#i don't remember what tags i usually use...

[cccakessslicemeee]

I will ramble about the gukgaks now. Firstly I love them.

As usual spoilers for fantasy high read at your own risk

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I'm curious to see if there are any fics where Riz and his mom just have a day to themselves. Like Riz is in a lot of clubs and would have a shit ton of skills that he never gets to flaunt because he just too busy.

I like to imagine Riz and his mom finally have a quiet moment. Maybe it's a Saturday and they are Pok's grave just bitching the pot. I also like to imagine that in general Sklonda and Riz are just nosey bitches so like they would absolutely do the thing where when a neighbor is yelling they do the whole "imma pretend real hard not to listen to this" while inching closer and trying to read on things.

They absolutely shouldn't.

But they do. Maybe someone's having a fight with their girlfriend in their hallway and ya know what they should absolutely have a listen because what if things got violent? What if?

She knows she shouldn't encourage this but she does anyway. Like maybe riz is in his clues and not paying attention and she's like sweetie... Listen the Johnson's are at it again.

Anyway where was I? Yeah they go to Pok's grave and bitch and chew and talk shit on the neighbors and the town and just anything and everything. Maybe Riz can show off a cool magic trick or juggle a little bit? Card tricks. Maybe he can kinda dance but that's because Kristen and Fig force him to learn fantasy tik Tok dances. Fabian thinks it's beneath him so he'd never but even he admits some of the footwork is "decent".

Maybe Sklonda and Riz have little bonding moments where they see who can take apart their gun quicker and put it back together. They probably like already have gone to a shooting range before... Riz is such a lawful person I can't image him NOT having formal gun training? Like those 3 hour courses you have to attend three times.

I can't imagine Sklonda wouldn't teach her how to handle a fire arm. And in the first season and second I think(?) Pok's gun is huge in the artwork. Unless I'm dumb? Could be. Anyway it's a big ass gun and it's gonna have a big ass kick and Like imagine a tiny Riz who has yet to grow into his ears trying to steady this big ass gun, his mom right behind him helpping him figure out how to use the sight and get a handle on aiming while carefully reminding him that it's gonna kick back into his shoulder and he needs to NOT brace when it kicks back. He needs to kinda let the gun make his shoulder jump back with the force. If he tenses up he's just letting the butt if the gun slam into his shoulder and it's gonna hurt.

And then when he hits the target she's like "look at you go, your dad would be so proud. I'm proud of you. Now remember what do we always say?"

"safety first!" And he's just beaming.

Also I like to imagine Riz is familiar with the Elmvile precinct. Like he would definitely just hang out there and be a nosey lil shit especially if he just wanted to see his mom. I also like to think the people working there would be like .. okay he's not gonna leave so let's make him do stuff like prep the coffee machine and get everyone's lunch orders/order it and like print paper work. Because if they don't make him do something he's gonna sneak back and get into shit he don't need to. Sklonda has had to kick him out of the precinct at least twice a day until she got a babysitter because Riz won't just sit still and read or something.

Sorry I'm rambling and kinda jumping all over the place.

Anyway I think Riz and Sklonda should have a nice time doing literally anything else that isn't saving the fucking world. I feel like they would do well in laser tag or paint ball.

Maybe they could just chill at home watching the murder channel and shit talking everything the criminal does.

"oh damn. He was smart except he left his fingerprints on the doorknob. Idiot" type shit.

Also stupid silly thought. Sklonda HATES donuts because it's the stereotype for cops to be lazy assholes who do nothing but sip coffee and eat donuts expecting a crime to happen.

Riz fucking loves donuts. Everyone always brings donuts to the precinct and it's just a familiar treat he grew up on. They were special and nostalgic. He also assumes his mom likes donuts because what kind of cop doesn't like donuts? Occasionally he'll get a box and bring it home and sklonda will eat one because she's not gonna spit in the face of her son's kindness. Riz makes it a point to pick up the cakey donuts that don't have like drizzle or whatever because he assumes she doesn't like the crazy ones with fillings and sprinkles.

Riz and his mom have the most intense chess matches. They are both brilliant people and riz has read every book he could on the matter. They have four hour games. It's wild. I also like to imagine they play Scrabble and they've played long enough to make up their own words or certain allowances. Like "Fuckton" or "Assload" are not real words but they are pretty self explanatory and easy to use in casual conversation. Also like with certain words like Stupid depending on how it's spelled could mean different things like stupid-someone is hella dumb or a thing is hella dumb- and then Stoopid- the dumbest man to ever walk the earth. maybe not these specific rules but I think you get the point they'd have their own to make the game more interesting.

[jihyocentric]

I hope this is okay I feel like my writer brain can't do good prompts cause I might go into too much detail but imma try ngjgjgjh

Lawyers mihyo who're maybe working on a case together? Mina has this habit of going full hot girl sharon to mess with Hyo at random ass moment cause they're close enough that she doesn't feel as shy most of the times and she doesn't know that Jihyo is constantly one wrong (right) move from begging to be ruined. Ione day Mina does something that has Jihyo forgetting all her professionalism and downright pleading to get fucked. This makes Mina realise she loves making Jihyo beg which leads to maybe some edging and some teary Jihyo and some soft aftercare? Also since they're lawyers maybe all this happens somewhere at the law firm before an important briefing they're supposed to have with a client?

hi bestie! i could've done something much better with your request but ykw i was dying to post jihyo bottoming again... she was made for this... and i miss her

cw: mina has stiletto nails. and she still tops. power move. good for her. not so good for jihyo.

mina knows what she’s doing.

she knows exactly what she’s trying to achieve by the way she acts around her sweetest coworker, jihyo, being especially fueled with the reactions she gets.

that jihyo was adorable when pink was all over her face and she didn’t know where to look, mina knew. she was the reason for that, meticulously provoked that out of her, making her usually focused, serious coworker, shy and exceptionally flustered.

to mina’s surprise, when they were alone, their roles seemed to be reversed — jihyo, instead of being the cool extrovert she was most definitely proud to be, became no more than a timid mess, sometimes incapable of looking at mina in the eye when speaking to her.

the situation didn’t make their work any harder whatsoever, as they rarely worked on the same case along each other, with jihyo being a corporate lawyer and mina being inclined towards the criminal field. that time, they were working together due to one of jihyo’s clients, who happened to need assistance from mina’s field.

“miss myoui…” jihyo calls, using the honorific, as mina had never told her not to. every other coworker, except for the interns, called mina by her name — never ‘miss’. but something about having jihyo calling her ‘miss’ left mina too satisfied, unable to tell jihyo to drop the display of respect.

a small smile prods at her lips when jihyo calls her for the nth time, in a hesitant voice, unlike the way she spoke to others. with confidence, that is. when speaking to mina, jihyo often forgot that she wasn’t on a lower position than mina at the firm. if anything, it was mina who was supposed to treat her with such respect, as jihyo had been there for longer.

mina was supposed to be working. she didn’t tell jihyo she’d already looked though the files they were studying and found her ways to convince the judge that jihyo’s client was innocent — if he was, that didn’t matter. he could be if mina could prove that he was. mina had planned ahead, knowing she wouldn’t have time alone with jihyo again soon, deciding to make the best out of it.

and so, because mina already knew what to do and what to expect from the meeting they’d have with their client later that same day, instead of working, she observed jihyo — and distracted her when she felt like it. what starts with sitting next to jihyo with a leg over the other, intentionally exposing her thighs, escalates to suddenly praising jihyo at random times. (she does it for jihyo’s excellent work, and because jihyo looked pretty.)

mina takes her sweet time to make jihyo lose her focus entirely, having fun as jihyo slowly forgets how to use her words properly. jihyo doesn’t stutter, but she struggles to sound professional when miss myoui is touching her hair and telling her that it looked pretty when it was loose, that she should wear dresses more often, and everything she could possibly say to make jihyo red from her cheeks to the ears hidden under her hair.

jihyo doesn’t understand mina, the way she acts towards her. not at first, not on that occasion. mina has always been like that around her: charming, alluring. she was simply flirty by nature, and jihyo would never think mina was truly trying to flirt with her, but soon mina is massaging her shoulders, having the freedom to do so as they were alone in a conference room, and jihyo is no longer reading through the case’s files.

jihyo doesn’t know how or when mina gets there, behind her, with both hands on her shoulders, whispering questions about the case close to her ear, as if jihyo could possibly answer them. jihyo tries to — she does her best to muster up words to properly answer mina, frustrated when all that comes out from her mouth is a whimper and a stuttered ‘miss myoui’.

“no need to be this tense, jihyo. i’m sure our client will be fine. you’re the best after all,” mina coos, pretending to not notice that what had gotten jihyo troubled wasn’t their case, but her hands pressing her shoulders and nails close to sinking into her bare arms.

“m-miss… please…” jihyo mutters, desperate, still trying to figure how did mina get so close. she feels like she’s embarrassing herself then, calling mina so respectfully, feeling almost like she wasn’t a fellow lawyer, but an intern instead — someone mina could easily boss around, having all the power to do so as a result of being in a higher position.

“so nervous, park.” mina laughs, the sultry sound reaching jihyo’s ear quickly due to how close mina was. she pulls away, turning jihyo’s chair around so that she could see her face, not surprised to find jihyo utterly flushed, but curious as she sees jihyo’s cheeks adorned with tears that she’d hardly noticed falling from her eyes. “are these perhaps because of me?”

jihyo shivers, flinching when mina’s manicured hands are suddenly on her knees, raising her dress up to her thighs, sharp nails purposefully leaving their mark on the lawyer’s smooth skin.

“m-miss!” jihyo lets out then, more tears following her words. though mina had already expected jihyo to be just like that — amusingly shy and submissive, she wasn’t entirely prepared to hear jihyo begging. shameful words slip out of jihyo next, while mina is still admiring jihyo’s pretty face, relishing in the way such a respectable, honored lawyer like jihyo became but a precious prey that she’d love to ruin with just the slightest teasing. “i-inside… please… please!”

jihyo whines softly, holding one of mina’s hands with both of hers, spreading her legs slightly apart, both offering herself and pleading for mina to take her.

mina knows jihyo is aware she could get hurt — the same hands jihyo was politely begging to have inside herself carried the stiletto nails that left her arms and thighs reddened from negligible pressure. still, jihyo held mina’s hand like a cat with it’s owner, not wanting to let go, looking as if she’d cry if mina didn’t do what she so desperately asked for.

“interesting,” mina coos, resisting the urge to wipe jihyo’s tears away, finding her even prettier with her face all wet, enjoying to make her embarrassed, finding jihyo the cutest when she was ashamed. “are you sure, miss park?” mina taunts, raising the dress even more, to the point she could see how wet jihyo was. 

jihyo nods quickly, guiding mina’s hand to her center. “i-i n-need this, miss!” she insists, whimpering when mina’s index finger gets hooked under her panties.

mina stretches it far enough she can see jihyo’s pussy, licking her lips at the thought of having her face between jihyo’s thighs, forcing her to take more than she’d ever be able to handle. though she’d love to ruin jihyo right there and then, amazed by how easy that would really be, they didn’t have a lot more time to spend alone.

“so you like it risky, park?” mina laughs softly. “not that i’m opposed to hurting you,” she lets her fingers sink inside the soaked panties, teasing jihyo’s clit with the tip of her fingers, careful not to harm jihyo. “because you’d love that. i just don’t think you really want these inside of you.”

“but i want them! your fingers,” jihyo mumbles, pouting as she does so, moaning when mina applies more pressure over her clit, circling the sensitive nub slowly. “…inside me. want them inside.”

jihyo would cry harder if mina truly said no, mina realizes, amused to get to know that part of her. jihyo could handle her, even if having mina inside her that way meant that mina wouldn’t be able to fuck her properly — jihyo didn’t care.

“begging already, huh…” mina offers her a gentle smile, though what she says next doesn’t come out as soft. “convince me.”

jihyo becomes even more frustrated then, bucking her hips to feel more of mina’s fingers, earning a click of mina’s tongue.

“’m s-sorry!” jihyo quickly makes up for her mistake. “i c-can take it!” she insists, pouting slightly as she looks up at mina, cheeks burning when she notices just how close mina really was, towering over her, with her eyes so dark that part of jihyo became scared. “y-you don’t have to… t-to move them, miss… i just wan’ them there.”

“keep going.” mina encourages her to beg, her free hand finding the table behind jihyo for support, the other still inside her coworker’s panties, spreading jihyo’s wetness, wanting to know if she could grant jihyo’s wish.

jihyo was wet enough by the time mina lowered her hand further, still rubbing mina’s ego with her pitiful pleading. mina attempts to sink in and jihyo whines, clenching around the tip of mina’s fingers, prepared for the discomfort she’d feel until mina stopped, knuckles deep into her.

it doesn’t hurt — mina is careful and her fingers happen to slip in easily, but if she were to move, then jihyo would certainly be left with unwanted bruises.

perhaps it felt almost as good as having mina really fucking her, thrusting her fingers in and out without an obstacle, as knowing mina could easily tear her apart made her stomach clench, aroused by the idea of it but knowing she wouldn’t want that.

“it’s like you were made for this.” mina praises, lowering herself until her knees were touching the floor, knowing she couldn’t do much with the fingers she had stuffed inside jihyo. she pulls jihyo’s panties down to her ankles, looking up at the already disheveled girl, wondering how jihyo would look if she could really take her time to ruin her. “now, i don’t kneel. but since you’re such a good girl, miss park, i think you deserve this.”

it takes jihyo a lot of effort to not come undone the moment mina’s tongue meets her clit.

everything is hot. despite the cold air in the room, jihyo sweats, her skin burning as mina works her tongue against her sensitive nub, thighs locking mina there, letting out pitiful ‘miss myoui’s, not trying to fight against the urge to have mina destroying her. not in the slightest. it was far too late for that, and jihyo was too weak to pretend that that wasn’t exactly what she’d been craving for.

it’s all too much for her. the way mina sinks her nails on her thigh and moves the fingers inside her just barely, merely pressing her fingers against the slick walls carefully, velvety tongue making jihyo melt on the chair. whimpery moans reach mina’s ears sweetly, making mina moan against jihyo’s pussy, fighting back the urge to lay jihyo on that table and forget about their meeting.

“miss… can i-i…” jihyo hardly finishes her sentence, and mina sends her into a wave of bliss.

her fists become white as she holds the arms of the chair, crying as she gets ready to come for mina, impatient hips moving for more friction of mina’s fingers — but mina stops. what should’ve been an orgasm doesn’t happen, making jihyo open her watery eyes and search for mina’s, wanting to ask why she’d stopped, desperate for her release.

but nothing comes out from her mouth.

“i’m afraid our client must be arriving, miss park. you should probably get yourself clean. we wouldn’t want our client to make... vulgar assumptions, would we?” mina laughs, stuffing jihyo’s mouth with the two slender fingers that had been inside of her. she pulls them back before jihyo gets to fully clean them. “i’ll be waiting for you.”

during the meeting, jihyo gets to be the professional she was. mina doesn’t try anything while they’re discussing important matters with their client, and jihyo is allowed to prove mina she’s still a great professional after having her pride previously hurt. (not that jihyo cared if mina knew about her tendencies to submission, but part of her wanted mina to know she was more than that.)

when their client leaves, it’s already night. jihyo then finds herself trapped against mina and the table again, but this time, all mina wants is to let her know that they’re going home together — to mina’s. all mina says is that they weren’t yet done, and jihyo had no choice other than follow mina.

when the sun is rising, jihyo is still at mina’s mercy. mina is impressed with how far she was able to go with jihyo, only allowing her to come when she knows jihyo is about to break and beg her to stop rather than letting her come.

she learns then that she’s especially fond of the way jihyo sobs into the pillow when she is finally allowed to come, ass up for mina (barely able to stay like that, because her knees falter and her legs start trembling as she comes), body completely ruined by mina’s teeth, the palm of mina's hands and her sharp nails.

“you cry a lot, jihyo.” mina mumbles, pulling out of jihyo, slowly taking the harness around her waist off. jihyo turns her head to the other side when mina leaves the strap on the bed, next to her face, her body finally falling against the bed, still inevitably crying as mina kissed her back. “did i push it too far?”

jihyo shakes her head, incapable of looking at mina in the eye as she comes back to her full senses.

“talk to me, hyo. i need to know you’re feeling well,” mina’s voice softens, entirely different from the way she’d been speaking to jihyo all day long. she makes jihyo turn around and face her, thumb brushing jihyo’s cheek tenderly as she inches down for a short kiss. “do i have to make you speak?” mina taunts then, making jihyo’s eyes widen.

“n-no, i’m o-okay!” jihyo manages to say, tears falling as she blinks, her body still trying to recover from being used, abruptly forced to not come several times. “i’m just… i-i… you make me nervous!”

“i didn’t even notice.” mina smiles and jihyo pouts, losing her breath when mina presses her lips to her forehead. “you’re cute, miss park.”

jihyo huffs, the reaction more instinctive than intentional. “i’m not.”

“sure,” mina coos. she pulls away, intending to take jihyo in her arms and take care of her.

for a moment mina stops, admiring her well-done work ruining jihyo’s body, licking her lips when she runs her eyes down and catches a glimpse of jihyo’s reddened, soaked core, thoroughly ruined from being played with for far too long. mina’s stomach tightens at the realization that jihyo was still leaking with her own wetness, getting mina’s bed soaked under her.

jihyo sits up on the bed, face close to mina’s, wanting to get her attention away from her body, feeling shy again. “miss myoui.”

“it’s mina. no need to call me miss all the time,” mina passes her arm around jihyo’s waist. “though i liked to hear it when you were begging for me.” she finishes, and jihyo’s head fall to her shoulder. “mind to join me on a bath, miss park?”

“i like hyo better.” jihyo mutters softly. “can you give me a minute?”

“mhm.” mina agrees, but she pulls jihyo closer, making jihyo sit on her lap while jihyo finds the courage to get up and let herself be taken care of by mina. “just don’t sleep yet.”

“i won’t…” jihyo yawns, drowsy, closing her eyes and slowly forgetting her own words.

[wildelydawn]

WIKTOBER: Open for Submissions. | A KinnPorsche: the Series Fanfic.

Summary:

Chay runs an annual fic fest for WIK, a popular singer. Kim, a lurker in his own fandom, becomes an admin.

Read the story here!

[butchriptide]

Falls to my knees. Qiblijou. Kinkabli. Whatever you want to call it. Does anyone understand. Does anyone understand.

Now, as a certified AroAce, I am not the type to pedal that every dynamic ever has to be romantic. But also. I think they're cute as a couple. But ALSO also, even if you do not care for them as a couple, I need more people to discuss and write about and draw their dynamic. I need more if it like, yesterday.

Having to put this under the cut because it got crazy fucking long but like trust me. Trust me okay.

The element I find so compelling about them is that they read very much as similar characters at first-boiling down largely to "silly and kind". They diverge from this shared center point largely in how they react to trauma; They both are survivors, persistently... Goofy in the face of hardship. Kinkajou's seems to act as a natural element of her personality, rising up in face of being a generally lonely and somewhat disliked child. It's interesting how her impulsive nature and cheery demeanor overlaps with the genuine emotional intelligence she seems to hold. In moments of low-tension, where her head's clear and she's not immediately tunneling down something else, she seems fully able to process the fact that her trauma DOES effect her and often at least somewhat how. She doesn't have any big feelings on it, but she can still recognize her knee-jerk reaction to a Nightwing roommate being due to her trauma. Later conclusions about Moonwatcher being an exception due to some general difference from Nightwings as a whole, while not fully "correct", does still show her own ability to recognize these knee-jerk feelings as irrational-At least when faced with significant proof of that being the case, rather than doubling down on her own internal logic that's been shaped by her traumas. Her impulsivity and general hyperactivity tends to push this understanding to the side however, leaving a lot of her trauma something she's working past but not necessarily resolved. It isn't that Kinkajou is purposefully trying to avoid her pain to an unhealthy degree, so much as I think she largely doesn't think about it until she's forced to.

Meanwhile, Qibli's goofy exterior seems to largely be a mask; Or, at the very least, somewhat purposefully curated. He lives almost entirely in his fight or flight response, and seems to interpret his own overthinking and anxiety responses as a boon rather than an effect of his trauma. He likes his scar, but can't reconcile how he got it; Can't reconcile the part of him that loves his mother and wants to believe she loves him back with the fact that she hurt him, repeatedly, through pretty much every avenue one can neglect or abuse a child. This makes his optimistic veneer a lot more purposeful, an attempt to earn people's love because there was never any guarantee of receiving it from anyone. I don't believe that being this silly, playful person is necessarily fully disingenuous of Qibli, so much as I think he forces himself to amount to ONLY this. Shoves himself into a box which is used largely to ignore his trauma, as opposed to cope with it. He can't acknowledge everything that's happened to him affecting him because its incongruous with his image-both to others and himself. Despite being perceived as traditionally intelligent, Qibli's honestly incredibly lacking in the realm of emotional intelligence.

I think that ultimately, this leads them to having a very interesting balance and chemistry that's effective in getting me invested in them even though they have very little one-on-one time during the arc. They don't have any particularly "deep" moments together, but there's this implicit understanding and trust in a lot of their interactions. They match each other on a level that the rest of the Jade Winglet doesn't quite hit due to the vastly different levels they're coming from. While Qibli's not lacking his own impulsivity issues, his tendency to scrutinize and overplan becomes much more effective when it's actively curbing Kinkajou's tendency to fling into danger head-first, while Kinkajou's high-energy and quickness to action forces Qibli out of his own head in order to keep up with her.

Beyond the way they balance each other out, there's a strongly showcased, implicit trust between the two of them. Kinkajou and Qibli are co-conspirators, and them dealing with Chameleon in Book 10 (for all the gripes I hold against this book) showcase this perfectly. Qibli keeps Kinkajou from immediately jumping to action, but he doesn't talk over her, and Kinkajou's information is both pivotal to their planning and prompts Qibli to act. An important element too is that Qibli's trust in Kinkajou doesn't result in excessive idolization, like it does with Moon-Not to say that Moonbli is bad, but rather, it's an element of the relationship that makes Kinkajou and Qibli mesh much easier while Moonbli, I wholeheartedly believe, requires a lot more work to make work than canon would suggest. I think this trust is particularly important due to Qibli's issues with control, which he still easily puts aside for Kinkajou when he lets her simply keep the scrolls from Chameleon, instead of doubling down on them destroying them. Kinkajou opts to keep the scrolls at that's the end of it; even if Qibli's worried over Chameleon coming after them, he simply trusts Kinkajou to take care of them, and that's the end of it.

The way they match each other's energy is also just incredibly sweet. The Vase SceneTM comes immediately after it, so nobody ever talks about it, but they literally greet each other like 2000s scene kids who just found out what a "glomp" is.

My ultimate point is I think Kinkajou and Qibli's personalities bounce off each other in a very compelling way already as friends, and find the idea of them as a romance interesting largely because I don't think it would change much of their chemistry. I think they already feel very natural from what we're shown of them (although a lot of the non-ship dynamics in arc 2 are vastly underutilized due to how fractured everyone in the winglet is through the series to begin with) and I think they're sweet due to how much I think they can understand each other. They're interesting parallels that doesn't really get to shine in a lot of books due to the pacing of Arc 2 nor in fan works due to how people don't really read much into Kinkajou and choose to take her as just sort of a flat comic relief.

Also Kinkajou likes tortured guys <3

[paperzest]

Origami Jeanne d'Arc designed by Chen Xiao, folded by me from an uncut square of 60 cm double tissue.

I started this fold back in...I think July? And put the model aside for several months because I didn't know how to successfully finish shaping her at the time. Picked the model up again and decided to finally finish the shaping.

Certainly happier with this one compared to before!

EDIT: new photos under the cut, hope they look clearer

[genshin-projection]

wow wow wow ok ok ok ok

so im partway through the wardance event in HSR 2.5 and my mind is SPINNING

in particular finishing the most recent main quest with the Borisin, then hearing about Igor Haft of Belobog...

it's FASCINATING to me how the civilizations in HSR seem to not only follow a path that they value, but a path that they need and end up getting very little help from

belobog following the preservation because their small, impoverished planet is constantly under threat of death and destruction... such that very little is actually "preserved" with any success

the xianzhou alliance following the hunt to root out and eliminate their enemies without mercy... only for those same enemies to stir up trouble from within their own ranks, with the xianzhou luofu in particular failing to realize until two major disasters had already been set in motion. and even before then, considering everything implied with dan feng, i doubt this is the first time they've faced internal conflict like this

penacony following the harmony to ensure the happiness and unity of their people, only for what little harmony actually exists to simply cover up the turbulence and suffering belying every luxury... such that the order arose in the first place to deal with what the harmony couldn't, a thick undercurrent of inequality and divisiveness that plagued every worker, every poor soul that saw penacony as their safe haven, their last hope

that those desperate for preservation would come out with so little, with so many wounds. that those desperate to hunt down threats would be perpetually plagued by internal betrayals and setups. that those desperate for harmony, peace, and unity would allow its weak to suffer until the only option left is not prosperity but silence and preconceived "happiness"....

it's just fascinating to me how those following a path actually have the least of it. it's fascinating how the pathstriders of the preservation are on the brink of demise, the pathstriders of the hunt are under threat of ambush, the pathstriders of the harmony struggle to remain united and fair to their people.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Nine — The Warm Hands of Ghosts

Everyone was hooked up to tubes, IVs or cannulas hanging from their body as they got the treatment necessary to keep them comfortable.  How long would it be till I was hooked up to wires?

3.6k words | 13-17 min read time | TRIGGER WARNING: Hospital, illness, fuck them OCs, hyp...notism?

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: once again, thank you @lobotomizedlemon for giving me god's greatest disappointment to man. I would kill for Sia. And to @infamoussparks for letting Rosa be Bad News Bear here!

To the other person that's been patiently waiting for this moment for over a year (I checked the PMs! We started talking about this last July!) — I love you.

I thought palliative care meant something for kids, like pediatrics. 

I had no idea it basically meant making people comfortable enough to suffer. 

Now, to be fair, that wasn’t all the wing did; it actually seemed really cozy, in a strange way—or as comfortable as an in-patient hospital wing could be. Stock photographs of nature littered the blank walls between room doors, and the doors that were open revealed blued rooms decorated with white furniture, picture frames of family pinned to the walls and personal belongings all around the room. There was one old lady with a bed covered in fuzzy pink pillows, another had dozens of plants on the windowsill in theirs. Everyone was hooked up to tubes, IVs or cannulas hanging from their body as they got the treatment necessary to keep them comfortable. 

How long would it be till I was hooked up to wires?

I tried to shake the thought out of my head, following Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims deeper into the wing, the both of them tensely silent. Whatever crowds were in front of us parted with Aunt Sia’s stomps and stayed staring at Dad; I know I’d probably do the same, if I saw some woman in a blazer with spikes glued to the shoulder and chains decoratively falling from it leading Delsin Rowe and Eugene Sims down a hall. 

We probably looked like the world’s strangest funeral procession. 

The hall jutted right, and we moved with it, all the way to where the light the windows let in couldn’t reach. The last door on the right had stuff plastered on it, and it took till being right at the door to realize they were warnings. “‘Wear mirror glasses provided upon shift assignment,’” Brent read aloud, staring at the clipart picture of the black ski goggles like they were runes before looking at me, eyebrows raised. 

Dr. Sims reached into his jacket’s pocket to pull out a handful of black disposable glasses, the sort that Reese came to school in after an eye procedure. “Here, put these on,” he instructed, beginning to pass them out. 

Aunt Sia instead pulled a pair of modified steampunk-looking goggles, slipping them over her eyes and then regarding Dad, Brent and I individually. “Listen—keep those on.” She stressed. “I know this Conduit personally. They may seem like they’re not fully there, but that doesn’t make them any less powerful. And, hey—it’s them. They, them.”

“What the hell do you two have me walking into?” Dad tried to joke, looking between the childhood besties. Neither laughed. 

“Let’s get in the room first,” Dr. Sims muttered, trying to position the blackened glasses over his own. I followed their lead, trying to fit the awkwardly flimsy film over my nose before looking up at everyone and nodding, feeling like an idiot. What sort of power did I need to wear glasses against? Maybe this was one of the light Conduits Zeke talked about.

The inside of the room was adorned in pink and green. I think that was the first thing that shocked me—the brightness of the room. The wood and dull blue visitor’s chair was covered by a strawberry quilt freckled in green squares, there were little succulents on the dresser across from the bed. There were long, sheer green scarfs hung over the curtain rods in their own protest against the sterile-hospital white, and an old stuffed fox sat slouched over on the windowsill like it was trying to get the sun to hit a specific spot on its lower back. 

And the bed. It was still a stiff and uncomfortable looking hospital bed, but someone tried making it anything but. A large, fluffy blush pink down comforter was draped over the too-small bed, engulfing the small form that was laid in it. Their arm laid over a green rectangular throw pillow, IV embedded in the hand lying listless on top. They stared off into a corner of the room but it…didn’t look intentional. It didn’t look like much was behind the stare at all. Wires fell from the sleeves of their shirt to the bed around them, the steady thrum of a heartbeat monitor puncturing the silence with its rhythm. 

The red-headed doctor, Hutch, was there, looking closely at the patient’s monitor and only turning when the door was closed. “The nurses aren’t fond of me being here, so we’ll need to be quick.” she said. 

Dr. Sims huffed. “Why not?”

“Considering I usually don’t stray far from pediatrics, they see me as overstepping.” Dr. Hutch responded. 

Aunt Sia wasted no time in closing the gap between her and the patient in the bed, one hand going to hold the one laying on the pillow while the other touched their frayed braid, looking for a hair tie that was no longer there. “Hey, sweet pea,” she hummed softly like a mother at a cradle, fingers brushing knots out of their long reddish brown hair. They barely moved, not acknowledging Aunt Sia with a look or with words. 

Brent, ever so tactful, decided now would be the perfect time to ask, “So what’s wrong with them?”

“Dude!” I hissed.

“What? I’m just asking–”

“I know them.” Dad’s voice was soft as the statement passed his lips. I couldn’t see his eyes, but his brows were knit so close together and furrowed that they started disappearing behind his film glasses. He looked at the back of Aunt Sia’s head, who stopped combing through their hair. “Why does it feel like I know them?”

Aunt Sia sighed, moving her hand away from their hair to gently cup their face, thumb running along their jaw. Another move they didn’t react to. “Garrett, Delsin’s here—remember him?” 

Something shifted in Dad, and his shoulders visibly sagged. “Garrett?” he asked. “That’s Garrett?” 

I glanced at Brent, who was already facing my way with an eyebrow raised. Who was this person? Why did Dad look so shocked, so sad, to see Garrett in that bed?

“I apologize,” Dr. Hutch cautiously chimed in. “But…if you don’t mind…”

She left the question open ended, looking across the bed to Aunt Sia, who nodded after a pause. “You’ve got my permission,” she said, letting her hand fall from Garrett’s face to instead take their hand in both of hers. 

Dr. Hutch reached out, resting her hand on the bare skin of Garrett’s bicep, glancing between where they met and the small vial in her other hand. Why did she ask Aunt Sia if she could examine Garrett? They looked almost the same age. I thought you only needed someone’s permission for hospital stuff if you were still a kid. 

Dr. Hutch’s lips moved silently as she counted to herself, looking between the tube of black tar and the air around Garrett. We stood in tense silence as the seconds passed, Dr. Hutch’s face grew from studious, to sad, to worried before she pocketed the vial and looked at Dad. “May I check Jean one more time?” she asked him. 

It took Dad a moment to force his head to turn away from the bed to look back at me. He motioned forward, a silent beckon to go to the doctor, and I listened, swapping my dominant hand for my left at the last second so she wouldn’t have to worry about my cast. 

Dr. Hutch took my hand, staring straight at me in such an uncomfortable way that I let my eyes fall to the ground, listening to the little puffs of air she let off with every silent count and subconsciously counting with her. She hit ten, and I raised my head to watch her stare at the air around me before clearing her throat, letting go of both Garrett and I. “Dr. Sims, if I may have a moment with you?” She asked, motioning towards the door. He nodded, passing Brent to head out while Dr. Hutch looked between Dad and I. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said genuinely. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say more, but she faltered, instead giving us both a nod before moving around me to leave the room. 

The door closing seemed to activate something in Dad, because he spun around to look at Aunt Sia, and while I couldn’t see his eyes, his jaw was tense. “You didn’t think to warn me about who we were going to see before coming here?” He asked Aunt Sia.

She seemed a bit miffed. “Well, considering you left without telling them goodbye, I just figured you two weren’t all that close.”

Dad immediately bristled. “I didn’t have a choice,” he retorted, eyes aflame. “You know that.”

Brent, deciding to diffuse whatever was about to happen, slightly raised his hand like he was in class, asking without waiting, “So, who exactly is this?” 

Dad glanced back, eyes hesitating on where I stood in the meantime, and seemed to remember we were in the room with him. “They’re…They were a therapist of mine, I guess.” He said. “After your mom…we were hunkered down in Seattle for about two months while the government tried to fight my enrollment into witness protection during the trials. They tried to help me.”

So the person in the bed was his…therapist? 

Dad turned to look at Aunt Sia again, who grabbed the bedside chair to scoot it closer to Garrett. “What happened, though?” 

She sighed. “Curdun happened,” she said at first, as if that explained everything. But then she readjusted, flicking a corner of the quilt off of her leg as it fell with her movement. “They’d been bad for a while. It started maybe a year after you left? They…they tried toughing it out on their own for a while, but it got worse, so much worse. They called me about seven years ago asking if I’d help them. Make sure they were taken care of before this happened.”

“That’s why you left.” Dad realized. Seven years ago, this person asked for her help. Seven years ago, she moved. “You said you were leaving to oversee COLE openings on the east coast.”

“I was.” Aunt Sia said. “But I also needed to be here to help with their care. They needed someone to sign off on documents when they…” she motioned at them in the bed, the unfocused eyes and slack jaw. 

Dad’s head shook, and he almost seemed annoyed at the lack of answers. “This—they have conducrinopathy. Like Jean. What caused that?”

“When they were in Curdun, they were given an implant right—” Aunt Sia raised a hand somewhere near her temple, “—around here. It completely hindered their powers while they were in there, and stayed in after they got out.”

“You can do that?” Brent asked, genuinely shocked. 

“Augustine figured out how.” Aunt Sia responded curtly, tension in her voice. “It may not have worked fully, but it worked well enough. They weren’t able to do anything to the normal degree of their power.”

Dad had slowly begun to shake his head in the middle of Aunt Sia’s sentence, like he didn’t agree with her despite her conviction. “No, that doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Garrett, they—I knew them after Curdun. Their powers were working fine then!” 

“You saw who they were after the implant failed to keep them powerless,” Aunt Sia said softly. “But it did something, and they started getting bad. They…we thought the implant just affected their motor skills for a bit, and then they started forgetting. Seeing things. Eugene was the first to suggest it might be conducrinopathy. We’ve been trying to figure it out since.”

Dad opened his mouth to speak, and was instead immediately interrupted by Dr. Sims reentering the room, followed by a snow-covered and eyeglass-wearing Zeke. Dad’s mood immediately shifted, something Zeke could sense as well as he went on the offensive. “We’ve got news vans pulling up right now,”

“What?” Dad hissed, brushing past Brent and moving to the window on my left. He pressed his face against the glass, head swinging both ways before he cursed under his breath. “Can’t see shit,”

“The main entrance is to the southwest,” Dr. Sims grumbled, evidently not excited about being cornered at a hospital again. “We need to start putting a face mask on you when we’re in public, Delsin.”

Aunt Sia sighed. “It probably doesn’t help that we’re both here as well, Eugene.” She reminds him. “There’s a lot of animosity for us right now, too.”

Not to mention me. 

I let my head hang, looking at the patterns in the flooring as Dad asked, “What’s going on, you two? Why are we here? What happened to Garrett?”

There was a pause as Dr. Sims and Aunt Sia looked at each other, having some sort of silent conversation on who should actually answer Dad’s question. It seemed Dr. Sims lost the mental game of rock-paper-scissors, as he cleared his throat and said, “When I started the conducrinopathy study a few years ago, Jorrer was already showing symptoms of Lewy-Body dementia—but there were some preceding symptoms that were worrisome. We could never get many answers on why or how…until now.”

Aunt Sia turned when he said that, and Dad glanced between the two of them. “What do you mean?”

“We didn’t know if Garrett’s conducrinopathy was caused by their disease, or the implant, or somehow both. And with them being the only other prime Conduit to experience it, we needed to see if their manifestations were related in any way.” Dr. Sims paused, moving to cross his arms. “Dr. Hutch was able to confirm that, whatever it is in the tar that made Jean sick is what made Jorrer ill too.”

“What?” Aunt Sia whispered, aghast. 

Dad shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Dr. Sims reached into the pocket of his top coat, pulling out that goddamn vial of tar. “The aural signatures on this match both Jean and Jorrer.”

“That can’t—” Aunt Sia struggled with her words for a moment. “Garrett was never injected with anything. What do you mean their illness is related to the tar?”

Dad scoffed. “Augustine’s really at the center of this.” He began to pace, running a hand over his face before spinning around to face Dr. Sims. “Is that why those assholes broke her out of Curdun?”

“We still know nothing about the implant they were given,” Dr. Sims reminded them both. “We can’t examine it without extensive surgery that I’m not even sure Jorrer would survive—“

“An implant?” Zeke looked at Dr. Sims like that word mattered, obviously trying to grapple with information past.

Dr. Sims’ brow furrowed. “Yes, when—when Jorrer was in custody with the DUP, they placed an implant in their brain. We assumed for the longest time that that’s what caused their decline—”

“Did nobody plan on telling me about any of this?” Dad demanded, looking angered. 

“When Cole was snatched up by Moya, she was going to put an implant in his head.” Zeke said. “He said DARPA wanted to control him and his powers.”

“They what?” Aunt Sia nearly demanded as Dad decided that was a good enough statement to give Zeke attention, turning to actually face the man. 

“Do you know anything else?” Dr. Sims asked, moving to set the vial of tar on the overbed table to my left and instead pull out his phone. I barely caught him opening his notes app before he left to stand next to Zeke, beginning to fire questions at a rapid pace. 

Everyone kept talking over each other, the sound more like arguing than trying to solve whatever mystery was at their hands. Brent was falling silent on my side, and I couldn’t blame him—especially as we both looked at Garrett Jorrer. God, was that going to be me? Trapped in a bed and held down by tubing, not able to acknowledge the world around me? 

Well, no, that wasn’t true; as Dad and the other adults got a bit loud trying to talk over each other, I watched Garrett shift, readjust like they wanted to move away from the sound. Dr. Sims said something about them having dementia, right? I didn’t really get how it worked, but…there was still a person under there. They could have lucid moments, I was sure of it. Maybe it just needed a little prompting. 

I moved to step forward, Brent shooting out a hand to grab me by the arm and whisper, “The fuck are you doing?”

“They’ve gotta know something,” I murmured back, glancing over at the adults; they were all standing in a circle, more concentrated on whatever Dr. Sims was pulling up on his phone than us. “I’m gonna see if they can tell me anything.”

“They’re drooling on their shirt.” He deadpanned. “You really think they’re gonna answer any questions for you?”

I shrugged off his hold. “If what Dr. Sims said is true, they’ve been sick for a while. And if it happened in Curdun? Whatever made them sick would have happened before Mom’s, even if it took longer for them to show it. They’ve gotta know something.”

“We don’t know if Mom had the same sickness you did,” Brent hissed back in a whisper. “It’s not like we can test her.”

“No, but—” I cut off, “Process of elimination here, Brent. Every forced Conduit from Curdun ends up sick, two normal Conduits end up sick—and then I end up sick after meeting Augustine? There’s a common denominator.”

I kept his gaze, unwavering; he had to admit it was weird. It was! Something was going on and Augustine was at the core of it. Brent’s jaw flexed but he let me go, seeming entirely uncomfortable with the idea but relenting nonetheless. I broke from the place Dr. Hutch left me in and got closer to the bed, crouching beside it. 

And I faltered, because I had no idea how to even start shooting questions at someone so cognitively impaired. 

Garrett’s head was turned away from the noise now, staring indiscriminately at the floor beside me. They looked…uncomfortable, and I could imagine why. I actually felt pretty bad trying to pull something out of them when they were obviously hating how many people were in the room at the moment. “Hi,” I decided to say, keeping my voice soft. A greeting was the best way to start, right? Probably an introduction too. “I-I’m Jean.”

Nothing. 

My mouth grappled on air for a second as I tried to find more words. “I…I don’t know if you can really understand me right now, but you might know what’s wrong with me. With us. And if you can…if you can tell us anything about it, that would really help.”

Nothing. 

I looked over at Dad, who was busy trying to pull more answers about Garrett’s past from Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims, head swiveling over to Zeke as he asked if he knew more about DARPA. I hated seeing it. I hated knowing that we were both unknown variables treated like volatile solutions that would explode if jostled. Maybe they hated it too. “Look, you were in Curdun Cay, right? My—Alessia said something about an implant. And there’s some doctor here who thinks that whatever made me sick did it to you, too.” 

I turned, grabbing the vial from their rolling table and putting it in their line of vision. I didn’t want everyone talking about what was going on with them without involving them. It was unfair. I know I hated it.

The tar in the vial moved like syrup—and I watched Garrett as their eyes tracked it. They were starting to understand something, I just needed to keep pushing. “This is what was put in me,” I continued, a bit more feverish now. Did lucidity in these sorta patients have a timer? “Augustine put it in me, and I think she did the same to you. She—” I reached out with my dominant hand and took theirs gently, letting them feel the awkward press of my cast’s lattice. “She did this, do you—”

“Jean!” Dad snapped, making me jolt in place, “What are you doing?”

I blinked, confused; everyone was now turned to look at me and, aside from Brent, they all looked…scared? “I’m…” I drew off, glancing between Dad and Aunt Sia, who had started to walk towards the bed with her hands out like she was placating a wild animal. “I’m just trying to talk to them, see if—”

I wasn’t prepared for the yank on my arm. 

Garrett’s fingers laced around my wrist and pulled me forward, the move sending me sprawling forward as I lost balance on the balls of my feet. With one hand pinned in theirs and the other holding glass, I had to use my elbow to brace my fall, the jostle enough to light up a nerve hiding in the crevices of my bone and send the film glasses fluttering off of my face. I followed their fall, eyes only peeling away to look at the white-knuckled grip Garrett had on my wrist before glancing up, blood running cold when I saw how hard Garrett was staring at me.

Their eyes were this marbled blue, the sort of hue you expect a diamond to actually be, and the moment I met them, everything around me ceased to exist. The pain from my funny bone disappeared, Aunt Sia yelling my name left—all that existed was that blue. 

The shade spread, tunneling my vision into the icy hue before the edges turned platinum, and I lost all sense of where I was. 

Love you @neverdewitt

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

reading dungeon meshi

[hussyknee]

4th ECT session yesterday. Two more to go. The first one made my brain feel like a shuffled deck of cards, by now it feels like holey cheese. I can't remember half my life for the last few months, I can't remember half my current hyperfixation book, I have no memory of reading any of the fics I've bookmarked the last two weeks, I keep forgetting what year and month and day of the week it is. I keep forgetting words. I don't feel connected to anything in my life. Just an electron adrift in the vast.

This some Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind shit. Maybe how it works is you can't be depressed if you can't remember what you're depressed about. Amnesia fics are ruined for me forever. By next week I might go full-on Bourne Identity.

Never doing this again thanks very much.

(Just to be clear though, it's nothing like the ableist Cuckoo's Nest movie stuff. All I ever remember is the sedative being administered through the cannula and then being told to get down off the bed and wheeled into the ward. Don't even remember falling asleep. The most I've gotten is a slight headache afterwards.)

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

bitches hate me 'cause im in my no fucks given era, and I'm like, 'stay mad darling'

[anationofthieves]

omg i love your icon so much <3

Hi!! 😀

Oh my, thank you so much, I made it aaaaaaages ago, like literal years! I was taking a glance at my icons page the other day when I saw it, and what better occasion than now to use it again?! (also I miss Miranda, like a lot 🥺)?!

[secretsinthesilentdark]

Hello and welcome to my blog!

The name's Pik (they/them)!

(But you can also call me Tree :3)

Age: 20

This here is my main blog! I only really reblog stuff on here with the occasional ask thrown in. If you would like, you can check out my side blog @trees-can-draw where I post my art! I also sometimes reblog my art to my main, but only a select few pieces end up on here.

You can find my art under the tag '#art from the sideblog'

Asks are tagged with '#ask and ye shall receive'

(Check the tags of this post for easy access uwu)

You can send me asks about pretty much anything, as long as you keep it sfw and be respectful, thank you! And if there is anything that you need tagged please tell me so I can do so as soon as I am able!

(Heads up, I ramble in the tags sometimes, but you can ignore them, no worries <3)

Have a nice day/night~

[midnight-sodium]

full disclosure i am posting this to my gfs tumblr while shes in the bathroom but i need yall to see this one

Q: hey can you wait while i run in to (bathroom)

A: for what exactly?

Q: for me to come back and smoke more weed with me!

A: right but do i stop? just sit here?

Q:no you can listen to music and stuff still???

A: right but what am i waiting to do exactly?

Q: smoke with me?

A: no no i mean what specific task am i refraining from doing while i await your return?

Q: .... going inside?

A: oh cool okay thanks. that just felt convoluted in my head via the vagueness of the assignment

Q: (chuckling) sorry!

A: this is how you end up with people sitting on cliffs for eternity!

(door shuts lol)

[neverendingford]

.

[a-sleepy-ginger]

26/5/24

✿❈✿❈✿

Managed to remember an essay

Toast

Started watching witch from mercury

[flowersforbucky]

lacy

bucky barnes x reader

i don't usually write short drabbles for bucky but i miss him and thought i'd put this little thought into words to get out of a bit of a writing slump that i've been in ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ happy valentine's day, babies

summary: bucky doesn't remember undergarments having so much fucking lace in the forties. but he thinks he can get used to it.

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, adult themes, sensuality and implied smut, language, reader is afab, sweet teasing and banter, tfatws era

word count: 770+

bucky barnes masterlist

“What? Was lingerie not a thing back in the forties?”

Bucky watches from his position on the bed as you unzip your cocktail dress, the fabric falling from your shoulders and to the floor around your feet. He lays back against the headboard, his hands crossed behind his head. His eyes roam from the strappy heels that you have yet to shed and up your legs until his eyes settle on the black lace thigh holster that connects to a garter belt and matching panties.

You remove the small pistol from the holster, placing it on the dresser beside you before stepping away from the pool of burgundy colored satin at your feet. You crawl onto the bed, the peaks of your breasts threatening to spill out of your bra. You look up at him with a raised brow, still awaiting an answer to your question.

“It was,” he hums. “Can’t say I ever saw anything quite like this, though.”

He’s never seen anything quite like you is what he’s really thinking, but he bites his tongue. His feelings for you are far from being a secret, but he sometimes worries that if he truly spoke his mind every time he thought about how attractive he finds you, he’d never shut up.

His words are still true, though. He’d seen plenty of silk nightgowns and camisoles, but this – the intricate floral embroidery, the lace-lined edges of the cups of your bra, and the way the tight material accentuates every one of your curves just right – this is new territory for him.

“Never?” you quip. You crawl over him, positioning yourself across his lap. His hands come to rest on either side of your hips, the contrasting warmth of flesh and iciness of vibranium eliciting goosebumps across your exposed skin. “Not even online?”

He digs the tips of his fingers into the meat of your hips with the faintest amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss the way it makes you squirm, your clothed center nudging against the growing bulge concealed by his jeans.

“Online?” He huffs a laugh. “I think you’re forgetting that I have a flip phone.”

“Would it convince you to finally get a smartphone if I said I’d send you pictures of me wearing shit like this?”

He laughs, confident that you’d do just that. Considering the fact that you had been teasing him during a mission just a few hours prior, he doesn’t doubt for a second that you’d be more than happy to utilize technology to make him flustered.

“Tempting,” he admits. He dips a metal finger under the waistband of your panties, toying with it before lightly popping it against your skin. “But I have a hard time believing that pictures could do the real thing justice.”

You roll your eyes, playfully poking him in a spot between his ribs that you know to be ticklish. “You’re no fun.”

As swiftly as he can, he flips you so that you’re now pinned between him and the mattress. You look up at him with wide eyes, taken off guard by the sudden change in positions. Still, you automatically spread your legs enough for him to lay between them. He hovers above you, his gaze trailing from the mounds of your breast that peak out from the confines of the lacy bra and up to your lips.

He sits back on his knees, pulling your thigh back so he can grab one of your feet in his hands. He slowly slips the high heel off, not taking his eyes off of you as he tosses it behind him on the bed. He repeats the motion with your other foot, and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“I'm no fun, huh? Does that mean you don’t want to sit on my face?”

Teasing you a little won’t hurt, he supposes. You’re normally the one dishing it out, and he’s normally the one blushing like a school girl – but he’s got to admit, he likes the way you’re looking at him right now. His heightened senses pick up on the familiar scent of your arousal and your quickened heart rate. He doesn’t need you to vocalize how you’re feeling or what you want; your body gives you away.

“Are you gonna take all of this off of me, or am I gonna have to?”

Your voice is teasing, but Bucky doesn’t miss the edge of impatience that slips through. He chuckles, taking one last, long look at the frilly undergarments. He likes them a lot, he can’t deny it – but he likes you without them even more.

recent bucky fics

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