over the counter with his mirror; ten zombies in that corner. Two behind him. Five in front and shambling towards the corner. A decision had to be made. Now. He could get to a safer corner of the room, then throw another jar at the horde, then make his way back on the retreat.

The Survivor moved from around the desk and glanced behind himself. That move saved his life, for he crawler had seen him and was now following behind. Go away. He was close to the door which he entered, now cleared of zombies, but the corpse had dragged itself in-between him and his escape. No. The Survivor searched for a way around the crawler, frustration clouding his head. Go fuck yourself.

But he didn't panic, despite the little voice in his head screaming alarm bells and begging him to get up and run. His conscience spoke to him.

Don't do that, dummy. That crawler could grab your leg and make you trip. Or you'll run straight into a whole gang of zombies with your big-body ass and then it's over.

The Survivor couldn't move past the crawler, and as it approached he was forced to back away. The situation went from bad to unmanageable when two zombies standing within the smashed doorway saw him in the dark. Where the fuck did they come from? Oh, right. The noise must have attracted them. They sniffed, beheld him with oily black eyeholes, one skinny freak stumbled and walked stiffly forward, decrepit arms outstretched for him. And then the Survivor knew it was over. One zombie was a risk. Two was out the question. Two and a crawler was his death, When one gets their hand on you, they grip tight, and the cold grip of a zombie was nigh inescapable. He had witnessed when just one zombie managed to grab a scavenger. Just one overpowered him, biting and mauling like an animal, him screaming and trying to worm free, and when the other freaks join in, the scavenger joined the billions lost. By the time the Survivor got to him, it was too late. He carried the corpse back with him and now his ashes sit in an old urn in the Tacoma Gravehouse. That won't be him. Because unlike him, the Survivor won't let them get close.

Crawler beside him, zombies infront of him, zombies behind him. A bayonet lunge would open him up to attack from the crawler and the other zombie behind him. The Survivor was cornered. That was it, they pushed his hand, and now the rifle against his chest was the only way out. Understanding that there was no way out of this that wasn't going to bring every zombie in the Lab down on his head. The Survivor swore under his breath. The freak staggered towards him, jaw hanging open, mouth filled with rows of rotted teeth. He no longer used the bayonet. He held the rifle higher, staring down the iron sights. He took aim, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

BOOM

The muzzle flashed in the dark, his ears rang with the deafening noise. One shot was all that was needed. Skull gushing, the zombie collapsed and fell against the wall with a sickening thump. The other freak was next.

BOOM

And then he got moving, because every zombie in the whole floor, every creature had been whipped into a frenzy by the noise. With urgency and adrenaline, they surged towards where he was, gnashing vile teeth, stumbling and tripping over eachother to tear him apart. It was time to make a tactical retreat. Stepping over the corpses of downed zombies, there was no time to prevent their reanimation when the priority was retreating before he's buried under a wave of corpses. He ran out the dark room, following a path he didn't recognise as zombies streamed down the hallway, arms flailing, adrenaline rushing. He still ran, rifle levelled, he fired with the flash of the muzzle under the flickering light and one zombie collapsed into a heap. Another muzzle flash and boom, the next zombie doubled over inches away from his boots. When he turned his head for a brief moment and was greeted with the sight of a horde of filthy corpses stampeding down the hallway, he didn't care where he was going as long as it was somewhere defensible. He sprinted down the hallway, burst into a deserted lab room, dropping its undead occupants, and violently threw an empty cabinet in the way of the door. Then another. Then with considerable effort, pushed a bookshelf into the door with a deafening smash. From behind came harsh banging and crashing, and filthy hands tore at the barricades, reaching through the gaps as his pursuers frantically clawed and tried to force their way in. He used the opportunity to run further.

Shutting the door behind him, he rounded a corner and moved down an unlit office room, rifle levelled. With the darkness, his vision was limited to only a few feet, and when a zombie suddenly shambled from around a cubicle, arms outstretched. Too close to shoot, too close to stab with his bayonet. The Survivor reached for his belt and unsheathed his machete, with one deadly swoop he hacked at the freaks skull. It recoiled, stumbling from the gash on its head, weeping gore across matted hair. He struck twice, then three times, then four times, hacking at the zombie until it slumped against the cubicle and no longer moved. He breathed heavily, rancid blood splattered across his gloves. All this noise was attracting more and more of the zombies, and soon came rapid footsteps.

One zombie came from behind, jaw hinged open, and scrambled towards him with all the ferocity that it's decrepit muscles could propel it with. He lifted his leg, a brutal front kick to the chest turned the zombie into an oversized paperweight and sent it tumbling across the floor. A shot kept it down for good. No longer was he firing. Now, he just ran. He ran from room to room, footfalls echoing. Throwing down furniture and bookshelves in his way, making passage as difficult as possible for his undead pursuers. All that mattered was getting to safety, and now he began to recognise this path. The dark rooms, the slumped corpse of the zombies he killed earlier. Relief revitalised the survivors efforts, he knew he was close to the elevator. This was the path he took to avoid what he saw in the storage rooms. He was going to live through this, for sure. Just a little more. The lightbulb shone through the glass door. He recognised this room! The office room with the working electronics! He ran quicker, and then a vast shape blotted the light out. The Survivor began to backpedal, almost tripping over his feet. The move saved his life. The glass door shattered apart as something vast and black barrelled through. Purely instinctual, he recoiled and raised his arm to shield his face from glass shards, peppering harmlessly against his arm guards. The moment cost him everything.

Its vast body filled the doorway. Standing in the splinters of glass, deformed feet bleeding discoloured blood. The freak lumbered tall, taller than him, a thick festering slab of mutated muscle, fused with a black Kevlar uniform, but the Blob did not stop. Wet tumours and Leisionous bleeding skin grew around and interwove with the Kevlar, until the freaks chest fused with his vest and his fingers fused together, becoming fleshy clubs of disfigured bone and weeping tumours and thick Kevlar. A mauled, stretched-out face, like it was fashioned in clay, twisted in a nightmarish rage, it twitched, and stared with with bulging oozing black eyes. A throbbing vein on its giant neck burst.

And the brute started to run.

-

A/N:

That is all.

I may rewrite the first chapter and then recontinue.

It'll be like Bezerk with guns.

[tealbeats-archived]

There's a soft scoff that leaves him; eye rolling as she speaks—like a disobedient child uninterested in what was being told to him. Sure, she could have done this a long time ago, but how was he supposed to know that she wouldn’t? In Ezreal’s mind, this could have happened regardless of whose Influence had part in it—this was his fate—it had to be. Living under a Nemesis, the doubts ( he thought ) his so called friends had placed in him—Nothing else made sense. Like this, it felt like he actually belonged somewhere—Thresh made sure of that—at least, Ezreal thought so.

“You’re the one that said you wanted me to understand.” His words are sharp as he snaps at her—the deep, echoed reverb behind his voice seeming to grow in volume from the sudden short temper—so unlike him, and yet familiar; the tone similar to the way they had fought before he had left and started avoiding her. His tongue clicks lightly against his teeth in idle thought—the way he carried himself not relaxed like it used to be—instead it was much too tense; as if he would explode at any moment from some sort of pressure. “This is me understanding. I went off to try and understand, to get advice—to figure out how I could come home without dreading being around you.” His nose wrinkles again—agitated; so, so agitated. A short fuse ready to ignite—he used to have more patience before, didn’t he? It didn’t matter.

The shadows shift a little more violently before they decide to calm down, Ezreal letting out a deep exhale in hopes to try and calm himself—but the conversation was not going as planned. And if continued to crumble, then she would be his enemy, too. He didn’t need all of these ties to his old life. No, he was trying to salvage this as a courtesy to her—they were on the same side, now. It should be easy—so why was it so much more difficult then he thought it was?

Ezreal knew better—of course he did. His genius was unparalleled by most—but he grew bored, generally. Doubtful. Concerned about his choices, his wants, his needs. To fit in, to be good, to be what people expected of him. He had enough--Enough of the expectations of others, enough of the pain brought upon him ( perhaps self inflicted by his own worries and thoughts ). He should have been stronger then to allow himself to become this--whatever this was, but youngers mind was made up. This was who he was now.

He liked the change.

"So why not be happy, huh? Now I'm not afraid of you, because I get it. I really get it. I'm better off this way." He muses, a brow cocking upwards in curiosity. Twisted? Nothing was twisted...Everything felt so clear to him. "He's not a stranger. He's the only one that was willing to listen to me. I chose this path, this was all ME, not anybody else--"

Animosity bubbled within him, but he paused as she moved around the island. The worry in her voice causes something to shift--the shadows move softly, this time--almost showing the half of his face that it covered before moving back when she grabbed onto his clawed, shadowed hand which once again pulsated with a purple light as a cry for help--Yuuto's silhouette apparent if one looked deep enough into it. He almost rips it away from her, but refrains, glancing away as if he was thinking... "I'm not changing." The deep echo returns, loud and nearly furious, as if she insulted him to his very core. A step back is taken from her, gaze formed into a piercing glare before he laughs--Not gentle and sweet as it once was, but teetering on the edge of insanity; the grin upon his features unsettling to most.

"This IS who i am! I'm a better version of myself, don't you get it!?"

"If you don't like it, well...Guess you're my enemy like the rest of 'em, huh?"

@withinchains cont.

She seemed angry—a response that he had expected from her with how he had been treating her. Avoiding her, saying things to her out of anger that a child shouldn’t be saying to his caregiver—his mother—and perhaps he had regretted them at the time. Perhaps he still does. He had reacted out of anger; out of fear—she was the only parent he knew. She had taken the boy from an orphanage at such a young age and raised him—raised him very well—and yet he was so obsessed with the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was ( in his mind ) and that had bred a fear in him that he didn’t matter. How many times had she always been there for him? How many times had she helped him get out of a situation where he needed help? Every time—you couldn’t count it one hand. She was his mother—she loved him and he loved her, but Ezreal threw all of that away because of his insecurities and his fears and his emotional baggage that came from wearing his heart in his sleeve his entire life. The insecurities that he was only there for her image, that eventually he would have become this way because of her instead—

He was wrong. But it was much too late for him to have that revelation.

Those thoughts and those worries didn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing that had involved who he was prior to this really mattered. His so called friends, his mother, his life as a Star Guardian—he’d throw it all away for his new purpose, if he had to. Only one person—one being; the being that had turned him into this—mattered. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t come and see his mother. They were on the same side, now. Perhaps they could fix this after all. And if not, he wouldn’t care; his personality twisted into something sinister and much more dark from the pure, kindhearted boy he used to be. He was warped into something that one thought Ezreal would never become.

The clawed, shadowed hand curled and he pressed his chin against it, resting it against the arm of the seat he sat in, watching her carefully—listening to her carefully despite the eyes that flickered in his shadows, blinking and shifting before settling on her briefly. They closed; the shadowed half just that, now—wispy shadows that moved like a vigorous flame.

“Changed a lot more then that. Why’re you ignoring the elephant in the room? Last I figured, wasn’t this what you wanted? For me to see your side of things? To understand?” There’s a glint in his normal, purple eye—once baby blue in colour and filled with innocence and purity—now darkened and hardened—spiteful and malicious. The pulsating of light in his arm continues before he shakes it rather violently—angry, almost; causing it to stop for now, wrinkling his nose briefly before bringing his attention back to her.

“I over reacted, y’know. I shouldn’t have done what I did—Shouldn’t have avoided you, shouldn’t have been so harsh. I just didn’t get it, Morg—can’t you understand that?” It almost like a half assed apology, the way it comes out. Ezreal rises from his seat and steps towards her, the island the only think between them as he leans forward. He wants her to look at him—To see what he has become; to show her that this is what had happened in his time away. That this is who he was now, regardless of her influence.

“I met someone. Made things real clear about everything. Who I am, how people treat me. Turns out, I’m better off like this. You don’t look so thrilled.” He snorts, tilting his head softly to the side. “I thought you’d like to see me like this. Thought you’d be happy that I’m home, y’know?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Mom?”

[buckyalpine]

Safe part 1

18+ minors dni 

Bucky x f reader 

I loved this request, it started getting long so I’m going to split this into more than 1 part. This is going to start off angsty because I wanted to dedicate a proper chapter for the smut, I promise its coming! 

Warnings: Angst (some violence), fluff!!! eventual smut, stay tuned 

Word count: 4.5k (see why I had to break this up, shit was going to be as long as the hunger games) 

-

“Are you sure you want to do this, they’re dangerous Buck, we don’t have any information on them aside from how many people they’ve killed, the numbers are probably higher”

Steve watched Bucky pace around the room, hesitant to let his best friend join. The mission required whole team; to infiltrate and destroy a Hydra base that was presumed inactive. Hydra had a new assassin, far deadlier than the others. They didn’t use strength; they moved in silence like a ghost, hitting their targets in one shot and then disappearing.

Tony huffed in frustration over the limited information they were given from Fury. After months of tracking, they only had the coordinates of where the base was located, but even that was a long shot.

“I know Hydra better than anyone” Bucky shook his head, understanding the team’s worries about letting him join but he wasn’t going to let the chance go by. People already suffered at the hands of the Winter Soldier, he wouldn’t let that happen again. “Their words don’t work on me anymore, I’ll be fine”

“We don’t know what we’re up against” Tony swallowed thickly; it was rare they went in with such limited information, but they were under pressure, whoever hydra had sent out was moving quickly and world leaders would be their next target.

“I’m going”

*****

On the surface, the base was nothing but an abandoned building. Everything was underground, running in mazes, with guards in every hall. Bucky didn’t hold back, swiftly snapping necks, with just one goal in mind. To end whatever Hydra had started. Bucky left a trail of bodies as he made his way down the hall towards the doors of the lab. A single hydra agent stood, wiping fresh blood off his hands.

“Welcome soldat, we were waiting for your return” The man sneered, “желание-”

“Where are they” Bucky growled, his metal hand wrapping around the man’s neck, dangling him in the air. He gave Bucky a sickly grin while gasping for air.

“Ah, s-so you’ve heard. Our beautiful new assassin. Th-they are unst-stopable” His hands clawed at Bucky’s arm as he continued to cough. Bucky didn’t come in with the intentions of negotiating an answer, continuing to crush his neck in his hand. The man gasped the last bit of air before collapsing to the floor. “H-hail Hydra”

Bucky walked over his body, towards the locked restricted doors at the back of the lab. He managed to kick through the door, entering the dark hall way with cyro chambers and cells. He made his way down, each cell empty except for the last one.

Asset 0553- Female

Trained sniper, unenhanced

Serum – X

 You were curled up in a corner of your cell, your hands and feet chained to the wall. Your body had similar burns to what he had when they used to wipe his mind. You trembled with your head tucked between your knees, shivering in nothing but your underwear, fresh gashes on the sides of your torso.

You had just been punished.

Bucky stepped back for a moment, his mind spinning. The team had been sent with the intention to kill you; unsure of what they was up against, expecting another Hydra fanatic desperate to continue the legacy. You had been taken to be used as an asset; you didn’t ask to be here. You had been tortured and trained just like him. He couldn’t hurt you.

*****

You squeezed your eyes shut the moment you hear the doors burst open, retreating to the corner of your cell. You could hear the footsteps approaching you but they were different from your handler. You didn’t dare look up, shielding yourself as best as you could with your arms wrapped around your body. You freeze when pair of hands gently touches you, one warm, the other cold. They pry open the shackles locked around your ankles. Was it him? You had heard of such a man before. The man with the metal arm. The Winter Soldier, Hydra’s greatest asset and loss. You keep your face hidden, pulling your hands away but he catches them, holding your wrists gently but firmly, freeing you from your chains.

“I’m not going to hurt you” His voice is soft, sincere, but you can’t trust him. You couldn’t trust anyone. Not even yourself. You continue to hide away, pain radiating through your body from when you disobeyed your orders. You’re too weak to fight; punishments leave you drained, teetering so close to death. You can hear him unzip his jacket, suddenly surrounded by warmth when he covers you with it.

“I’m getting you out of here, they won’t hurt you anymore”

He lifts you in his arms, cradling your body to his. You don’t dare to utter a word, your muscles rigid from fear. His body is warm. Comforting. You don’t relax in his hold, keeping your face tucked away as he takes long strides, carrying you out of your prison.

*****

Bucky ran down the hall, careful not to startle you. You were weak, he couldn’t even imagine what your frail body had gone though. He remembered the torture. The pain. He had the serum and it still nearly killed him each time. You didn’t. The static of his com started to crackle, with Tony’s urgent voice coming through.

“We couldn’t locate the target on our end, the place is set to blow in 1 minute, everybody get out”

He spotted Steve rounding the corner, his friend’s eyes growing wide seeing you in Bucky’s arms.

“What-

“No time, let’s go” Bucky carried you in his arms, running to the Jet where everyone else waited. They froze seeing you but there wasn’t time for questions. They had to leave before the base was destroyed. Once the jet was safely in the clear, everyone’s eyes were on Bucky.

“Is that…” Tony looked at you wide eyed. They had spent months tracking a deadly silent killer and there you were, tucked in Bucky’s arms, fast asleep from exhaustion. You hadn’t slept in weeks. Bucky wordlessly nodded, refusing to let you go. He knew no one would try and hurt you but he was thrown back to the times where he couldn’t trust anyone. Nat handed Bucky a blanket to cover the rest of your body. He held onto to you for the entire time until the jet landed. He hated it but he knew what would happen next.

“We don’t have a choice” Tony and Steve looked at Bucky sympathetically as he clung onto you. Bucky felt like he’d swallowed cotton, seeing you locked up in the compound cell. He understood why, but it hurt him nonetheless. You trembled, looking down at your feet, having no idea where you were.

“How can we trust her” Fury wasn’t happy with the idea of letting you stay at the compound with the others. SHIELD was hell bent on sending you to the Raft.

“She didn’t do anything willingly…I- Bucky swallowed thickly thinking about all the things he had been forced to do, when he didn’t have control over his own mind. “They force people to do things, none of that was her”

“She’s still dangerous”

“SHES NOT DANGEROUS” Bucky’s chest heaved, his voice booming against the walls, as he glared at Fury.

 Fury was about to argue again before Steve and Tony cut in.

“Let her stay here, if she’s actually dangerous then you can take her”

“You don’t make the rules Captain-

“She stays here. We’ll inform you IF there’s a problem”

“That’s a very big if Stark. Should anything happen because of her, you’ll all be collectively held responsible”  

*****

 The man with the metal arm approached your cell. You could tell by the sounds of his footsteps. The cuffs clicked open but you didn’t move, your eyes trained on your feet. You froze as he kneeled in front of you, gently taking your hands in his. You flinched initially, relaxing a little when he softy rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I’m sorry we had to lock you. We didn’t want you sent away, you’ll be safe here”

He spoke softly. He sounded kind but you remained silent. If you spoke out of turn you’d be punished. Bucky swallowed thickly, knowing exactly why you hadn’t said anything since they brought you.

“You can speak here. No one will hurt you”

Silence.

“My name is James. You can call me Bucky” Your lip twitched involuntarily. Bucky. It sounded so…cute.

He squeezed your hand gently, still kneeling in front of you. No one had ever touched you so softly before. You finally looked up at him, a soft gasp escaping from your lips.  He was so…handsome. He had kind eyes, ones that you would easily get lost in. He didn’t have the same long hair you had seen from the training videos. His arm was different; it was no longer silver. It was dark gray and gold. A light stubble covered his cheeks, softly smiling at you. He was beautiful.

Bucky felt his heart break when you looked at him. Your eyes were so soft. Scared.  Innocent. Lost. You had faint permanent scars on your temples, from where your mind had been wiped a hundred times over.  Your wrists were bruised from the shackles in your cell. He would never let them or anyone hurt you again.  

“I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you. Will you let me take you to your room?”

You nodded, lightly squeezing his hand instead of speaking. You gripped his hand tightly as he walked you down the empty hall, leading you through the compound. You held onto him tighter when you passed the others but they didn’t say anything. Bucky squeezed your hand reassuringly as he let you upstairs.

He wordlessly let you into your room; it was on the same floor as his and Steve. The room was warm, welcoming. You had everything you needed. But you couldn’t trust anyone. You didn’t even remember who you were.

*****

“From what we’ve been able to piece together so far, her name is y/f/n, y/l/n/. Born on (y/DOB), no records of family and there’s not much we know about her before Hydra. They held her captive for 5 years and she was actively used as an asset for 2”

The team sat around the conference room, having spent the last few hours looking through files they had recovered from the mission. All the records Hydra had on you had to do with your training and skill set.

 “She wasn’t given the serum, and no trigger words so unlike Barnes, she’s not a super soldier. She is, however, a highly trained assassin and she moves like a ghost. They used different technology to get her to comply, but they used the same mind wiping torture they used on Bucky”

“She’s probably scared out of her mind right now” Nat sighed, thinking about the way you were curled up on Bucky’s lap, shivering even under his jacket and blanket.

Tony skimmed through a few videos, eventually closing the laptop because he couldn’t bear to look anymore. Steve squeezed Bucky shoulder, seeing his jaw clench. Bucky closed his eyes, his metal arm whirring when he thought of you. The team wouldn’t know the half of it; the extent Hydra would go through to keep their assets under their control. But he knew. He had suffered for decades.

*****

For the first few weeks you don’t speak to anyone. It was impossible to tell there was someone new living at the compound at all. You silently made your way around when everyone else was sleep, exploring the compound. You were still hesitant to let your guard down but you appreciated that fact that everyone gave you your space.

Usually Bucky or a tall man with blonde hair often left food at your door.  At first you were hesitant but eventually you ate. You made sure to wash and clean your own plates once everyone was asleep. You hadn’t slept. You were trained to stay awake; unless someone else was on duty with you, you had to be on guard. You had only slept peacefully once. In his arms.

Bucky watched you carefully each night from the shadows, remaining out of sight so he wouldn’t startle you. He understood your need to stay hidden. You would bring your plate down and sit in the kitchen or curl up on the sofa.  Occasionally you’d glance at the mugs, hesitating to make yourself something to drink. When you went down the next night, a cup of tea sat on the counter along with a plate of cookies that was normally never there. It was still steaming. Someone had just made it. A note sat beside it.

Tea bags are on the counter. Cookies are on the bottom shelf, take as many as you want, Sam made them

-          JBB

You smiled to yourself, slowly sipping from your mug; it warmed you from the insides. The cookies were delicious and for the first time, you felt comfort. He’d thought of you. That night you tried to fall asleep. You couldn’t but for once, you were able to think about more than your surroundings. Y/N. You remembered your name. Bucky smiled the next morning when he saw there was one less cookie from the box; you’d felt comfortable enough to take more.

*****

You quietly made your way downstairs, surprised to see Bucky making something in the kitchen (hoping it wasn’t obvious he was secretly just waiting for you). You decided to sit instead or of running to your room, sipping your tea while he turned around, smiling softly at you.

“Thank you” You whispered, peeking up at him from your lashes. Whatever he was making smelled sweet, like home, as if you were being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Another faint memory.

“You’re welcome…doll” Bucky blushed, realizing you hadn’t told him your name. Doll suited you though. Your face lit up at the nickname, smiling into your cup.

“My name is y/n but…you can still call me doll” You giggled shyly, and he wanted to hear that sound leave your lips again and again. “W-what are you making?”

“Pancakes” He placed a few on a plate, drizzling syrup on top before sliding it over to you. “One of the few things I can remember from when my ma would make breakfast”

They were still warm and you nearly moaned at the taste, the fluffy goodness melting onto your mouth. You continued to eat while watching him pour the batter into perfect circles, waiting for it to bubble before turning it over.

“They’re delicious” You smiled, hesitantly standing beside him, watching curiously. He tried not to show it but Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest. He understood how much it took for you to be talking to him, standing beside him, trying your best to open up.

“You want to try making one?” He smiled at you and even though you were nervous, you let him guide you to stand in front of him, his large frame behind you made you feel protected. You took the spoon, pouring batter like he did, letting it bubble before flipping.

“Like this?” You grinned looking up at him, proud of your first pancake.

“J-just like that” Bucky stuttered. You had the sweetest smile when you were happy. You handed him the spoon again, sitting on the counter while he continued to finish the last bit of batter.

“They taste really good”

Bucky chuckled, watching you nibble on a plain pancake; your eyes closed humming in satisfaction.

“Can’t remember how my ma’s pancakes used to taste but I remember loving them”

“Is it hard…to remember again?” Your eyes looked lost again, like the day that he found you. You wanted to remember but there were too many things that jumbled in your mind at once.

“Sometimes but not always, when I talk to someone or go places, I remember something or a memory will spark”

“Can-can you tell me more? About nice things you remember?” You weren’t ready to unscramble your own memories yet but being around Bucky and hearing him speak was comforting for you. Bucky was more than happy to tell you anything, he just wanted you to feel at home. He told you about Steve.  How he loved to go dancing. About how he joined the war. His time at Hydra.

You couldn’t remember much but you told him about the memories you had. The training. The wipe outs. The punishments. At some point during the night, you’d both made your way over to the couch, listening to more about the things Bucky and Steve used to get up to, the way they still got up to mischief even now. He told you about everyone on the team, how they had become a family to him now. You were surprised to see the sun come up, having spent hours talking to Bucky, along with the now empty stack of pancakes.

“Thank you for talking to me”

Bucky could feel his cheeks heat up, watching you shyly fidget with your hands.

“Any time, doll”

You smiled, quickly making your way back to your room before the others came down. Over the next week, you still stayed hidden from others but if Bucky was around you relaxed, enjoying his stories from the 40’s, sipping on your tea or watching him make a midnight snack. So when he knocked on your door in the morning, asking if you’d join him for a walk, you agreed.

“Not a long walk doll, just to get some fresh air, do you want to join me? Please?” You nodded, your eyes darting to see if anyone else was around. He carefully took your hand in his, squeezing it gently to help ground you.

He brought you to the compound lake, finding a quiet spot under a tree overlooking the water. The sun warmed your skin. The air felt clean, fresh. For the first time you felt…free. Until you heard a rustle in the grass. Your vision focused, body tensed watching. He held your hand again, his thumb brushing on your knuckles like the first day he brought you here. You relaxed a little but your eyes didn’t move, focused on the movement that was nearing you.

Your eyes lit up seeing a tiny ball of fur speed across and into a bush, only watching a glimpse of its little white cotton tail before it disappeared.

“Is that a bunny?!” You squealed, looking at Bucky with wide eyes and that same smile that stopped his heart. He nodded, gazing at you while you peeked over, watching another bunny run across.

“I remembered something!” You blinked, biting your lip trying to focus on the distant fuzzy memory from when you were younger. “I-I think- You grasped Bucky’s hand in yours, tugging him to walk over to the bush”

“There used to be a park I played in. When I was little. There were bunnies, just like this!” You jumped on him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist hugging him tightly. “I was able to remember something!”

“I’m proud of you doll” Bucky wrapped his arms around you, rocking you gently when he felt you start to tremble, tears filling your eyes.

“I wish I could remember more” Your voice cracked, as you choked out a sob, over come with emotions as you tried to recall more but failed. Bucky held you close to his chest, softly stroking your hair and rubbing your back.

“Shhh, you will y/n” Bucky whispered, his lips pressing a soft kiss on your head, wiping some of your tears while you continued to sniffle, clinging onto him. “You’ll remember more, I promise it’ll get better”

You wordlessly nodded, keeping your arms wrapped around him, feeling yourself get lost in his strong arms holding you. You nuzzled your face against his chest, chasing his comfort and warmth, breathing in his scent, he smelled so good. You realized you’d been hugging him for a very long time, quickly (but very reluctantly) pulling away.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean- You bit your lip nervously, your body still trembling slightly. Bucky pulled you back in his arms, rocking you again.

“Don’t ever apologize. I’m always here if you ever need anything doll, always”

*****

The team had gathered down for breakfast by the time you both made your way back to the compound. Bucky held your hand in his, stopping before going to the kitchen when he saw you nervously biting your lip.

“You’re more than welcome to eat with everyone else doll, do you want to sit down today or shall I bring you something to your room?”

Everyone had been so understanding with you, giving you space and respecting your privacy. After Sam found out you liked the cookies, the container was always full and he made sure they stayed out so it’d be easy for you to find. Nat had left a basket filled with a fluffy robe, bubble bath and lotions. Tony had reinforced security around the tower in case anyone came looking for you. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

“Let’s go” You nodded nervously, gripping his hand tightly while he led you to sit at one of the stools with the others.

“Good morning” Your voice was hardly above a whisper while the team smiled at you. They greeted you warmly and you felt nervous, but it wasn’t unbearable. They didn’t act differently, resuming their conversations while they continued to eat. Steve smiled, glancing at Sam when he saw Bucky still holding your hand.

“Here sweetie” Nat passed a plate to you while Steve pushed the stack of waffles closer to you. Bucky got up to grab you a fork, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“You want tea, doll?” You nodded, nibbling on your waffle while he grabbed your mug and grabbed a tea bag. Tony’s ears perked up at the nickname, carefully watching the way you visibly relaxed when Bucky was by your side. Sam smirked, watching him dote on you, keeping you close to him; he was going to have a field day with this.

“Here” He placed your mug in front of you, giving you a quick peck on top of your head before sitting beside you. You blinked shyly, whispering a thank you, your heart fluttering wildly.

Bucky screamed on the inside, he didn’t know why he did that. Why did he kiss you. In front of everyone. It just felt so natural. His tried to ignore the blush that crept on his cheeks but it was impossible to hide. You went to your room after you finished eating, thanking everyone for letting you join. Bucky watched you longingly as you made your way to your room. He didn’t want you to go but he knew you needed your space.

“I think the super solider has a crush” Sam wiggled his eyebrows, grinning watching Bucky’s face turn redder, flipping him off. “See!!? He didn’t deny it!!”

“I’m just helping her, we’re friends” Bucky mumbled, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Mhm, we’re all friends, why don’t you call me doll” Bucky’s face scrunched up, throwing a waffle at Sam’s head.

“He’s never made me a cup of tea” Clint pointed out, while the rest of the team snickered, watching Bucky rub a hand over his face.

“And he’s never just kissed my head” Steve smirked, biting his lip to keep from laughing, he could hear Bucky’s heart race.

“I’m eating in my room”

“Terminator’s in love, that confirms it” Tony cackled, watching Bucky grab his plate, speeding out of the kitchen without looking back.

“I think they’re sweet” Nat smiled while the rest of the team hummed in agreement. There was no hiding the very obvious connection the two of you shared. You started to feel more comfortable around the others and Bucky was always by your side. He always had his arm around you, ready to whisk you away to safety if you ever felt overwhelmed. He loved you.

*****

You tossed and turned in your bed in frustration. You just wanted to fucking sleep but your body didn’t let you. You dragged yourself out of bed, making your way to the kitchen when you noticed Bucky’s door slightly open; he was still up.

“Bucky? Can I come in?” You whispered, fidgeting with your hands by the doorway, hoping he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Of course doll, is everything okay?” He put down the book he was reading, patting his bed for you to come over.

“I-I can’t sleep” You sat at the edge, looking at your feet, you wanted to crawl into his arms so badly but you didn’t want over step.

“When was the last time you slept” He shifted so he was sitting beside you, his thighs brushing against you causing you to shiver.

“On the jet” You could feel your face warm up, remembering the way he cradled you, holding you close to his chest, protecting you. You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say. You felt safe in his arms, no one was going to come and hurt you. You wanted to sleep so badly but you couldn’t, hot tears stung at your eyes as you looked down at your hands.

“I- because…”

“Come here” Bucky’s voice was hardly above a whisper, holding your hand softly in his. He moved to lie down, pulling you on top of him, brining your head to lay on his chest. He stoked your back while holding you close to him.

“Go to sleep doll, you’re safe with me”

You were asleep within seconds, clinging onto him; after that night you didn’t sleep in your own room anymore, you were always in his arms. With each passing night, you found yourselves getting closer. It started with cuddling up with him, the covers pulled over you both, your head on his chest.

Then he started kissing you good night; soft, innocent, kisses on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. You’d shyly kiss him back, hiding your face in his neck after, every time.

Then hands started to wander. Innocent touches, feeling the warmth of each other’s skin. You loved the way his calloused fingers grazed your back when he slipped his hand under your shirt. Bucky loved the feeling of your soft hands resting on his bare chest.

Then it was…different. He wouldn’t kiss you good night once. He’d kiss you over and over again. Innocent. Sweet. You were wrapped in each others arms, darkness filled the room. All you could feel was him. His lips. His hands holding you close.

Then kisses started to wander. He kissed your back, jaw, hands. You kissed his shoulders, chest, neck.

Innocent. You couldn’t get enough of him. You adored him. Loved him.

Only Bucky knew how much self restraint it took every night, to keep himself from going any further, but he wanted it so badly. He wanted to feel you, hold you, be close to you in the most intimate way possible, but he didn’t want to cross that line when you were still vulnerable.

He had no idea you were struggling to keep your hands to yourself, just like him.

*****

Part 2 here

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed! (also this is an 18+ blog, I can’t tag nameless/ageless blogs)

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyes @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchy-whore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @needybabygirlstuff @goldylions @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z​ @high-functioning-lokipath @elle14-blog1​

[aemonds-sapphire]

Coffee Run - Hawks x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Hawks simply wanted to enjoy his coffee in peace, but you had needs of your own, especially knowing he was entering his rut. You know what they say... be careful with what you wish for, because you just might get it.

Warnings: NSFW. Rut!Hawks. Feral Hawks. Public sex. Breeding kink. Pregnancy kink. Lactation kink (brief mention). Featherplay. Slight overstimulation.

Word count: 3.7k

Hawks was nearing his rut. That much was clear. Keeping up an easy going appearance was what he excelled at, until he hit that particular time of the year. Until he was forced to take that medication that would suppress his primal instinct to breed.

But rarely anything in this world came without bearing unpleasant consequences.

“I’ll just have the usual. Thanks.”

The young waitress then turned to you expectantly. “And you, miss?”

You pondered for a second as you eyed the pro hero sitting in front of you. To anyone oblivious to the changes occurring in his body they might think he was just not a morning person.

An idea popped in your mind all of a sudden.

“I’ll have a strawberry lollipop,” you finally said, causing Hawks to briefly lift his eyes from the phone in his hand. “What? I have a sweet tooth.”

The waitress nodded and walked away. He was still glaring at you, one fuzzy eyebrow slightly arched.

“Just that? It’s not a proper breakfast.”

“Neither is coffee, yet here we are.”

He shrugged at your response, shifting his attention back to his phone.

Coffee was his personal mood booster. It was dangerous to demand anything from a rutting Hawks until he had drunk an unhealthy amount of it.

The sun was barely out, and that was exactly why he’d choose this café. Only a few people would be there, which meant he wouldn’t have to deal with loud fans walking up to him and asking for selfies or autographs... or even hugs. It was perfect to hide from everyone how moody and snappy he could get in times like these.

But you figured he still wasn’t taking the medication. He always dreaded it because of how groggy and lethargic it’d leave him.

“You okay?”

He had his index finger flicking up and down on the screen. “Sure.”

But what Hawks didn’t know was that... well... you knew what why he was acting so unlike him.

Soon after, the waitress came back with a large cup of coffee and your lollipop that you promptly snatched from the tray with a smile.

Hawks mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ and you watched him take a few gulps of the hot beverage, while you removed the wrapping.

He sighed in pure relief as his huge wings vibrated from the instant pleasure. “I really needed this.”

You also reckoned he needed something else.

Sliding the round candy in your mouth, you propped your chin on interlaced fingers, regarding him quizzically.

“Is that all you need?”

The apparent innocent question had his golden eyes meet yours. However, you needed them to travel south, so you parted your lips seductively and dangled the lollipop from one corner of your mouth to the other with your tongue.

Bingo.

Hawks’ eyes dropped to your mouth in an instant, taking in the sight of you skilfully twirling the stick while letting out some lewd wet sounds.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? I love sucking...” you said innocently.

The cup in his hand cracked lightly from his tight grip, and a faint frown settled on his beautiful face.

“You sure you okay?”

For someone who was able to maintain an wavering smile not matter the circumstances, Hawks really was falling behind his reputation. Maybe it wasn’t wise for you to keep pushing him like this. All the innuendos and teasing would eventually get him to snap.

You kept on sucking and licking the hard candy happily, eyeing your boyfriend with utmost interest.

He took another sip of his hot coffee, and you noticed his pupils were slightly dilated. Undoubtedly, the visual of you sucking on something was a enough to spark his arousal.

“Hmm... this tastes so good...” you moaned softly, fluttering your eyes shut for a brief moment. “Want to taste it?”

When he didn’t reply, you decided to take it up a notch. You kicked off your shoe and moved it to touch his leg.

He arched an eyebrow.

Slowly, you began sliding it up his leg and only stopped once you’d reached his inner thigh.

“Stop...”

You let the round candy caress your bottom lip, making sure he could see strings of your saliva sliding down to coat your tongue. Mustering a bit more courage, you dragged your feet until it reached his crotch.

Hawks was hard as a rock.

“You’re so warm...” you whispered, rubbing your foot against his cock.

You could tell he was about to snap.

“Hawks? Honey, look! It’s Hawks!”

You quickly turned your head to look at a young couple that was approaching your table. It couldn’t be avoided. Even in the early hours there would always be someone who was a fan of Hawks.

Hawks was forced to regain his composure, and you figure it was taking every single fibre in his body to produce his trademark unwavering grin.

The woman seemed a little hesitant at first. “Are we interrupting something? I’m so sorry... we are big fans.”

“You are such an inspiration to us,” the man added with excitement.

“Thank you!” Hawks beamed, his beautiful features never betraying what was going on under the table. “Want an autograph?”

She quickly nodded, rummaging through her purse to get a pen. “Our baby will love you, too. We’ll make sure of that.”

Hawks visibly swallowed. “Baby?”

“Yes! We found out we’re going to be parents last week.”

You side-eyed him closely. Inwardly, you started cackling in delight, knowing far too well this was one of Hawks’ most intimate triggers. It was far too obvious that being in his rut made it all much worse for him

“Congratulations! How is everything going?” you inquired sweetly, applying gentle pressure on his covered erection with your toes.

He shifted in his seat, doing his best to cope with the sudden stimulation coming from you.

The woman seemed taken aback by your kindness and quickly bowed her head while handing the pen to Hawks.

“Oh, the morning sickness can be quite draining, but otherwise I can’t complain.”

Her partner handed Hawks a copy of a magazine that had him on the cover. He blushed awkwardly. “She keeps it in her purse in case we run into you so we can get an autograph.”

“That’s awesome,” he said genuinely, his voice slightly strained as he drew his signature on it. “Thanks for the support.”

The couple retrieved the magazine and bowed to both of you before walking away.

“That is so cool...” you said, twirling the lollipop stick in between your thumb and index finger. “I wonder what it feels like being pregnant.”

Hawks moved your foot away from his crotch. “Bathroom. Now.”

Your mouth fell open at his sudden outburst, sliding your foot back into your shoe. “Why?”

He rose to his full height as his red wings quivered slightly. “I’m done with you.”

Placing the hard candy back on its wrapping, you gulped as you followed his lead. The café had started to get more clients, and some of them shot a few glares at the winged hero.

The waitress was eyeing both of you. “Is everything okay?”

Hawks shot a brief smile. “She’s not feeling well.”

He certainly had a way to have things go his way.

She looked at yo worriedly. “Should I get help?”

Hawks hurried you into the bathroom, before adding. “She’s with the number two pro hero. I’m all the help she needs.”

Point taken.

Hawks pulled you into a small cubicle, shutting the door with a kick. You heard the lock rattle and you took the opportunity turn around to face him. His massive wings struggled to fit inside the confined space, which caused him to look more menacing as they coiled up against his body.

“You’re rutting.”

His pupils were fully blown and you briefly saw something flash in his eyes. “Of course you know.”

“I know a lot of things,” you cooed, dragging down one hand to squeeze him through his pants. “You’re not taking your medication.”

You’d been dating Hawks for a few months now, and you found out that he went through a rut every year by mere chance. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots after hearing a phone conversation between him and someone from the commission — you assumed it was a doctor —, who insisted that Hawks had to take the hormonal suppressant medication to lessen the effects, allowing him to function properly.

“I don’t fucking need it,” he snarled at you through gritted teeth.

“I think you do... if you’re so willing to fuck me in a public bathroom,” you whispered seductively, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “I wonder what made you snap... was it the conversation about pregnancy... or—“

Hawks had had enough of your running your mouth, and with little effort on his part, he flipped you over so that you were now pressed against the bathroom sink, a tall mirror capturing your surprised expression along with his feral one.

“No, little bird...” he growled, hooking his gloved fingers in the belt loops of your pants. “I am not gonna fuck you. I’m gonna breed you.”

It was a dark promise, and one you knew he could keep. After all, that was the purpose of a rut: to breed. Every single cell in his body was prepared for this, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend this sudden shift in Hawks’ demeanor didn’t make your pussy clench.

Your hands were supporting your weight by gripping the edge of the cold material of the sink, and you tentatively leaned forward in an attempt to brush against his crotch.

Hawks slid one hand to your front, effectively undoing your pants. “You’re ovulating... fuck...”

That caught by surprise. “What...”

He shifted his body on top of yours, so he could nuzzle your neck, capturing your scent.

“I can smell it... fuck...fuck... you need to be bred...”

In one swift motion, he yanked your pants down. Hawks was usually so much more gentle with you during sex; this was definitely something unexpected, but that you couldn’t stop yourself from yearning.

On the other hand, you considered his words for a moment. Did he really mean it? Did he really want to knock you up, or was this just his hormones talking?

Either way, this was turning you on beyond belief, and you decided to egg him on.

“You want to breed me?”

He was nipping at your neck, causing a few of his moans to be heard. You could feel the hard print of his cock pressed against the curve of your ass, and as you bucked your hips instinctively you felt his own meet you halfway, setting a slow rhythm.

“I need to knock you up... I need you tummy all swollen with my baby,” the young man kept mumbling more to himself than to you, but you couldn’t get enough of it. “I need your... your...”

A gush of wetness leaked out of your pussy as you felt him fumbling with his belt. Through the reflection in the mirror, you could see a faint blush settling on his face, increasing his handsomeness by a tenfold — you didn’t even know how that was possible.

“My what...” your voice came out in a low mewl, keeping your hips swaying at a steady pace.

Hawks undid his pants at once, and gave your ass cheeks a few slaps with his leaking cock.

He gripped your hip tightly. “Let me see your tits...”

You kept yourself balance on one hand as the other dragged the fabric of your shirt up, rolling it just above your breasts. Hawks released his cock, bringing his hips forward to have it slide between your round cheeks; you could start to feel the wetness coating your skin and standing your panties as he kept humping you. His free hand moved to grasp your bra, jerking the material down and finally exposing your hardening nipples.

Hawks heaved a deep breath, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at your body through the mirror.

“Can’t wait until they get bigger... full of milk... leaking for me...” he brushed his gloved thumb across your sensitive nipple, causing it to harden even more. “I bet it will taste so good... so sweet... you know I love sweet things.”

Your mind was going blank from all the pleasure being delivered to you at once. From his cock slowly fucking your ass cheeks all the way to the way he was glaring at you through some public bathroom mirror while spitting out the filthiest things you had ever heard him utter.

He snapped his hips hard for a split second, almost causing you to lose balance, forcing you to grip the sink with both hands, eyes still fixed on the way your breasts bounced softly along with each shove from him.

Slowly, he dragged his hand to your lower abdomen, massaging it with spread fingers. “Fuck... I need to feel it getting swollen... gonna knock you up so good.”

Streaks of precum were sliding down your cheeks, leaving wet trails behind and sending jolts of pleasure running down your spine.

“Sorry, but I’m gonna make you cum fast,” he suddenly said.

You weren’t really sure why he was apologizing for that, or even how he intended to achieve such feat. Hawks was more than capable of pleasuring women, but even the most skilled man certainly had his limitations when it came to how fast they could make a woman reach her high.

Even so, apologizing for giving someone an orgasm probably ranked up high with the likes of “Sorry, but I’m going to give you a new house” or “Sorry, but I’m going to give you an unlimited supply of money”. Out of all the things he could feel sorry for — like desperately banging you in some public bathroom, for example—, that one should be the least of his concerns.

As if reading the skepticism splattered across your face, he gave you a knowing smile, and before you could even wonder what he meant by that you felt something poking your covered clit.

What the...

“Hawks!”

You didn’t expect desperate Hawks to play fair, but this was on another level. The fabric covering your soaked pussy was being pulled to the side, and in no time a velvety object started proving your pulsing clit.

He was using his feathers.

Now you knew what he meant by making you cum fast, the bastard. The sensation was overwhelming, and you vaguely wondered why he had never tried this before.

“Shh... I need you to cum first, so I can have your pussy milking my cock,” he pressed a kiss on your neck. “Be a good girl and keep your voice down.”

With one hand still caressing your tummy and the other squeezing one breasts softly, you tried hard to bite back your moans as his feather kept stroking your clit as he commanded.

You started panting heavily, drunk in pleasure. “I... I... Hawks...”

Seeing that you weren’t going to be able to keep quiet, he brought the hand on your breast to clamp it over your mouth.

“You’re so ready for me... I can feel the vibrations through my feather... you’re throbbing so much for me, baby...”

And it was the absolute truth. Your were absolutely sure his feather was already drenched in your juices, but you didn’t care at all. A few more flicks and strokes sent your hips into auto-pilot, trying to get more friction.

Long and drawn out moans erupted from your throat only to be muffled by his gloved hand.

You could feel something in your core swirling and shifting and through the haze of passion, you could tell it was the tension building up inside you that was reaching a dangerous peak.

“Good girl... t-that’s my girl... getting ready for me to breed her...”

His dirty talk served as the perfect incentive for you to get closer and closer to the edge. You saw your vision begin to tunnel and suddenly you fell headfirst into the explosion of pleasure that had your arms and legs shake violently, and you thanked the heavens that Hawks’ body was pressed against yours, or you’d have sunk to your feet.

But before your pussy could stop contracting around nothing, you felt your body being pushed forward and in one quick slide, his cock was buried deep inside you.

Hawks’ hips faltered for a second as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck!”

The feather brushing your clit stopped its ministrations, and as your field of vision started clearing, you saw it hovering in front of your face. It was completely covered in your juices and a few droplets dripped onto the sink. His hand fell to grip your hip, and your lips immediately parted in a silent scream as overstimulation took over.

“Keep it open... lick... lick it...” he groaned, his voice strained and shaky as his cock endured your contractions.

You extended your tongue out, allowing is feather to drag along it, pooling your wetness on your tongue.

Hawks’ reflection shivered before your eyes at the newfound source of pleasure. “F-fuuuck... just like that...”

His wings fluttered as so did the feather stroking your muscle, and even though your orgasm had already subsided, the never ending stimulation from his thick cock hitting deep inside you was just too much.

“I’m gonna lose it! Fuck!” he nearly cried out, ad you could only pray that no one could hear him outside.

Your knees bucked weakly as he snapped his hips into you once, twice and again closing in on his own release, but the moment you ran your tongue over the sensitive extension of his body you knew he was done for. He bucked up to meet your hips in an especially sharp thrust and you could feel the hot gush of his cum deep inside you, coating your trembling walls, mixing with your own juices.

He hadn’t lasted long, but you weren’t at all surprised, considering how much the vast array of different stimuli that he was subjected to in such a sort amount of time.

A few seconds ticked by, and he finally began pulling out, you pussy reflexively clamping around him as if to make him stay.

“Stop clenching like that before I get hard again...” he warned, giving your ass a soft smack as he slid out completely with a loud slurping sound.

You whimpered softly as emptiness filled you instead. As you were about to straighten yourself, you felt a blob of cum threading to spill, and Hawks promptly kept you leaning forward.

“I didn’t just fill you with a big load for you to waste it all,” and with that, he dragged the tip of his cock along your leaking pussy and pushed it back inside. “There you go... all stuffed again.”

The head of his cock didn’t stay inside you for long, and once he slid out you reached for paper from the dispenser hanging on the wall.

He grabbed your arm. “No.”

“I need to clean myself...”

“No, you don’t,” Hawks whispered sweetly into your ear, and you felt him tug at your panties before letting the fabric slap your over sensitive clit. “You’re gonna be a good girl and keep it all in.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Certainly, he didn’t mean that....

“Hawks... I can’t walk around with your cum dripping from me,” you stated as a matter of fact.

You saw his reflection in the mirror; he had a devious smile dancing on his lips, making your insides coil in sudden realization.

“Didn’t you want me to breed you? Then keep my cum inside your tight pussy,” he began, planting soft caring kisses on the side of your neck in between. “Think you can do that for me, beautiful?”

Feeling your panties sticking to your swollen lips with the aftermath of both your juices and drops of his cum made a shiver run down you entire body.

You nodded once.

Suddenly, he bent over slightly to grasp the waistband of your pants, quickly dragging them up your thighs.

“Time to go,” he huffed as one of his gloved hands brushed along his unruly golden locks of hair. “This was just meant to be a quick coffee run.”

There was a faint smudge of pink crossing his nose and resting on both his cheeks. He looked positively less tense, with his blush being the only indicator that he had just emptied his balls deep inside you.

He unlocked the door and exited first, but not before shooting his Hawks-like smile at you. “I’ll be going ahead to pay and deal with the fans.”

You chuckled as the door closed, and turned to look at your reflection in the mirror while adjusting your clothes. “Well... don’t look at me like that. He’s impossible to resist, especially like this...”

After you were done washing your hands, you took a few steps immediately feeling a few drops of cum dripping onto your panties. You clenched your pussy hard in the hopes of preventing more from spilling.

This was not going to end well.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out and were met with the waitress. “Oh! Are you alright now?”

Yeah, I just got fucked hard and I have cum leaking from me. “Yes! Thank you, and sorry for leaving like that... I really wasn’t feeling well.”

She nodded in understanding, stepping aside to let you walk into the lobby only to see a loud commotion of people piling up around something. Big massive turfs of scarlet feathers quickly gave it away and you smiled fondly.

Hawks.

A few girls standing nearby were giggling to each other, catching your attention.

“Oh my... he’s so much more handsome up close,” one said with a dreamy sigh.

“His wings are so pretty...” the other murmured.

Yes. Hawks had that effect on nearly everyone he crossed paths with. In one way or another, people had the tendency to fall fo him and be drawn by his quirky personality. Even if at the end of the day, once he got home, you could see the wearing effects of having to keep up with this society’s standards.

As the crowd began to disperse, he waved a hand at you.

“It was so nice to have you here, Hawks,” the young waitress blurted out as you two made your exit. “Please come again!”

The number two pro hero bowed his head and gave her a thumbs up. “I’m sure I will. Very soon,” he winked at you.

Very poor choice of words.

-

Masterlist

[cjsinkythoughts]

In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day. 

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.” 

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

****************

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. 

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

*****************

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

~

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

~

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[hopelesshawks]

Can I request a Compress x Reader? Babytrapping + Breeding?

Ohhh interesting, of course you can! I rarely write for the villains so this will be fun. You didn’t specify but because baby trapping I did fem!reader. I also just realized you might’ve meant reader baby trapping Compress but I wrote Compress baby trapping reader so I hope that’s what you wanted 😅

The following request contains dark content. Check the warnings before reading

Warnings for vomiting, pregnancy, manipulation, non-violent sexual assault (baby trapping), breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), minor dumbification? (reader is very no thoughts, head empty during the smut), minor size kink, minor pain kink

Three years.

Three years together and yet you never would’ve guessed that your boyfriend is the notorious Mr. Compress of League of Villains infamy.

You first met Atsuhiro while working at a hole in the wall theater company. He came up to you after performing one night and had been so effortlessly charming that you’d instantly been put under his spell. He was more intelligent than all of your exes combined and could make you laugh like no one else could. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall totally and completely for the charming man you met that night.

But all of that came crashing down around you when he came home from a “business trip” with a prosthetic arm and no amount of half-assed excuses about an accident on stage could assuage your suspicions. He managed to dodge a confrontation with you for almost a week before you’d finally put the final pieces together and went to him to demand an explanation.

“You’re a terrorist Atsu!”

“That’s just what the heroes want you to think my love, don’t fall for their propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda it’s just a fact! People have died because of your actions!”

“And how many more have suffered or died because of heroes and the society they created.”

“You’re deflecting. I have always indulged your rants about hero society but this is too far! The man I fell in love with would never stoop to this level!”

Atsuhiro crosses the room to you in two quick strides, cradling your face gently with his hand while you feel the cool metal of his other find your hip, fingers slipping under your shirt.

“I’m still the man you fell in love with (y/n), I can assure you of that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How could that possibly be?”

“Let me show you.”

He pulls you into a gentle kiss, reassuring in its care. As his lips move against yours, gently coaxing them to open so he can deepen the kiss and slip his tongue inside, you struggle to maintain your earlier anger. It’s a distraction and you know it is but it’s hard to resist as he starts to move you both back towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of your clothes and by the time your back hits the plush of your mattress you’re both already naked. His mouth finally releases yours to travel down your body, leaving bruises in his wake as he marks you as his.

“Atsu, wait we should, ah-” you start but he quickly shushes you before licking a long stripe up your waiting sex.

“Just relax Angel, let me take care of you. Let your thoughts drift away,” he all but purrs.

You try to focus on the conversation you know the two of you need to have but it slips from your fingers like grains of sand as he brings one hand to your swollen clit and starts rubbing slow circles. Your hands tighten in the sheets as he draws a low, keening whine out of you. His hazel eyes dance with smug satisfaction as he watches you try and fail to form a coherent thought. He doesn’t let up the pressure on your clit for even a moment as he drops his mouth to your waiting cunt and plunges his tongue inside. Your hand flies down to his curly hair on impulse, tangling in the brown locks and gripping tight. Your nails scratch along his scalp and your tight grip tugs at the roots of his hair but he loves the pain of it, knows it’s a sign he’s doing well as he brings up his free hand to add two fingers inside you as well. After so long together he knows your body just as well as you do and it takes no time at all for him to find that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your climax builds and builds until you finally crash through the peaks of your pleasure, walls fluttering around your lover’s tongue and fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

You’ve barely had time to recover from your orgasm before you can feel his erection pressing at your entrance. “W-wait, Atsu, condom,” you pant, shifting in the bed to reach for the bedside drawer but Atsuhiro stops you. “We don’t need it baby, wanna feel closer to you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your face as he eases you back down to laying flat on the bed. “But what if-” “You’re on birth control right?” he cuts you off. “I mean yea but-” “Then it’ll be fine, you worry too much.”

Any further protests you might’ve had are immediately silenced as a snap of your boyfriend’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. You gasp as your body attempts to adjust to his girth. “You’re taking me so well baby, isn’t this so much better? Feel how close we are. Nothing between us, just as it should be,” he coos and it does feel good, good enough that despite the voice in your head telling you you should be cautious, you only nod and beg for more. The grin Atsuhiro gives you is almost blinding right before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you greedily as he slowly withdraws his hard cock before pushing back inside you again. You whimper and whine into his mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, each thrust more brutal than the last. Eventually he leans back and away from you, shifting your hips so he can plunge himself in deeper, but with his lips no longer occupied with yours he’s free to let his thoughts spill out and into the room:

“Gonna fill you up so well, fuck, my beautiful Angel.”

“You and me forever baby, gonna look so good round with my kids.”

“Taking my cock so well, can’t wait until you’re full of my seed.”

The words wash over you but barely register. There’s no room in your brain left for anything else as Atsuhiro takes over every corner of it. Language becomes a foreign concept to you, barely able to articulate your own pleasure in more than the sinful sounds dripping from your lips, let alone trying to process your boyfriend’s ramblings. His thrusts start getting sloppier as he brings one hand between you both to stroke your clit and push you over the edge with him. “I’m so close angel, I’m so close. Cum with me. Want you to finish with me while I stuff you full of my cum,” he pants and all you can do is nod as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. As you clench harder around him he goes toppling over the edge first, crying out your name as he spills his load inside you. You never would’ve anticipated enjoying it so much but it’s that feeling that sends you over the edge, falling apart around his cock as he finishes filling you with his cum.

He helps you come down from your high with sweet kisses and whispered words of encouragement, but as the haze of lust fades, you start to remember the fight you both were having before. As much as you would like for this to be the kind of thing you can just kiss and make up over, it’s not and you know it’s a conversation that needs to be finished. Looking at your boyfriend as he settles more comfortably on top of you though, you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Sleep is weighing heavy on your eyelids anyway so you resolve yourself to bring it up the next day.

Except the next day ends the same way.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Every time you try to bring back up Atsuhiro’s secret double life as Mr. Compress he manages to distract you just long enough to get you back into bed. At first you tell yourself it’s not a big deal that the conversation’s been delayed a couple days, but then it turns into a week. A week of very hot sex, mind you, but if the existence of Atsuhiro’s double life was a red flag then certainly his insistence on avoiding discussing it is an even larger one. After two weeks you finally resolve yourself to talking to him the next morning over breakfast, no distractions and no avoiding the issue with sex. Cooking helps with your nerves, giving you something to do with your hands and a task to focus on to help you ignore your roiling stomach. You end up making almost an entire breakfast buffet by the time Atsuhiro emerges from your shared bedroom to join you in the kitchen.

He barely has time to tell you good morning before you’re rushing him to the table and setting plates full of food down. You know you have to tread carefully so you use the time you both spend eating to organize your thoughts. This time for sure you’ll talk to him. You finally open your mouth to confront Atsuhiro once and for all but as you feel bile start to crawl up your throat what comes out instead is “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

No sooner have you said the words are you shoving away from the table and rushing into the nearest bathroom. You get to the toilet just in time, fingers clutching the rim of the bowl as you violently eject the contents of your stomach into the water below. It burns your throat coming up and your eyes sting, but a warm, comforting presence is by your side in an instant, one hand coming up to rub your back gently as the other pulls your hair away from your face. Only once your stomach is thoroughly emptied does the heaving finally stop and you’re able to sit back and catch your breath. “Are you ok my love? What’s wrong?” Atsuhiro asks with gentle care as he pulls you close. You shake your head, unsure yourself of what had turned your stomach. Sure, you were nervous to talk to Atsuhiro but not that nervous. It can’t have been something you ate since all you’d had was the breakfast you made and you know everything was cooked properly. You rack your brain for an answer only to go rigid when you start to settle on one.

“Atsu what’s the date?”

“The 22nd baby, why?”

Your blood runs cold.

You’d been so preoccupied with figuring out things with Atsuhiro that you hadn’t even noticed how much time was slipping past but there’s no doubt about it. Your period is two weeks late.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” you whisper. No way in hell you’ll leave this up to a drugstore test. There must be another explanation for your sudden nausea. Sure, you and Atsuhiro had pretty much abandoned condoms. Every time you started to reach for one, he’d remind you how good it felt not to use one the first time and convince you to forgo it again. But you’re on birth control! This isn’t supposed to be possible.

God bless him, Atsuhiro doesn’t press you any further on why exactly you want to go to the doctor instead of trying to find something at home to settle your stomach. He simply helps you off the floor and then grabs the keys to your car so he can drive you to the doctor himself. You’re incredibly grateful that he doesn’t seem to share your nerves. He’s a calming presence next to you as your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

You’d asked Atsuhiro to take a seat without you while you checked into the urgent care. You didn’t want him to hear you describe your symptoms to the nurse waiting there. The kind woman immediately suspects the same thing you do and leads you to the bathroom so you can pee in a cup. She’s sympathetic and reassuring as she tells you to return to the waiting room while the doctor runs the pregnancy test but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. The air in the waiting room feels oppressive and when your name is finally called to go back and see the doctor, Atsuhiro’s hand in yours is probably the only thing that keeps you grounded. You take a seat on the examination table and instead of moving to sit down in one of the chairs in the room, Atsu stays by your side, whispering reassurances into your ear. “Whatever’s going on I’m here for you my love.”

The doctor strides into the room shortly afterwards, greeting you warmly even if somewhat absentmindedly as she moves to the computer to check for your details. She confirms your date of birth and then after scrolling for a bit her eyes finally land on the results of your test. She smiles and your heart sinks. “Well it looks like congratulations are in order, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims, beaming at you. A lump forms in your throat as tears threaten to fall, anxiety making your hands shake as the weight of the situation starts to crash down on you. The doctor misinterprets your reaction and as she leaves the room to get you pamphlets on what to expect and how best to take care of yourself during your pregnancy, her reassuring words that promise you’ll make a great mother are anything but.

As soon as the doctor leaves the room you break, tears cascading down your cheeks as your chest heaves. Atsuhiro pulls you into his embrace, letting you fall apart in his arms as you come to terms with the news. “I’m not ready to be a mom, I can’t do it on my own,” you cry, hands clenching onto his shirt. “I know my love, I know, but you’ll never be alone as long as you have me. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” he assures you, pulling you in even closer.

As you continue to cry into his chest, murmuring hiccuping thank you’s between heaving sobs, Atsuhiro can’t help but smile to himself.

He’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Garaki for the fake birth control pills later.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29