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endearng · 1 day ago

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Doomed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: If you and Spencer had a nickel every time someone teased you after witnessing your interactions, you'd have two nickels, which isn't much — but it's weird that it happened twice. WC: 4.4k Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I'm so obsessed with them... in a normal amount of course. I'm thinking about writing casually for them, who knows... Also,,,, who am I if not a morcia truther….. I hope you enjoy it! Feedbacks are always appreciated <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

You were doomed from the moment he bid you goodbye.

"So, who's he?" Victoria inquired, a sly smirk on her face and a bashful expression on yours.

"Who's who?" You asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

She groaned playfully, "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't." You winked, sitting on your couch again, between the two women. Sex and the City was playing on the TV across from the three of you.

"You're acting like us as freshmen when the seniors looked at us—" she retorted.

"I thought we didn't talk about that," Jude deadpanned.

"You're 'I don't know what you're talking about' me? I thought we were friends!" Victoria poked you in the rib.

"Ouch! He's just a friendly neighbor, that's it." You said, trying to cut the subject. Jude looked at you suspiciously. "White wine time."

From Spencer's apartment, he could hear the sound of chatter, joyful laughter and opening bottles for the rest of the night. He didn't know how to feel by your invitation, now that he had calmed down after looking you in the eye for a moment, technically, all by yourselves. He would definitely feel inappropriate at a kid's birthday where he barely knew the people who invited him, but he thought that Olivia's gesture was amazingly endearing. What could possibly be more childishly adorable than an infant trying to help and making a 'mistake'? And what could possibly be more devastatingly endearing than a mother taking advantage of said mistake to make it right?

Spencer studied the card for a moment. It fit the palm of his hand, tiny and delicate. It had a different address from yours and the time of the party, all of it lovely handwritten, just like the letters from calligraphy practice notebooks. It seemed like Olivia put a lot of effort in trying to perfect her handiwork. It read:

Hey, it's Oli!

I'm turning six and I want to celebrate it with you!

The contents of the slip of paper were adorned by dainty drawings related to birthdays: party hats, cake, gifts, some decoration and so on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually becoming closer to the people he always thought lived a perfect life. His mind had a tendency to wander and, for a fleeting moment, he thought about what it would be like to be part of that perfect life.

Olivia was a perfectionist child. He saw the expected behavior of the age in her manners, but the care with her work almost made him think someone else had done it for her. Something told him it wasn't the case, though.

Secured by two magnets, he placed Olivia's birthday party invitation on his fridge. You know, just so he wouldn't forget it — he tried to convince himself.

Everybody knew about his otherworldly memory, but he decided to forget it purposefully.

"Good morning, good ghost. I didn't see you anymore." Olivia greeted as she saw Spencer in front of the elevator. You were just locking your door closed, hyping yourself up for the week ahead of you when you heard it and a shiver ran down your spine. This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia!" He said, a sweet tone of voice. You melted. "It's true. It's been a while. I was here on the weekend, but it seemed like you had other plans." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She did it in a heartbeat.

"I was with my grandma and grandpa. They took me to the movies and grandpa made me lasagna." She explained as you approached them, adjusting your bag and Olivia's backpack in each of your arms. "Did'ya get my birthday party invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Thank you for inviting me. But, you know, your mother probably needed the rest of them for the other guests." He said as the elevator opened. He gestured for you to enter it first, so you did it with a grateful nod.

"Sorry, mommy. I didn't mean it." Olivia looked at you briefly, ashamed that you would call her out.

"I know, baby, 's okay. Everyone has one now." You assured her with a light tone. Breathe. "Hi, Spencer. Good morning." You said as he joined you in the elevator.

He breathed out, "Good morning. Hi." He had a big smile on his face, standing right next to you, you both facing the door and Olivia in front of you. Internally, he felt like a puppy who had his owners’ undivided attention.

Olivia pressed the button to the lobby. You noticed a book in his hands. Courage. "So, what are you reading, Spencer?"

He gulped. Were you talking to him? It took him a moment to get a grip and realize that he hadn't answered you. Struggling to find the words and suddenly unable to remember what he was actually reading. "Me? I'm just re-reading one of Dostoievski's books. Notes from Underground."

"Dosto-what?" Olivia chipped in.

You looked at her, ready to tell her to not interrupt someone, but couldn't stop yourself from giggling. Spencer watched it fondly. "It's Dostoievski, baby. D'you remember that one book with the 'ugly' cover that mommy was reading the other day?" You asked her, air quoting the word 'ugly'. “It wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t pink.” You explained it, looking at Spencer. He grinned.

"Yeah. You didn't read to me because it was work." She said, getting distracted with one of her braids.

"Are you a teacher?" He asked, intrigued.

"No. I actually work for a publishing company. Sometimes I have interesting content to revise." You said, a tinge of irony in your voice. He smiled at you, feeling comfortable enough to joke around him without the awkwardness of that first encounter.

The elevator door opened. Olivia jumped out. "I bet it's interesting," was the best he could come up with. Tongue tied.

“Yeah. It’s a good book.”

Like a fucking teenager, he watched as you left with your daughter. Your mixed laughter echoing in the lobby as Olivia spinned around while you carried the weight all by yourself.

He scolded himself for not remembering to offer you help.

Two days later, a few states over, Spencer sat on a chair at the conference room of the precinct they were working with. The case was exhausting and he just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't that simple. He waited for Derek Morgan — he was his ride that night back to the hotel they were crashing on. He was in front of Derek as he and Penelope talked, her image on the computer screen. The man's nonchalant tone was a riddle for her to unsolve — everyone else was aware that there was definitely something between them (an unspoken dictionary worth of words), even if their interactions were deemed as jokes. Penelope, feeling very shy, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at her lap after a particular comment about her smile. As she did so, her eyes caught a glance of her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she murmured, relieved to have a way out of the exchange that had high chances of turning her into a nervous wreck. "I'm so sorry, handsome! Tomorrow is one of my friend's daughter's birthday."

A flash of disappointment crossed Derek's features. Not that she'd noticed. Instead of pressing her, he chose to say, "Need extra energy to keep up with the kids, babygirl?" Ah, there was it. The teasing tone. She was definitely imagining things.

"Not as much as I need to keep up with you, tiger," she replied with a wink, the dynamic between them quickly shifting back to the usual playful banter. Both of them wanted more than playful and far more than banter, but none of them had the courage to admit it, to be straightforward about it. Spencer understood it, really. Speaking made things too real. "But, seriously. I totally forgot to pick up her gift. Olivia loves reading, so I'll go to the mall. I'm glad I already bought it, so I won't get home late."

If he was a dog, Spencer's ears would have definitely perked up from how quickly he associated one thing to another. Could it be the same Olivia? Your Olivia? "Okay, mama. Be safe." Derek said.

"I will," she smiled as she hung up.

Idiots.

Maybe Derek was too serious about the "no profiling each other" rule they set.

"Let’s go, pretty boy," The dark-skinned agent stated. Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to the elevator with her.

As they chatted about nothing in particular, walking out of the precinct, he desperately wanted to ask him if she truly didn't see past Penelope's sudden shyness. It wasn't in his nature to do that, of course, but as Derek and Penelope were two of the most important people in his life, he wondered why wouldn't they be a thing by now, since they enjoyed themselves so much and were so open about their affections towards one another.

He was quickly ripped away from his thoughts when the man suddenly spoke up, “So, what's your deal lately, Reid? What's she like?"

The doctor choked on his own saliva, which made him cough like crazy. Derek laughed, but tried to help his panicked friend. "What was that, man?" he asked worriedly, once he saw Spencer had finally inhaled a gulp of air.

Face as red as a tomato, cough dying in his throat, "what was what?" Derek returned to his normal self once he noticed his friend was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

"You're gonna act dumb now that you almost died when I talked about her?" Derek questioned, teasing tone, "it was just a lucky guess, but I see you, Reid. You're daydreaming far too often for what's acceptable for the boy genius who's as focused as a laser beam."

Spencer looked straight ahead as they got to the exit. He should have cornered Derek first. "Why would you think it has anything to do with a 'her'?" He chuckled, nervous to be caught red-handed — even if he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was it wrong to want? He felt like it was. All his life, really. Had no chance to want anything because either was a far too distant reality, person, happiness for him to grasp it or it was ripped away from him too soon, before he could even acknowledge what was happening inside him. That's why want was almost a foreign sensation for Spencer. He had been deprived of it for as long as he could remember.

"Because people get a little dumb when they're in love. At least, ordinary people do. Apparently, so do geniuses," he snickered, his mind also set on teasing Spencer.

Maybe it was dumb to reveal his secret, jaw dropping crush on his cute neighbor, but he wanted some sort of relief to that mess of tangled thoughts inside his head and the strange, to say the least, feelings brewing on his chest whenever he saw you. You barely knew each other. But he supposed it was yet another part of the want he wasn’t familiar with: it didn't need much and it took all consciousness out the door. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest whenever he was on the field, especially since he was often facing danger. The way the events were unfolding were scarily similar to his cases: he noticed you, made up theories based on your behavior and routine, and slowly, oh, so slowly, started to approach you. Not to put you away, but for more personal reasons.

What was different was the feeling in his heart, instead of the sensation of being squeezed painfully inside his ribcage, often leading to ragged breathing, now felt like it was being held delicately by a pair of caring, dainty hands. Either way, his heart was fighting in the frontline and relied on the other part to be calmed and saved. The least he could do was try to be careful, finally opting not saying anything to Derek.

"Just a lot on my mind lately," he chose to say, instead. Derek dropped the subject, too tired to press it further.

Olivia's party had come to an end an hour ago. You got to see old friends and talked until they got every single ounce of information about your life lately and so did you about theirs. Your daughter had enjoyed her party greatly, and hugged every. single. person. who came to wish her happy birthday and thanked them for being there. She paid little attention to the gifts, too focused on spending time with her friends, playing with them until the sugar rush wore off — all of them had a massive candy intake that day. You didn't spend much time with her, but she promised you that she would unwrap her gifts the next morning with you, the most adorable toothless grin on her face.

Despite everything flowing accordingly, all day long, your stomach churned with anticipation. You wondered if Olivia's dad would show up, since the day she was born was, quote, the happiest of his life. His parents did, and when you looked at them anxiously, his mother shot you a neutral glance. Not a word from his end was its meaning. Your daughter never asked anything about him during the day, which made you even more jittery. You feared she would have a breakdown at any time, so you paid extra attention to her.

It never came.

You had missed the deadline of a book chapter that you had to revise, too caught up on trying to balance everything in your life, so your parents told you they'd stay with her so you could go home to work and take her in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't accept it, but your father had decided you were too tired to wake her to go home, so you complied. Right after the guests left, you did all the steps of her night routine, except for the bedtime story — she was that tired of all the running around in the backyard. You were sure she would sleep all night long.

Once she dozed off, you stood for a moment in her grand-bedroom (she had come up with that and it kind of stuck with you). Your parents had decorated it while you were still pregnant. She needs to feel at home, was what your mother said when you walked in on them assembling her crib. You almost cried, overwhelmed with joy. Your fiancé, then, had rolled up his sleeves to help out. Oh, the irony.

Her room was full of photographs that held many memories of her six years of life. You could never imagine that you could love this much, let alone dedicate yourself so entirely to someone like you did for her. Even though it was hard and you often didn't feel like you were enough to raise her on your own, Olivia was a wonderful child and her gestures and overall behavior assured you you were doing a good job. The reflection brought tears to your eyes. You drove home by yourself.

Currently, in your apartment, it felt a little too big without Olivia in there — too many books, too many chairs, too much space on your sofa, too many toys scattered around with nobody to play with them. You sighed, deciding on going to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea — you felt like your brain was hammering inside your skull and you still needed to spend time in front of a computer screen. Going back to your small office to wallow in self pity and second guess yourself even as you read whatever material it was, you heard a knock on the door.

You checked your watch. 9p.m. On a Saturday.

Weird.

Through the peephole, you saw someone you truly weren't expecting. "Spencer?" You asked as you opened the door, surprise filling your being. "I didn't think you'd come, I supposed you were at work. I mean, sometimes it feels like you barely have a routine, heh. But, um, thanks for dropping by." You said, a little unfiltered. Not even five seconds in his presence and you were already making a fool of yourself in front of him.

He held a small bouquet of flowers in one of his hands and a gift in the other. To a stranger's eye, it seemed like he had missed your birthday and was trying to apologize for it. You blushed at the thought. He shut his eyes, sorry crossing his features. "I know. I'm sorry I missed it, even though I really didn't want to. You were right, I was away on a case." You smiled, dismissing his apologies and soothing his worries once you did so.

"It's alright with me. She was totally expecting you, though. Kept asking where you were for the first hour. Then she got distracted with candy," you told him, "so she's the one you're gonna need to apologize to." You joked.

"T—that's why I'm here."

"I'm just not sure if Olivia is old enough to get flowers," you said, face serious. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment to understand, but once he looked at your serious expression cracking, his shoulders shook with laughter, with you. If you had more attention, you'd seen the moment his ears turned red.

Your laughter died down. A beat of silence. "These are actually for you." He revealed.

You were stunned. "Oh," you said, suddenly at a loss of words. "Thank you so much."

He gave you the flowers and you gracefully accepted. You were mesmerized by them; colors swimming in harmony before your eyes and the scent making you feel dizzy. Maybe not the scent, but the emotions you were feeling with the surprise. He went out of his way to get you those flowers — it's safe to say that it had been a while since you felt that way. "I—I have no words, Spencer. Really. Thank you so much," your voice choked.

You looked at each other for a brief moment. You tried to show how much you appreciated his gesture. You grinned, trying to get out of that haze, "Do you want to come in? Oli's with my parents, so you won't be able to apologize today," you quipped, making room for him to enter.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"You can place the giftbox on the coffee table." He went inside, toeing off his shoes in the small space you had before the living room. Once he was there, he saw you enter the kitchen to find a vase. He could see you from where he stood. "Make yourself at home. Do you want some tea? I have Earl Gray."

Your voice was distant as he took in his surroundings. "Yeah, I'd like it." He murmured as he looked around. Your walls were a light gray, adorned with pictures of you and Olivia, some people he assumed were some of your friends. The wall behind the sofa was entirely covered by a big bookshelf that went from one end to the other, filled with books and souvenirs from basically everywhere. The dark wood of the furniture complemented the light walls in a cozy way, some toys and kids books scattered around the floor. The apartment smelled like fresh printed sheets of paper and earl gray tea. You had a few indoor plants that looked well taken care of. Spencer was admiring your degree from Stanford, which hung on the wall beside the TV, almost close to the door.

"One of my biggest achievements. Besides Olivia, of course," you approached him with his mug of tea. Turning to you, he noticed through his peripheral vision that you had placed the flowers inside a vase and in your coffee table.

"Thanks," he said.

"So... are you okay?"

The question caught him off guard. What?

You smiled a little. "You always look kinda tired when I see you," you said, not thinking about how your words might be interpreted. Your eyes widened, realizing it. "I mean, no! Sorry! You're still pretty, don't worry. It's just— I asked because you might be going through something. Forget I said anything about your looks."

He would definitely never forget.

Spencer laughed, flustered, eyes softly gazing at you while you rambled like a madman. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sometimes my job is a little demanding and I'm forced to see some things that usually people don't even think exist," he confessed.

You bit your lip. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," he retorted, "I have a great team to work with."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry I brought it up, you probably don't want to talk about work right now." You said, sipping on your tea.

"Yeah, you're right, again," he chuckled. "How was Olivia's birthday?" He tried a change of subject.

"That was actually the reason I was moping when you got here," you said, trying to force a chuckle. "It was nice, I guess. I was just on edge all day trying to anticipate her emotions regarding her dad, but I guess they never came. At least, not today." You beckoned him to sit with you on the couch, now facing each other directly.

"May I ask why?" He asked, tentatively.

"Why what?"

More hesitance. "Why wasn't he there?"

"From what I know, he moved away." You said, tone unreadable.

He worried that he was overstepping and wasn't sure that he would like to hear more about it. He was scared to find out unpleasant news, such as you still had feelings for him. "I'm sorry." Was all he could muster.

"Don't be. I have a great team," you repeated his words from earlier and he smiled at you.

His brain and tongue didn't seem to be working together that night, he was so avid to know more. "Did you always have support?"

"My parents didn't like the idea of having a single mother when they first heard it. It hit me hard back then, but then I realized it was better to be alone than to stay in an unhappy relationship, especially since Olivia was already in the picture." You said, setting your own mug on the coffee table.

"What happened?" Stop it.

He couldn't help it, he was too curious. It was his first opportunity to truly know the novel sort of family that you had. Apparently, not so much.

"He was distant before leaving. Someone else, maybe?" You asked, rhetorically, a crease between your eyebrows. "I never found out, but I don't want or need to, either. His parents absolutely love Olivia and they were there today, 's all that matters."

"You’re a very strong person."

"I have to be," you said, softly. "You’re a very good listener."

A rush of courage running through his veins. Deciding on not taking the road of unsaid things, like his friends were earlier. Don’t dance around the subject, take the opportunity. Dare. "And you're just as pretty."

The world stopped. You looked at him in disbelief. It didn't last much. A knock on your door. Scratch that: someone banging on your door.

You pinched your eyebrows together. Spencer stood up, almost as if he was doing something wrong. You looked at him, apologizing, "I'm not expecting anyone."

You walked to the door and he stood behind you, telling you he was going to let you be. You didn't want to and you were already chastising yourself from not trying to talk to him and focusing on your problems instead. You opened the door and in the threshold stood Penelope Garcia, gift basket in hands. Before you could speak, both of your guests spoke at the same time.

A mortified "Garcia?" from Spencer.

A surprised "Spencer?" from Penelope.

Finally, a confused "Do you know each other?" from you.

"Yeah. We work together." Spencer replied. "What are you doing here, Penelope?"

"What are you doing here, boygenius?" Her tone now was teasing, a cheshire grin on her face. You were acting confused, but you were loving to see Spencer so out of place.

"I... I was..." He trailed off.

Poor thing. "He came to drop Olivia's gift. We're neighbors." You explained, trying to save him from further embarrassment.

She glanced between you two, eyes full of mirth behind her glasses. "I'm here to do the same." She said, smiling as she handed you the basket, which you took carefully and thanked her with a side hug. "There's her present, sweetcheeks. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, you know how much I miss you and Olivia. But I'm sure our genius told you all about it." Her sentimental words truly held emotion, but she turned her attention to Spencer once again. The opportunity was too good to let go.

Spencer looked like a fish out of water. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. "Garcia, can we talk?" He asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He murmured in a much more soft tone to you.

He could never resume whatever was going on in there because he felt like he had been caught with his pants down.

You were so surprised you didn't even process what was your answer, forgetting to ask if Penelope wanted to come in or anything. "I—Okay. I'll see you, then." With a small smile and slight disappointment in your voice. He all but dashed out of your apartment and took Garcia, who had a mischievous expression on her face, with him. You closed your door and looked at the mix of flowers. A sigh escaped you. Damn, Garcia.

Spencer was escorting Penelope back to her car, ready to bury himself alive because he knew she would run her mouth and knew precisely to whom she would tell about it. And, of course, the endless jokes he would hear during the next few days. "Sooooo..." She trailed off, suggestively.

"I—don't want to talk." She opened her mouth, but had no success in talking. "Not. A. Word."

She entered her car and started the engine as he waited for her to go. But before she started driving, she yelled, "I knew you had it in you, Reid."

From your balcony, work long forgotten, you watched Spencer hide his face in his hands in utter embarrassment.

You were doomed.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x singlemom!reader #spencer reid neighbors au

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erensfeed · 2 days ago

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content: boyfriends who would flash their headlights before leaving through the driveway, as their way of saying they love you.

note: i really love the concept & idea of a bf so i wrote this.

ps. i still can’t believe that men aren’t real :c

It’d become your ritual by now, this endless loop of ‘I love you more’—something you both say especially when you know you’ll miss each other, even if it’s just for a few hours.

And today, was no different.

You leaned against the doorway, still wrapped in the warmth of his last hug, and watched him shoot you that mischievous grin that always made your heart flutter as he walked backwards away from you.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, his voice softer than his grin suggested as he took another few steps back.

Laughing, you said his name fondly. “We’re literally seeing each other again soon in like… five hours.”

“Yeah, but that's like…” he gently shook his head like you didn’t understand. “…forever.” he added, a small feigned frown forming on his face after.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but with a soft smile, you reminded him, “What matters is that at the end of the day, you’ll be back in my arms.”

And just like that, his expression softened, eyes warm as he took in those words.

“Fine… I love you.” he said as he was taking another step back, and by now, it’s instinctive — so with a sly smile, you fired it right back at him, no hesitation. “Mmm, I love you more.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head once more as he started toward his car, already knowing where this was headed. “Okay, you know I’m not gonna let you win this one, right?”

“Oh, you just keep telling yourself that babe,” you teased lightly, a warm laugh slipping out.

"Only ‘cause it’s true,” his grin widened as he opened the car door. But before getting in, he lifted his hand to draw a quick heart over his chest, then pointed back at you as his way of saying—it’s all yours. And just to make sure you knew, he added, “That means I love you more."

He got you there, you couldn’t lie. Shaking your head, you decided to let him think he had the last word by nodding and even giving him a little wave as he climbed into the car. Once he settled in, you made a quick and small ‘buckle up’ gesture to remind him to, and he caught it right away. Through the windshield, you could see him mouth a ‘oh oops—yes, ma'am’ before that. And you noticed he never took his eyes off you as he clicked it in place, giving you a double thumbs-up with a boyish grin after.

Still smiling, you lifted your hand, making a little phone gesture by your ear—another silent reminder for him as you also mouthed a, ‘Call me when you get there, okay?’

He laughed, nodding exaggeratedly, as if he had no intention of forgetting as he started the engine. Already, you could feel that warm tug in your chest, the one that happens when you start missing him.

As he starts backing out onto the road, you couldn’t help it — you thought it softly, adding his name with those three words.

And then, as if he somehow heard you, his headlights flashed one—two—three—four times at you with a smile and a wave, just before he fully backed out from the driveway to the road. A quick, unmistakable, quiet message of:

‘I love you too.’

As you stood there waving back to him, your heart grew full when you processed it, a peaceful, quiet joy filling you as you watched him go.

The moment was so tender, because he was pretty much saying, ‘I’ll always find a way to say it back.’

And honestly, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

After his car had disappeared down the road, you headed back inside the house, settling onto the couch—that same small panging feeling of missing him coming back again. When suddenly, an impulse struck, and with a smirk, you whipped out your phone to quickly type out:

⊹ don’t think i’m letting you off that easily tho babe 🤑 i still love you the most 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

Seeing your text at the next stoplight, he smiled to himself like a fool.

eren. gojo. rafayel. caleb. jean. + your favs !

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bhosadverse · 3 days ago

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I'll kiss you (when you're not about to sneeze in my face)

james potter x gn!reader (friends to lovers)

a/n: is my obsession w using parentheses in titles obvs? duh. also this was inspired from this

c/w: fluff, implied gryffindor reader but not rlly, side wolfstar and rosekiller, cat allergies!!!! (james is allergic), usage of nicknames like 'babe' and 'doll' and 'angel', nothing else i can think of so lmk if i missed smth

The sun is shining prettily through the stained glass of the common room windows. As you stretch on the couch, lazily rereading one of your favourite books, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps dashing downstairs. Plopping up from your relaxed position, you turn to look at the staircase just as your favourite redhead-blonde duo appear, talking animatedly about something. Spotting your slacked form, Lily beelines towards the couch, immediately drawing a sound of protest from your lips as you notice her determined expression.

"Come on! You can't waste away a sunny day inside." A petulant whine escapes your lips at her words. "Lils, please, I'm reading!" Marlene tuts in response, now standing behind the couch with her hands on her hips as she looks down at your form much like she's a doctor analysing a patient. "Babe, no. You're turning into a snob."

Lily rolls her eyes at her crass words. "What Marls means is that you should come out with us to enjoy the sun while we can. Winter's almost here, please! You can still read your book too." Scoffing at her pleading form, you cross your arms in feigned irritation, "Stop pouting like that." Marlene nods behind you, agreeing. "Yeah Lils, stop pouting, and help me." "Help you do wha—Marlene McKinnon, unhand me right now!" You shriek with slight outrage as she grabs your hands from behind, giving Lily the cue to tickle you. The redhead looks at you with a devious grin, making you wonder what Professor McGonagall was thinking, making her a prefect. "What's it gonna be, love? Coming with us to the grounds or a merciless tickle attack?" Knowing you can do nothing but yield, you surrender to their whims, making them cheer. Grumbling, you straighten your clothes, glaring at the two, although there is no real heat in your eyes as the three of you start walking.

Chatting idly and affront forgiven, your trio reaches your destination after what seems like an unnecessarily long walk, finding the rest of your friends dawdling about near the lake. "Meadowes!" Marlene hollers, from beside you, her infatuation with the Slytherin painfully obvious as she draws the attention of not only your friends but also half the population on the grounds. You watch as Dorcas, Sirius, Remus and Peter turn their attention to the lot of you as you approach them, immediately taunting the boys, "Where's the funnier one of your group?"

Sirius scoffs, pulling you down next to him playfully. "And here I thought you loved me. It's always the ones you trust the most." You huff in response, swatting him with your hardcover copy lightly. "The truth hurts, Black." You're saved from his inevitable retaliation when Remus beckons you closer. You abandon his other half, scooting up next to the scarred boy with appreciation evident in your expression which drops as soon as he opens his mouth. "James is over there," he nods sassily at the familiar group of Slytherins lazing around further along the water's edge. It's actually not even the entire group of them, just Barty and Evan cuddled up under a tree, with James crouching near them, apparently held in conversation. The sight is so peculiar that you're surprised you didn't notice them sooner. Remus gives you an impish smirk, knowing all about your feelings for the bespectacled boy and you roll your eyes at his nerve. Standing up, you brush off your robes and mumble to your friends who are all giving you knowing looks, "I'll be right back." Sirius eyes you, and then James, teasing salaciously, "Take your time, doll." He receives another swat of the book and a few creative insults before you start walking along the edge of the lake, overhearing the….one-sided conversation he seems to be having? "God, aren't you precious?" he whispers, which makes Barty snicker mockingly, "It's a lost cause, Potter." He looks up at you when your shadow blocks the sunlight from his face, jeering derisively, "Come to collect your boyfriend?" You roll your eyes for the hundredth time and grumble, "We're not dating, Junior."

Before he can say something else that would get him punched, James turns to you, sniffling. "Hi, angel. How are you?" You find yourself horrified as you take in his form. "James, what the hell? Are you petting a cat?" You almost shout, noticing the black little ball of fur near his feet. His face breaks into a grin, even though it looks slightly strained. "Yes! He's so cute, isn't he?" You vaguely hear Barty snicker again as Evan admonishes him half-arsedly but your eyes are on your friend who is apparently stupid enough to pet a cat even when he's allergic.

"Did you forget you're allergic or are you petting that cat knowing you're allergic?" You sigh exasperatedly, suddenly feeling a lot like a single mother of four. James has the decency to look sheepish. "I, uh, didn't forget." He says quietly, like he's disappointed in himself too. He immediately picks up the cat, holding it in front of him like a shield, "But look at him, angel, he's so cute!" You huff in annoyance, immediately taking the admittedly adorable, yowling cat who looks like he is a few seconds away from scratching James' eyes out, and place it on the ground, albeit gently. "Get up, James, we're leaving." James looks down at the cat, almost mournfully before nodding and standing up. "Goodbye, Angel of Darkness." He whispers down to the cat, his voice barely audible, much like a wife's tender farewell to her husband deploying to war. He doesn't see your bewildered expression since he's still bent over the cat, bidding adieu, but the couple under the tree do, Barty giggling like he finds something terribly funny and Evan smirking, although if that is at his boyfriend's laughter or at the supposedly amusing situation, you're not sure. You ignore it, grabbing James' arm and pulling it lightly, making him turn, the both of you slowly ambling towards your friends.

James, his arm still in your grasp, mumbles, "Godric, my eyes are so itchy." You give him a criminally offensive side eye but stay silent, unaware that you will deeply regret this decision later. You almost laugh, wondering whether you should judge him for apparently being so dumb or be charmed by his frankly endearing behaviour, when James stops in his tracks beside you, making you halt as well. You turn to him, questioning, before you freeze too, absolutely stock still. "James," you start in a heavily measured tone. "Did you…did you rub your eyes?" "No." He replies instantaneously, although the way his eyes, red enough to rival a vampire, are watering rapidly indicate the opposite. You sigh through your nose, crossing your arms and levelling a glare at him. "Try again." He meets your gaze with chagrin, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, although that may just be due to the reaction. "Um, yes."

You shake your head, sighing for the fiftieth time, probably, as you turn around, detouring towards the castle, expecting him to follow. "Angel, I'm sorry!" He apologises immediately, guilt etched on his features like he isn't the one with a runny nose and itchy eyes, and other, probably worse symptoms. Your eyes soften and your pace slows, "Jamie, I'm not mad at you, I'm just worried." His face breaks into a warm grin at that, and even though he looks like shit, a reciprocating smile tugs on your lips instantly. "About me?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily and you roll your eyes, the heat on your face matching his own. "Tosser." You mumble, trying to school your features into a stern glare half-heartedly as you scold in fake annoyance. "But you know you wouldn't have survived in the Muggle world, right? You're so lucky you have Madam Pomfrey."

He takes hold of your hand lightly, stopping the both of you from walking further as you turn to look at him curiously. "I'm lucky I have you too." He says tenderly, eyes soft and touch softer where his hand holds yours. "Your sycophantic tactics won't work on me, Potter." You reply, although your heart stutters in your chest, the way he is looking at you making you nervous. "Oh? What about a kiss? Will that work?" He murmurs softly, your eyes widening as you watch him step closer to you, head ducked to meet your gaze. His face is suave, warm eyes flickering to your lips with intention. However, there is a bit of vulnerability in them too, a hint of nervousness that contrasts the coy persona he is putting up. "Well?" His head tilts slightly to the side, your eyes immediately falling to the skin of his neck as your mouth goes dry. "James," you mutter with as much self-restraint you can muster, your eyes meeting his slightly bloodshot ones again. "I'll kiss you when you're not about to sneeze in my face."

That effectively breaks the tension, and his face scrunches up in something between indignation and disbelief. "I'm not about to sneeze in your f-" He is interrupted by a sneeze. You give him a cocky look, simultaneously relieved and disappointed at the change your conversation has taken. "Angel, it's not my fault, you set it off! You said the 'S' word." He calls accusingly, following your smug form to the Hospital Wing. He isn't much disapproving of it later, though, when you pull him in an empty hallway after the matron fixes him up, letting you kiss him to your (and his) heart's content.

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#james potter #james potter x reader #marauders #marauders era #prongs

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 days ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 19 | End

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Triggering conversation. Character died.

Words Count: 5,588

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

When life seems perfect, it often hides a test—a calm before the storm. For Steve, months after Peggy’s death, everything felt whole, secure. His presidency was steady, bolstered by approval from the public and respect from allies. Policies were sailing through Congress, his popularity was soaring, and his vision for the country was unfolding exactly as planned.

But something gnawed at him, an intuition sharpened by years in the military. A storm was coming—he could feel it.

“Mr. President,” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts as she entered the office with a stack of documents in her arms.

“Yes, Natasha?”

She placed a folder on his desk. “Here’s the speech draft for the press conference announcing your engagement to Miss Hazel,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “If anything… goes south after the announcement.”

Steve took the folder, scanning the first page with a furrowed brow. He plans to introduce Hazel and Nate to the world. The public would need time to adjust to the news, and if the backlash was harsh, he’d be ready with a statement that cast Hazel in a sympathetic light.

“Thank you,” he replied, placing the folder aside.

Just then, the door burst open. An aide stumbled in, looking flushed and frantic. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to see this immediately.” He thrust a tablet onto the desk, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed play.

A news anchor appeared on the screen, her voice grim and insistent. “Breaking news on an international scandal that could shake the nation. Our sources have uncovered what they’re calling ‘Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability.’”

The words "Steve Rogers" flashed across the screen, and the anchor continued, "Our investigation has linked these troubling deals directly to the highest office in the land.”

Steve’s face blanched. His name—his reputation—was being dragged through the mud in front of the entire country. Rage flared within him as he looked up, his jaw tight. “Get the Vice President in here. Now.”

A tense silence settled over the room as they waited. Moments later, Bucky entered, his expression carefully controlled, his eyes meeting Steve’s with a flash of concern.

“Close the door,” Steve ordered, his voice low and taut.

As the door clicked shut, Bucky stood before him, the weight of the situation hanging between them like a loaded gun. Steve’s hand curled into a fist, his voice barely a whisper but laced with fury. “Did you know about this?”

Bucky looked down, drawing a steadying breath, then met Steve’s piercing gaze. “I knew her was digging into things after her friend died, but… I didn’t know it would go this far.” He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t realize how deep she’d go—or how reckless she’d become.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. “So you’re telling me you had no idea?”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his voice weighted with regret. “And I’m sorry, Steve. I’ll make this right. If you need a name to take the fall… blame me. I’ll shoulder this.”

Steve looked at him, surprised. Here was his Vice President—his friend—willing to sacrifice himself to protect him. It would be so easy to accept the offer, to let Bucky take the brunt of the fallout. It would keep Steve’s image intact, and Bucky could be quietly replaced.

But the advantage of having Bucky loyal by his side was too great. “No,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “This wasn’t your doing. And I need you here, not buried under this scandal.”

Bucky stepped forward, his gaze steady. “It’s alright, Steve. I haven’t done much lately as Vice President anyway. Let me take this on. We’re a team, aren’t we? Your problems are mine.”

Steve paused, looking at him, his anger tempered by the loyalty in Bucky’s eyes. “You’d take this for me?”

“Without hesitation,” Bucky replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Steve exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He extended a hand, and Bucky took it, their grips strong, but their shared look even stronger. Then, in a rare moment of mutual trust, Steve pulled him into a fierce, brotherly embrace.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he murmured, his voice softened with unspoken gratitude.

As they pulled back, Bucky’s expression was resolute. “Whatever’s coming,” he said, his voice low, “we’re facing it together.”

Steve nodded, his mind racing with strategy and resolve. The scandal might be a blow, but with Bucky at his side, he felt fortified, ready to weather the storm—no matter how dark it threatened to become.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

With Bucky's promise still fresh in the air, Steve watched as his vice president worked hard to keep issues from flaring up. Bucky stood tall, his confidence showing as he spoke to reporters and citizens, assuring them that their concerns were being handled. But underneath, Steve could sense the tension in Bucky—his jaw tightened, and worry flickered in his eyes whenever new problems popped up.

Each time one issue seemed to fade, another arose, and it always seemed to lead back to you.

As Steve stood in the Oval Office, the weight of the scandals crashing down around him felt almost suffocating. Illegal domestic surveillance, military manipulation, a nuclear program scandal, and Stark Industries' data misuse—all of it traced back to you. The walls felt like they were closing in as he realized you were the mastermind behind this revelation. Even Bucky was oblivious to the full extent of the details.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rising tide of anger and betrayal, and faced you across the room. The tension hung heavy in the air, electric and dangerous. “When will you stop?” he demanded, his voice low and filled with barely restrained fury. “This is not only hurting me but also Bucky.”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your own anger simmering just below the surface. “Come and kill me, you crazy sociopath,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

Steve took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “If you keep doing this, you’ll ruin the future of Nate’s life,” he warned, his tone now tinged with a desperate edge.

“I knew you have a soft spot for him. And I appreciate it,” he sneered. “But imagine him being branded with the image of being the illegitimate child, with his father as the most evil president in history.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Or you could choose this one: he’ll find out who I really am. Instead of shame, he’ll be proud to be the son of the president.”

“You fucking psycho,” you spat, taking a step back, putting space between you and the weight of your shared history. “Using your own son as your shield.”

Steve shook his head, disbelief mingling with a simmering rage. “You hate me because I killed your friend. Sure, I understand that. But if he were still alive, your husband and I probably couldn’t win the election.”

As the two of you locked eyes, the atmosphere crackled with tension—a brutal dance of hurt and anger, intertwined with a strange sense of familiarity. Steve’s breath quickened, the realization dawning on him that the battle wasn’t just external; it was deeply personal, and it threatened to consume them both.

“Everything is about paying back. Everyone in here knows everyone’s secrets.” Steve's voice was cold, his jaw clenched tightly as he glared at you, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, as if holding back the urge to lash out.

"I hate people like you—the idealistic type," Steve said, his voice low and simmering with frustration. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours, the tension in the air palpable. "If you get rid of me, there will only be another just like me."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After talking to Steve, you returned home, your heart still racing with the weight of the conversation. As you stepped through the door, you saw Bucky waiting for you, his expression unreadable. The moment you locked eyes, tension filled the room.

"You’re just a puppet for Steve," you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "I’m so ashamed of you."

Bucky's face hardened, his jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand anything! I’m doing what I have to do," he shot back, his tone sharp and defensive.

“Doing what you have to do?” you scoffed, your hands trembling with anger. “You’re covering up Ian’s death! You’re a coward for letting this happen!” Your words hung heavy in the air, each accusation striking a nerve as you paced back and forth, unable to contain your rage.

Bucky’s eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and anger. “You think it’s that simple? It’s not just about me! I have to protect what’s left of this place, even if it means making sacrifices!” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into his scalp.

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “Sacrifices? You mean sacrificing your integrity? You’ve lost yourself to this game, Bucky! I can’t believe you let Steve manipulate you like this.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, your heated argument was being overheard. Natasha listened intently from the hidden bug that had been planted in the room, her brow furrowed with concern as she glanced at Steve. “Both of them are fighting. Bucky sounds surprised,” she informed him, her tone serious.

Steve leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Good,” he replied, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He relished the chaos unfolding, knowing that conflict could lead to clarity, both for Bucky and for you. The storm brewing between you two was exactly what he needed.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Even though there was turmoil at home, everything had to keep going. Bucky had to accompany Steve to attend the parade. The parade was a vibrant spectacle, a sea of red, white, and blue, with flags fluttering in the crisp air. Cheerful crowds lined the streets, waving banners and chanting the names of their leaders, their excitement palpable.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" they roared, their voices a chorus of admiration for Steve Rogers, who stood tall and confident, a smile breaking across his face as he waved back. The warmth of the people's adoration radiated around him, but as the crowd's energy surged, the atmosphere felt electric, almost frenetic.

Beside him, Bucky Barnes maintained a more stoic demeanor. Though he wore the badge of Vice President, the cheers seemed to pass over him, fewer and far between. He appreciated the excitement but felt a twinge of disappointment that the cheers weren't for him. He turned to Steve, his brow furrowing slightly, and remarked dryly, "You know, I thought they would be a bit more enthusiastic about me."

Steve had brought Bucky here to entertain him because he knew about the problems between Bucky and you. You're wild and couldn't be tamed.

Steve chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, "Put a leash on your wife, or she'll embarrass this country." His laughter rang out, mingling with the cheers of the crowd, but Bucky's gaze drifted past him, scanning the parade route.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, a hint of agreement in his voice, but his eyes were still fixed on the crowd. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite place.

Steve turned to Bucky, his brow slightly furrowed with concern. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Bucky crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he replied, "I told her to be quieter."

“Good,” Steve said, his expression softening a bit. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I’m planning to have Hazel by my side."

Bucky's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "What?" he exclaimed, his posture tensing as he processed the implications of Steve’s words.

"I knew you’d know," Steve said, a hint of regret creeping into his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "And I’m sorry. But I promise you, I will give Hazel and Nate the best future."

Bucky fell silent, the weight of Steve’s promise hanging in the air between them. He looked away for a moment, his thoughts racing, before finally nodding, a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance etched on his face.

Steve smiled, relief washing over him as he saw Bucky's reaction. There was a sense of camaraderie in the moment, a silent understanding forged in the midst of tension. But as Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, hinting at the underlying conflict that still simmered just beneath the surface.

"I'm so glad to have you as my partner," Steve continued, sincerity evident in his tone. "May we work together until we die."

"Until we die," Bucky murmured, his voice almost lost in the surrounding commotion.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise, calling out, "Barnes!" A hand waved from the throng, the first time anyone had shouted his name that day. Bucky glanced at the person but didn’t respond with a wave like Steve did. Instead, he gave a subtle nod, a flicker of acknowledgment that felt more calculated than celebratory.

In that instant, chaos erupted. "KYAAA!!!"

A sharp crack rang out, slicing through the jubilant atmosphere. Bucky staggered as if struck by a physical blow, his eyes widening in shock.

The cheers turned into gasps of disbelief, and screams erupted as the crowd reacted in panic, some dropping to the ground, others frantically searching for cover. The Secret Service sprang into action, "Protect the Vice-President!", a wall of suits forming around Bucky as people pushed back in terror, the once-cheerful parade transformed into a scene of horror.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, rushing forward, his heart pounding as he reached his partner's side. The world around him blurred, and all he could focus on was Bucky, crumpling to the ground.

Everyone was shouting, the air thick with fear and confusion, but all Steve heard was the ragged sound of his own breathing and the desperate cry of his friend. "Bucky!" he repeated, urgency lacing his tone.

Bucky's breath came in ragged gasps, his body sprawled on the pavement. The color drained from his face as he struggled to lift his hand, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers. With a surge of effort, he grasped Steve's arm, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to his partner even as the life slipped away from him. "All hail the President," he managed, his voice weak but resolute.

Steve's expression shifted from shock to horror, his body taut with the weight of impending dread. Bucky's grip tightened, holding him in place as if preventing him from moving, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. "Bucky, stay with me," he urged, desperation lacing his tone.

Bucky locked eyes with Steve, seeing the fear reflected there. A strange calm washed over him as he whispered, "As Nate's father, this is my gift for you."

Then, without warning, a searing pain tore through Steve’s chest, a sharp shot of agony that rooted him to the spot. The world blurred around him as he struggled to comprehend what was happening, realizing in that instant that he was the true target.

Steve felt the impact before he could process the meaning behind Bucky’s words. The world around them seemed to slow as the realization of betrayal hit him. He caught a glimpse of Bucky's fading form, and in that moment, a twisted smirk crept across his lips. "Well played," he murmured, before the darkness consumed him, and he dropped to the ground.

Bucky’s grip slackened, the warmth of his hand slipping away. Bucky’s body went limp, and as everything turned dark around him, Steve felt his own strength faltering.

That day, which was meant to be a celebration, turned into a day of mourning. Two main leaders of the country were injured, and no one knew who was behind the attack. With the most important figures in the nation harmed, it felt like an embarrassment for a country that prided itself on its strength.

Both parties in the government reached a silent agreement to keep the situation under wraps and portray Steve as a hero.

The news headlines that would follow would echo through history: “The President Dies Protecting the Vice President.” It would be a legacy of sacrifice, a testament to their bond. Steve Rogers would forever be remembered as the only president who lost his life protecting another, a tragedy that would resonate for generations.

Everyone would remember him as a good symbol, sacrificing himself for someone, without recalling the darker aspects of his actions. This was the last gift Bucky gave to him.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

2 days later

Bucky's eyes fluttered open, the sterile brightness of the hospital room piercing through the haze of his coma. As his surroundings came into focus, the first thing he saw was you, your face streaked with tears, a mixture of relief and anger etched across your features.

You rushed to his side, gripping his arm tightly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You idiot! What kind of plan was that? Risking your life?"

Bucky's brow furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, his voice hoarse but steady. "Didn't I tell you? I will accept it if you hurt me."

Both of you pretended to fight to keep Steve from suspecting anything. He knew how much Bucky loved you, and with the two of you constantly bickering, he wouldn't notice that someone else had hired an assassin.

It was Caroline. She was the one who hired the sniper to take Steve's life. Don’t mess with a mother—or a woman like her.

Bucky getting shot first was all part of the plan. Caroline’s intention was to take out Steve, but Bucky warned her that he would also become a suspect if that happened.

Instead, he proposed that he get hurt first, diverting everyone’s attention to him, allowing Steve to be vulnerable next.

It was a risky plan—an idiotic one, really. But Bucky insisted, determined to see it through despite the danger that loomed over them all.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, a blend of frustration and relief washing over you. You leaned against his chest, resting your head there, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. In that moment, everything else faded away—the anger, the fear—and all that mattered was that he was alive.

Risking his life was necessary to make his plan work. He didn't want the past six years of his efforts to go to waste.

The past six years had been exhausting for Bucky Barnes. He had immersed himself in the treacherous waters of politics, drawn in by the intoxicating taste of power that left a lingering sweetness on his tongue.

He quickly realized that understanding the law was not merely a tool; it was a weapon. Knowledge of loopholes became his advantage, a means to navigate the convoluted game of governance. But knowing the rules wasn’t enough; he needed to be ruthless. That was where Steve Rogers came into the picture—his mentor, a family friend for years, whose facade of integrity masked a far more sinister reality.

In Bucky’s eyes, Steve had always been perfect, a paragon of virtue. But as time wore on, the veneer began to crack, revealing the monstrous truth lurking beneath.

Steve was a predator cloaked in a hero’s guise. His charming smile belied a voracious greed that left a bloody trail in its wake. It was a shock to discover that Steve had been having an affair with Hazel, and now he was the father of Nate, the child whose very existence felt like a dagger to Bucky’s heart.

This betrayal was too much to bear. Bucky’s hatred for the man he once idolized simmered just below the surface, boiling over as he considered how to dismantle the carefully constructed empire Steve had built. Bucky knew the rules; he understood the political landscape better than most. But how could he bring down someone so deeply entrenched in the system?

Despite all his advantages, Steve believed he was the master of this game. No, he wasn’t. Bucky’s confidence swelled as he acknowledged that Steve’s skills—his war experience, his tactical mind—would ultimately falter against the true currency of politics. In this brutal arena, the real gold was connections and money. Behind every politician lurked unseen puppet masters pulling the strings, and Steve was no exception.

Bucky knew that while Steve had forged connections, he lacked the pedigree that defined the upper echelons of power. Steve had been a nobody until Peggy Carter had invited him into their circle, and that was when they made a monumental mistake—choosing Steve. He might have had his allies, but he would never be blue blood like Bucky and Peggy.

Then there was Peggy. The last straw. Bucky’s heart twisted as he recalled the circumstances of her death. He was all too aware that it had been Steve's machinations that had ultimately led to her demise. Bucky had witnessed the toll it took on her, the way she had struggled under the weight of her decisions, her life unraveling in the shadow of Steve's ambition. Bucky’s hands tightened into fists at the memory.

Caroline had been the voice of caution, her words echoing in his mind: “This is why you never bite the hand that feeds you.”

She may not have been a good mother, but she had been a loyal friend to Peggy, always protecting her interests, ensuring that her secrets remained buried. Bucky could see how easily Caroline could hire an assassin, how she moved through the shadows like a whisper, orchestrating the chaos without ever getting her hands dirty.

He never thought you and Caroline would join forces to rid the world of Steve. With each passing day, Bucky felt the walls closing in, the weight of the decisions he had to make pressing down on him like a vice. Steve would fall; it was only a matter of time.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky stood in the Oval Office, a resolute figure beside the iconic Resolute Desk, a Bible open in front of him. The room was thick with anticipation, everyone watching him intently as he prepared to deliver his vow. His posture was firm, shoulders squared, as he looked around at the faces of his colleagues and allies, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He glanced at the words on the page, drawing strength from their meaning as he readied himself to speak.

With a steady voice, he began, "I stand before you today, not just as your president, but as a servant of the people. I vow to uphold the Constitution, to protect the rights of every citizen, and to work tirelessly for the betterment of our nation. Together, we will fight against corruption and ensure that government truly serves the people. I promise to lead with integrity, to listen to your voices, and to bring about the change we so desperately need."

You stood behind him, pride swelling in your chest as you witnessed Bucky fulfill his promise to become president.

Behind you sat Caroline and Julius, the latter in his wheelchair, their expressions a mix of hope and admiration. Bucky’s oldest brother, Shawn, had called to congratulate him, his voice brimming with encouragement. Your brother Tim stood nearby, a smile on his face, reflecting the joy that filled the room. At the back, Hazel lingered, her posture tense and withdrawn, reluctant to stand close to her family.

As the applause began and everyone congratulated Bucky and you, Natasha approached Hazel, who stood near the corner as if she wanted to hide.

Perhaps she was too embarrassed to be there. Before, she had come to the White House as Steve's mistress, and everyone knew who she was but kept their mouths shut. This time, she was here only as Bucky's sister. “I have something for you,” Natasha said, extending an envelope toward her.

Hazel hesitated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “For me?” she asked, glancing from the letter to Natasha, unsure of what to expect.

Natasha nodded, a subtle smile breaking through her serious exterior. “Yes, it’s from Steve.” With that, she stepped back to take her position.

Hazel’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the letter, the weight of it heavy in her hand. As she opened it, memories flooded back, and she felt a rush of emotions. It was a final message from Steve, words that resonated with her deeply.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Hazel read the heartfelt letter, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Hazel,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m probably no longer living. And that's okay; I've come to accept it. The world I’ve inhabited has been fraught with danger, and I’ve made choices that have led me here.

Hazel, from the moment I met you, it felt like looking into a mirror—a reflection of my own heart and soul. You brought warmth and light into my life, even when I was lost in darkness. Your strength has always amazed me, and I want you to carry that with you as you move forward.

Live the life you’ve always wanted. I’ve made arrangements for you and Nate, ensuring you both have the financial support you need to thrive.

Please, for our Nate, support him and listen to him. He will need you more than ever now, and I have every confidence in your ability to guide him.

If there is a next life, I hope we never meet again. You deserve someone better than me. Now that I’m gone, please try to forget me and the mistakes I made. I genuinely wish you and Nate nothing but the best.

Steve Rogers

P.S. Don’t worry about the twins. They’ve been independent since they were young and have the Carters to guide them. They’ll be okay."

Tears fell onto the letter as Hazel finished reading it.

“Mom?” Nate's small voice broke through her moment of grief.

Hazel looked down at her son, the last legacy of Steve, and quickly wiped her tears away. “Do you want to visit Uncle Steve?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Nate nodded enthusiastically, his bright eyes shining with admiration. “Yes! He’s a hero for saving Uncle Bucky!”

Hazel flinched at the mention of Bucky, but she forced a smile, wanting to be strong for her son. She knelt down to his level and took his small hands in hers, feeling the warmth of his tiny fingers. With her other hand, she clutched the letter written by Steve, a reminder of his love and hopes for her.

Together, they held hands as they walked, Hazel’s heart swelling with determination. Just as Steve had wished, she would live life to the fullest and be a great mother to Nate.

After Hazel and Nate left, Natasha approached Bucky with a serious expression. “Both of them have left,” she informed him.

Bucky turned to her, his demeanor cool and composed, devoid of any trace of warmth. “She read the letter?” he asked, his voice steady and flat.

“Yes,” Natasha replied, nodding her head.

“Did she believe it?” Bucky pressed, his gaze sharp and focused.

“I hired a professional to copy Steve's signature, and I added a bit of his perfume to the paper,” Natasha explained, her tone measured and confident.

“Good.” Bucky’s expression remained impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion. He had written the letter himself, crafting it to sound like it came from Steve. His intention was clear: he wanted Hazel to move on from Steve, to find a new path without the shadows of the past weighing her down. This was necessary for her future, and he understood the sacrifices it took to ensure that.

“Good job.” Bucky looked at Natasha again, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

It was a curious alliance—how could a loyal supporter of Steve choose to work with Bucky? The answer lay in humanity. Natasha had pledged her loyalty to Steve because he saved her from the chaos of war when she had no one to turn to. In her eyes, he was a hero, and she had turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his misdeeds, including the affair with Hazel.

But everything changed when she witnessed the heartlessness Steve displayed toward Peggy. The righteous man she once admired had morphed into a monster, and her faith in him shattered. With Steve’s death, Natasha reevaluated her principles and decided to align herself with Bucky.

Bucky brought her on board because he recognized her skills and capabilities. He needed people like Natasha—sharp, resourceful, and fiercely dedicated. But he also understood the value of loyalty and did not intend to take it for granted. Their partnership was strategic, grounded in the shared goal of reshaping the political landscape, and Bucky was determined to build a team that could challenge the corruption that had long plagued their world.

“Have you got everything you need?” your voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through his usual stoicism as he took your hand in his.

As you both walked through the grand halls of the White House, the sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Bucky’s grip on your hand was firm, steady, a reassuring anchor in the midst of the political storm surrounding him.

Bucky had his share of greed, but he loathed those who didn’t know their limits. Among those were his so-called friends, Edgar and Brock. Together with Steve, they formed a trio of self-serving opportunists, always proclaiming their actions were “for the people” while their true motivations were purely selfish—“for me, me, and me.”

What set Bucky apart from Steve, Edgar, and Brock was his ambition to dismantle the very system they thrived in. He wanted to rid politics of corrupt individuals like them, who masqueraded their greed as altruism. Bucky had seen too much of the damage they had inflicted on the community, and he was determined to be the catalyst for change. He refused to become like them.

To clean up the government, he knew he had to start with this corrupt trio. It was a slow and grueling process, requiring patience and strategy, but Bucky was committed to the fight. He would work behind the scenes, gathering evidence, building alliances, and slowly dismantling their influence. It was exhausting, but he was relentless.

His ultimate goal extended beyond simply removing them from power. He envisioned a government rebuilt on integrity, one that truly served the interests of the people rather than the egos of a few. The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but he was willing to face them head-on. Every step he took toward exposing the trio brought him closer to realizing his vision of a more just and equitable political landscape.

As Bucky navigated the murky waters of politics, he felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. He was no longer just a pawn in the game; he was a player with a purpose. This time, he wouldn’t be silenced. He was determined to take the fight to them, fueled by a deep resolve to expose their hypocrisy and restore honor to a system long tainted by greed.

But alongside you, he realized something important: for an imperfect couple, you both made a perfect team. As you walked together, side by side, it felt like you were crossing a finish line, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Each step was a testament to your shared commitment—a bond forged in trust and understanding, built on the ashes of past mistakes.

You glanced up at him, and in that moment, you could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that ignited whenever he believed in something. Together, you were more than just individuals; you were partners united in a common cause, ready to fight for a better future. In the complicated world of power and betrayal, your partnership was a beacon of hope, lighting the way toward justice and change.

-The End-

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who followed this series until the end. This story has its flaws, but I truly appreciate your support and dedication. It was incredibly difficult for me to wrap up this journey and say goodbye to Bucky and his fierce ex-wife. Writing a tale that intertwines politics with romance has been both a challenging and rewarding experience. I've learned so much about character development and the complexities of relationships, and I'm grateful to have shared this journey with all of you. Your feedback and encouragement have meant the world to me.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

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cookies-in-chees · 3 days ago

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I wish those Mouthwashing fans would stop attacking everyone who draws Anya as pregnant. First of all I'm pretty sure (Im not an abortion expert so I might be wrong) even if they got back to Earth safely Anya would be too far along to get one so it's not realistic but that's not even my main issue.

Mouthwashing is a PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR GAME that is about people's bodily autonomy being stripped away from them. Yes Anya could kill that thing in a perfect world, but the world of Mouthwashing is very specifically not a perfect world and Anya's pregnancy is incredibly important to the narrative. "But they said it was a good ending au" ok and usually Curly is still severely burned, obviously this is a good RELATIVE TO CANON AU, not the sunshine, rainbows and baby bunnies au.

Anya's pregnancy is the catalyst for everything that happens in the story. While yes there are definitely pro-lifers who are making content like that to push their agenda, that's not where most of this is coming from, and attacking random who people are drawing psychological horror art for the psychological horror game for it just makes you look like an asshole.

I know "Drawing something doesn't mean you condone it irl" Is largely used in shipping discourse but I feel like Mouthwashing fans should be able to understand that "Exploring dark/depressing themes in art, especially fan art of a game like Mouthwashing, does not mean that you think that this is the best possible situation in the real world"

Edit: Also (while I don't think people who do this are bad or media illiterate) I feel like just saying "Well in my AU Anya can just abort that thing and everyone else who does it differently is wrong" kinda misses the point of Mouthwashing. As I said Mouthwashing is a game about the horror of losing bodily autonomy and how these men have failed Anya, it is incredibly important to the narrative and horror of the game that Anya is forced to keep the baby.

Obviously, I think people should be allowed to write AU’s where Anya has the choice of getting rid of the baby because it is a nice alternate universe but to me at least it feels like a bit of a cop-out. These au’s actively reject one of the main themes of this game and the creators tend to (not all of them, just some) act like they are better than everyone else who tries to engage with it because conveniently getting rid of one of the most important parts of the game's story and horror makes them feel better even if it ruins the narrative. Don’t get me wrong making an AU so you can feel better is great, I do that all the time, but you shouldn’t be harassing people for doing things differently. (Oh yeah and harassing people over AU’s is extremely childish and gross)

#mouthwashing #tw sa mention #tw sa implied #tw pregnancy #tw abortion #anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing game

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starsjulia · 4 hours ago

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drunk on love // alexia putellas

a/n : just a short one i came up with

warnings : really sweet, drunk, alexia.

The warm, golden glow of fairy lights strung across the living room set the perfect ambiance for a cozy movie night at Mapi and Ingrid’s place. The remnants of dinner—empty plates and half-eaten snacks—littered the coffee table, and an impressive collection of wine bottles stood like a trophy display of the night’s indulgence.

Mapi lounged back on the couch, her arm draped lazily over Ingrid’s shoulder, the two exchanging soft smiles and whispers. The television flickered with a forgotten movie—something about an epic heist, though no one was really paying attention anymore. The night had already moved beyond the film’s plot, fueled by laughter and stories.

On the other side of the couch, you sat comfortably, sipping your wine and chuckling at a joke Ingrid had just cracked. Beside you, Alexia’s cheeks were flushed, a telltale sign of her low alcohol tolerance. She had long since abandoned any pretense of being her usual composed self; the second glass of wine had done away with that.

Alexia shifted, leaning into your side with a dreamy expression, eyes shimmering in the dim light. “Mi amor,” she whispered, her voice drawing out each syllable like a song, “you’re sooooo pretty.” Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, and she rested her head on your shoulder.

You laughed softly, glancing at Ingrid and Mapi, who exchanged amused looks. Mapi bit her lip, barely stifling a giggle, while Ingrid’s eyes sparkled with mirth. They had seen Alexia in many moods—focused, fierce, serious—but never quite like this.

“Ale,” you said, the smile on your lips wide and warm, “we’re not alone, remember?”

Alexia’s brows furrowed as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Her gaze was searching, earnest. “Pero ven aquí, bebé, siéntate en mi regazo, te echo de menos,” she murmured. “But come here, baby, sit on my lap, I miss you.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “How can you miss me? I’m right next to you.”

Alexia giggled, the sound soft and melodic. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes never leaving your face. “Sé que estás aquí, pero no es lo mismo,” she said, pouting slightly. “I know you’re here, but it’s not the same.”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, but moved to sit on her lap anyway, feeling her arms wrap tightly around your waist.

“¿Estás segura de que eres mi prometida?” Alexia asked suddenly, her expression serious as she searched your face. “Are you sure you’re my fiancée?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “I’m pretty sure, Ale,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your lips.

“No puedo creerlo,” she whispered, eyes wide with admiration. “I can’t believe it.” “Mírate, eres demasiado bonita.” “Look at you, you’re too pretty.”

“Oh, stop,” you said, a hint of bashfulness coloring your cheeks.

Alexia shook her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Entonces bésame,” she said, tilting her head up. “Then kiss me.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours before you could remind her that Mapi and Ingrid were still watching.

“Ale,” you mumbled against her lips, gently pulling back. “Remember where we are?”

“Mmm, no,” she hummed, chasing your mouth with hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Demuéstrame que eres mía.” “Prove to me you’re mine.”

“I love you, and I’m definitely yours silly,” you reassured her, cupping her cheek. “But we’re not alone.”

“Ay, sorry,” Alexia mumbled, though a smile tugged at her lips, unbothered by her embarrassment. “But you’re still so pretty,” she added, unable to resist brushing her thumb against your jawline.

“I’m flattered,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you, even when you’re a big lightweight.”

“Especially then,” Ingrid teased, raising her glass in a mock toast.

Mapi leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “This really isn’t the captain we see at training,” she said, winking at Alexia, who only buried her face into your neck, giggling.

As the night wore on, the movie continued in the background, but it was the shared laughter, the warmth of bodies pressed close, and Alexia’s soft, wine-sweetened whispers of affection that became the real story—one that needed no script or spotlight to be cherished.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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cuubism · 20 hours ago

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If you’re taking prompts, I’d love more chronic pain retired!dream stuff!

oh yeah we need emotional support dream hurt/comfort today

( i assume you meant in regards to this fic )

For the first few months after dying and becoming human, nearly all Dream had known was pain.

It was an adjustment, to fold and cram an amorphous existence into a rigid human body. And there was the psychic change, the constant feeling of stepping and missing a stair, as he instinctively reached for the Dreaming and found it gone. He had thought, then, that he regretted his choice, that perhaps he should simply have died, or, stranger, that he should have remained Dream--though, by the end, that was not truly an option for him.

Strange, to miss something that had wrapped like a pillory about his neck for so long. But that was change. The familiar, sometimes, was a comfort even in the suffering it brought.

Eventually, he decided that he did not, in fact, wish that he had died, or that he had remained Endless. Hob had cautioned patience during that time and he had been correct. It helped, too, to eventually learn that the level of physical pain he was experiencing was, in fact, abnormal. Dream was often tired and struggled to find the wherewithal to do anything about it. But Hob seemed determined to make it better for him, to the extent that he could.

One of these ways was through the application of comfortable items. Dream now had an extensive collection of blankets, including a weighted one that helped him sleep, and a heated electric one that soothed a lot of his muscle soreness and which he'd taken to essentially living under on cold days. Sometimes Hob would leave in the morning to go to class, leaving Dream curled up on the couch under his blanket, only to return hours later and find Dream still there. "You're like a cat," he'd say, running his hand through Dream's hair.

Dream thought cats were favorable creatures to be compared to.

On this night, he was once again wrapped in his heated blanket, curled up on the couch. Stubbornly drawing in his sketchbook despite the persistent ache in his shoulder. It was kind of his own fault, that. Slightly too vigorous in bed last night. But Dream had been restless and he'd wanted Hob to be vigorous and he didn't regret it, though it was annoying him now.

He was shading in the bird he'd sketched, piece of charcoal held sideways in his fingers, when he realized. Despite the ache in his shoulder. Despite the lingering stiffness in his hips. Despite the fact that he was still waiting for Hob to get home and so couldn't yet crawl on top of him and take advantage of heat sources on both sides. He felt... content.

He didn't realize, until he was sitting there, sketchpad in hand, blanket around his shoulders, pain a distant ache deep in the muscles of his back... that part of what had been unsettling him so in these recent weeks was actually... a lack of another pain.

Stepping. Missing the stair.

But this missed stair was not the familiar touch of the Dreaming. It was a darkness. He kept going from one day to the next, stepping forward, and expecting darkness to swallow him. Without knowing he was expecting it. Without knowing it was there. Falling, and then jerking awake, falling and jerking awake again--when the darkness didn't catch him.

His conversation with Hob came back to him.

How much pain are you in? Not right now--I mean usually.

Upon what metric is the scale?

Upon what metric?

By the time Hob got home, Dream had paused drawing, his charcoal suspended over the page, staring off into the distance. Lost in thought. He didn't come back to himself until Hob had crouched in front of him and was swiping his fingers over Dream's cheeks. "Love?"

Dream didn't realize until then that he was crying. Just silently, tears streaming down his face. Hob watched him with concern, but waited for him to speak.

"I--" Dream started, and his voice cracked. He tried again. "I. Hob."

"Yeah, love?"

"I. Don't think I hurt anymore."

Hob's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" He well knew that Dream's body wouldn't just stop hurting, not for good.

Dream wiped at his eyes. This, another adjustment: his body was so much more susceptible to visible displays of emotion than it once was.

"Before," he said, and didn't have to specify when he meant. "It hurt. I did not realize."

He had been so used to the way he felt that he did not realize he was feeling anything. He didn't realize, until the pain left him.

"My shoulder still hurts today," he continued. "But. I do not. And. Regardless. I want to be here."

"And I want you here," Hob said, and pulled Dream close, wrapping him in his arms. Dream pressed his face into Hob's shoulder, tears streaming again, but they did not feel sad. They felt cleansing.

"Come here," Hob said, and sat beside him on the couch. As Dream had fantasized, he pulled Dream close, letting him sprawl atop him, wrapped in his blanket, absorbing Hob's body heat. Dream clung to him, legs twisted up with Hob's. It made his hip twinge, but he didn't care.

"I'm glad you're not hurting," Hob whispered, lips brushing Dream's hair. "I'm so glad."

Dream was still hurting, in a sense, but the pervasive soul-deep ache he'd accepted as foundational to his existence, so foundational he'd stopped noticing it entirely, had gone. An ancient weight had lifted off his chest. He felt breathless with it.

His shoulder hurt more now from how he had his arms wrapped around Hob and it would probably hurt tomorrow but if this was the exchange then he would not take it back.

All the human pains in the world in trade. He would not trade back.

#hopecore?#chronic pain dream #retired dream #dreamling #my writing #ask #anonymous

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dykedvonte · 5 hours ago

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I keep seeing fanarts of ppl's OC's being on the ship, so do you think that if there was 6st crewmember (specifically, another woman) Anya would've been more safe? Like, someone to actually call Jimmy's begaviour out, someone Anya might wanna trust? Is there a possibility something might have changed (even if a little) or it would not have mattered at all?

-💀

I feel like the game would make it part of the commentary on where she would believe and help Anya but still be sort of dismissive? Like the whole “don’t waste time crying and being scared keep going and move on, don’t let him win”. It’s supposed to be positive and reinforcing but sometimes it does more damage in those times of mourning and grief, it feels patronizing, like you don’t understand what you’re going through but they do. Even if they did call out his behavior it’s still on Curly to act and while another voice would help, it’s still 4 against 2 on guys that don’t get it until they have to vs women who always have to.

I don’t mind mouthwashing OCs but I do get a bit bored as they tend to be borderline saviors or like Jimmy aligned. They are either more complicit than Curly or just Jimmy haters for no reason, outside of what the creators know about what he did to Anya. I am never irked by OCs but in a story like mouthwashing you really need to think about what your character adds to the commentary, especially if they are there during the crash. It’s nice to have like characters on Anya’s side more whole heartedly and interesting to see characters who placate Jimmy but sometimes it’s one note.

I can’t and don’t want to police peoples OCs it’s never my intention when I comment on trends I notice, but I do feel like the way people make their OCs interact with these two characters and especially Curly, really show a grave misunderstanding of the narrative and these characters as people vs roles in the story. Still, I know people just make up characters for fun and that’s fine. Great even, but I guys I’m focusing more on OCs that are supposed to have those serious dynamics. My favs tend to be pretty-Tulpar or post-Tulpar au OCs.

The inevitably of the crash is on Jimmy. He did that not because he wasn’t stopped but because all his means to kill Anya were taken. The gun, the axe. Even if Curly did strip him of his co-pilot privileges and try to keep him contained there’s only so many people. An extra body helps but they have jobs they have to do, he’s the only one steering the whole ship and Jimmy would likely have an out: food, bathroom, etc. He’s not new and if he couldn’t crash the ship directly, who’s to say he wouldn’t sabotage something else? A clunker like the Tulpar wouldn’t take much. An extra person helps but it’s just another thing that prolongs what a person like Jimmy is willing to do to shirk responsibility.

It’s more than just needing someone to stand up to him and think that’s what is missing when it comes to inserting a character into the mouthwashing setting.

#like again most people treat Jimmy like a misanthrope and he’s not and the way he’s just evil/rude to everyone all the time just isn’t real #like he’s snarky and rude but it can’t be 100% of the time like hes not going out his way to instigate #he’s the type to say shit and hope it stirs the pot like Daisuke likes him at first #thinks he’s a bit of a jerk but he likes him like unless you specifically make a character he’s dislike he’s not just gonna be #readily antagonistic to strangers or at the get go #not to mention it’s not just about Anya needing a friend but someone with the power to do something #a point in why she confides in Curly is he’s the captain she’s not just gonna tell the only other woman just because it’s still personal #not every girl tells their friend or another woman especially if they are new and they don’t know how they react not all girls are #girls girls some can be just as toxic as the men they are being confided in about #the nuance of the situation is not solved by having more people who actively hate jimmmy if anything it would make him escalate further as #clearly has issues with how people perceive him and being liked like another woman who hates him that’s gonna do something crazy in his mind #I think it’s interesting when OCs explore another side of the pre established dynamics as Jimmy uses each remaining crew member to fill a #something Curly provided for him and represent his dynamic with Anya and being an abuser I just feel like a lot is being missed out on #and it’s mainly cause people don’t want to make OCs that aren’t great people like it’s okay to have a grey mediocre OCs in situations like #this its realistic and helps you write more grounded characters like idk i like the ocs but eh im not like a super fan #I really should make an analysis on Jimmy cause people hate discussing him and his character is being really misunderstood #like not saying she’s innocent or an excuse but just not getting how he is supposed to work like he’s no dick fucking dasteredly #he’s a shitty guy who gets shittier like he ain’t start out an avengers level threat #mouthwashing #💀 anon #mouthwashing game #ask #anya mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing oc #now I gotta make an oc just to prove myself but I can’t draw #so maybe not cuz what’s the point if I can’t explain the fly drip

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alexthebordercollie · 2 days ago

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No special reason but I felt like drawing Sam Manson. I woke up with this mental image in my head and wanted to draw it. I wanted to try to capture the vibe of sitting at the back of the bleachers and trying to tune out another mandatory pep rally while writing or drawing in your journal. Trying to capture the look of the 2000s emo kid crowd. As I inch closer to 30 I find myself increasingly nostalgic for the comforting familiar aesthetics of being an edgy introverted art kid in the noughties. I gave her a more realistic body, making her slightly chubby and frumpy looking like most teenagers who are still growing and filling out and learning how to dress themselves.

Looking back on Danny Phantom as an adult, I can't help feeling frustrated by Sam's character's missed potential. I remember loving her as a kid because she was one of the few characters I could see some aspect of myself in. That being said, she was written by very out-of-touch middle-aged men who clearly didn't understand the things the subculture Sam represented actually cared about.

If I were to rewrite Danny Phantom I'd call her a vegan because that's an actual real label that means something. I'd probably call her an anarchist. I'd have her say insightful things about the politics she claims to care about instead of making all her dialogue shallow and performative. Even if sometimes her politics were still naive or half-formed because she's young. I'd make her a queer ally instead of threatening to blackmail her male friends with a picture of them cuddling. I'd make her home life a struggle. Either make her family more toxic or just give her a struggling working-class family or maybe both. Most goth/emo kids I knew growing up had good reason to be depressed, disaffected, and rebellious. We were going through shit. Genuine real problems the adults around us didn't care about.

It would be really nice to see Sam written by someone who actually knows what it's like to be an edgy goth teen girl from her generation.

#sam manson #danny phantom #redesign #contemplative #kind of meditating on my own high school nostalgia and what these aesthetics meant to me at that time

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 3 days ago

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heyyy, can i ask for 80's Dave fingering reader under the table in a dinner please? Thanks!! <3

A/n: posting my drafts rn and then I will be trying to write more

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), I don't know how to tag this so if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

This was his first time meeting your parents, it was supposed to be perfect and it was stressing you out. Dave, of course, had the 'perfect' idea on how to help you relieve said stress.

You refused, you had a plan and you would stick to it, even if you were desperate for something to calm your mind and your plan meant refusing him.

Everything was going perfect. Close to dinner starting, before your parents arrived, Dave had backed off from his approach, letting you do what you felt you had to do and complying easily with your instructions.

When your parents got there he was pleasant with them, he knew they wouldn't like him because they didn't like, well, him. They didn't like his music, his persona, how he spoke. Really, they hated him, but they liked how he made you feel, even if they felt it was only temporary.

You'd made the perfect meal, with Dave's help of course -he went out and got groceries while you were cleaning and then cleaned up the mess you'd made while cooking, still thoughtful and helpful enough- and now you were seated with your parents in the dining room.

Despite what it seemed to you, Dave never let it go. You were stressed and it was always his job to help you when you were stressed or angry or feeling any sort of negative emotion, he was your boyfriend and that was one of his jobs as your boyfriend.

So, no, he never let it go. He set a table cloth on the table, an overly grand one that was definitely not needed for this dinner, however, his plans varied from yours.

It his everyone's lap so no one could see anything, especially not his hand. He knew your parents had noticed his hand on you, on your thigh, they didn't need to know he had two fingers buried knuckle deep inside you.

At first you'd tried to get him to stop, holding his hand in yours, guiding it back to your thigh or his own lap. However, as the conversation dragged on and your parents became more pushy about Dave and his career, asking questions they didn't need to be asking, degrading him subtly in so many words. Eventually, you just had to let it happen.

Dave was getting annoyed, so were you, and you'd been stressing the past week over this exact conversation.

You wore a dress, it wasn't hard for Dave to move your panties to the side. He moved slow, resting his arm on your thigh and using his wrist to keep his ministrations subtle and hidden from your parents, all while keeping up a polite smile with your dad across from him.

He'd curl his fingers, prodding that special spot and drawing noises up, threatening to leave you at any moment. He kept pulling and pushing his knuckles in and out of your hole, where there'd be the most stretch and chance to hear you.

You knew he loved hearing you, it's how he made it through tours where you couldn't come. He just needed to hear your sweet moans and he'd be done within minutes.

You wouldn't dare make a sound now, if you did you'd never be able to speak to your parents again, look at them again. You'd be disowned forever and a day.

Nevertheless, you could feel that burning ball building inside you, you couldn't ignore it and hoped it went away, not when Dave's fingers were working on you as they were.

The conversation was directed mostly towards Dave, your parents were using it as an opportunity to just get mad at him, politely of course.

But Dave... Dave, to put it nicely, was an asshole. He saw the effect he was having on you and needed to hear those sweet sounds he loved oh so much.

"We were actually planning on getting a dog, weren't we, sweetheart?" He asked sweetly, smiling tugging at his plump lips, those same lips you'd kissed a thousand times before, those lips you'd kill to have on you right this second.

Instead of jumping on him right then and there you gave a small nod with a smile to match.

"Go on," he continued, swiftly pulling his fingers from you just to watch you choke back a squeal, "tell your parents about that breed you'd been looking at." He suggested, watching you closely.

"I-I, um..." You trailed, unable to look your parents in the eyes.

You stood up, brushing your dress down and mumbling something about needing fresh air before walking off.

Your parents were confused as you left, wondering what happened to make you feel like that. Not that it would've been hard to put the blame on them, having asked such rude questions about the man you'd told them time and time again that you loved to him, nonetheless.

Dave excused himself, using his best sympathetic tone when saying he needed to go check on you.

You'd gone to your shared bedroom and the second Dave had closed the door behind himself he was on you, wrapping his muscular arms around you and pulling you tight to him, lips crashing against yours.

You tried to push him away but he just moved from your lips to your neck. "Davie-Davie, please! Please, Davie, we-we can't do this!" You tried to reason, hands planted firmly on his shoulders.

"Yes, we can, you just have to have faith, darling." He mused, guiding you backwards to the bed.

He sat you down on the edge of the bed and got on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs and tugging your panties down, giving him full access to your glistening folds.

He went right back to fingering you, only now his tongue made it even more unbearable, circling your clit and collecting your juices. You were so sweet on his tongue, delectable and those noises that had his mind running laps.

You could feel that knot getting dangerously close to snapping. Tears filled your eyes, body trembling as you struggling against Dave's touch, trying to keep you still enough for him. You just wanted to use him, or let him use you, which ever was easier.

You'd been driving yourself crazy with this dinner, you hadn't let yourself get too close to Dave and now that you finally let him in you couldn't take it, it was too much all at once.

You needed it, you needed him so bad.

You bit your lip so hard you drew blood, but it was worth it as you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, that feeling of pure bliss where your body completely relaxed and you could just feel Dave with your whole being.

He didn't let you enjoy it for as long as you'd like, pulling away, pushing his fingers into his mouth and cleaning them of you before getting your dress right.

He rested his hands on your waist and looked up at you with sincere, warm eyes. "Everything is fine, you did great and you are so, so beautiful tonight, do you know that?" He said.

You had no idea what he was talking about or what he was doing. You wanted to questions him but then the door opened and took all of your attention.

It was your dad coming to check on you. Dave had heard him coming and knew he needed to cover, so he did, shining a smile at your dad as he came in.

"Don't worry, I've got her." He said, standing and pulling you to your feet, holding you close as your knees wobbled from the high he'd just brought you to.

Oh, how he loved you.

Oh, how he tortured you.

You had to sit through the rest of dinner with your parents totally commando in a dress, all while Dave sat completely fine next to you. Well, aside from the obvious tightness in his jeans.

#megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeath #megadeth #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine #dave mustaine rp

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ofmdrecaps · 20 hours ago

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11/03-04/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Gizmo Darby; Taika Waititi; Samson Kayo; Samba Schutte; Kristian Nairn; Cast & Crew Getting out to Vote; Fan Spotlight; Calendar Fundraisers; OFMD Fluffvember; PA: In Person Event Reminder: Calypso's Birthday! Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika;

Hey lovelies, this is once again gonna be kinda weird because major events have happened since I started these drafts.. trying to keep things vague enough for archival purposes, but also respect that things have changed since the 3rd and 4th. Sending all the hugs and love your way.

= David Jenkins =

David and Kinga <3

Source: David's Instagram

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys shared a new trailer for 'That Christmas!'

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rhys Darby (@rhysiedarby)

instagram

Source: Rhys Instagram

Darby Daily Doodles on Substack!

Source: Rhys Darby's Substack

Part 7 of the Brooklyn show is up on Rhys' paid substack!

Source: Rhys Darby's Paid Substack

= Gizmo Darby =

Oh just Gizmo being THE MOST ADORABLE. He missed his Rhys.

Source: Rhys Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

Sounds like Taika is in talks to join David Williams family movie, Fing!

Source: Kidscreen.com

= Samson Kayo =

Samson being adorable.

Source: Samson's Instagram Stories

= Samba Schutte =

More of Samba's Stand up!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

instagram

= Kristian Nairn =

Kristian has designed some awesome jewelry! Check it out below!

Source: Kristian's Instagram

OH and in case you missed it- Kristian's got limited edition guitar picks and cool stuff up in his shop!

Source: Kristian's Instagram

= The Crew Got Out to Vote! =

A bunch of our cast & crew were out doing their civic duty! In order of appearance: Adam Stein- Writer, Lindsey Cantrell -Set Director, Christopher Corbin -"We Could Have Made Magic" Actor, and Vico! CW: Partial Vico Nudity!

Source: / Adam Steins Instagram / Lindsey Cantrell's Instagram / / Christopher Corbin's Instagram / Vico's Instagram

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Fundraiser Calendars =

= 2025 Gentlebeard Calendar =

A new 2025 Gentlebeard Calendar is available! Preorders are open from Nov 4-15! Check out this gorgeous work by some of your favorite artists, and make a positive impact as well! Check out @poorlyformed's Shop for more info!

Source: FidisArt Twitter

= All Fired Up =

Another awesome Charity Calendar Preorder is up as well! All Fired up Firefighter calendars are available for preorder over on Ko-Fi!

Source: Ko-fi / Orphaned Nebula's Twitter

== OFMD Fluffvember! ==

Perfect timing -- it's Fluffvember! I'm a little late with sharing this-- but there's some awesome fluff prompts going on over at ofmdfluffvember on twitter!

You can follow along on twitter or AO3!

Source: OFMD Fluffvember on Twitter

== PA: Calypso's Birthday ==

Reminder for all you PA folks! There's a Calypso's Birthday Event going on at Hardo's Haunt in Pittsburgh on Nov 9 at 6pm ET! More info on their instagram!

Source: Harold's Haunt Instagram

== Love Notes ==

It's weird sometimes writing love notes for past days. Today (the 6th) is so much different than the 3rd/4th and so I feel strange writing things when we all can change in a day. So tonight I'm going to mention something I'm seeing all week.... all the time even. I have watched you all from so many platforms this past week, and I continue to be in awe of you. I see people sending each other love notes from across the planet. I see artists who are drawing things JUST to help reduce people's anxiety and give them some distractions. I see people stepping out of their comfort zones and sharing WIPS because they want to make people smile in these hard times. No matter what happens in this world, you are the good in it.

Please remember to tell yourself that. So much kindness, to strangers, to moots, to acquaintances -- people you've met in person, to people you've never met but talk to online. You are the change this world needs. You are the kindness this world needs. They can't take that from you, only you have that power. You are strong, and you are brilliant, and kindness is your strength. Keep shining lovelies. You're doing all you can, and it makes such a huge difference in so many lives.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just these two being the goofy dudes they are. Gifs courtesy of our dear @celluloidbroomcloset and @meluli <3

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nowimjustastranger · 1 day ago

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fic request for stcmo- just ford helping out a stan. whatever interests you

Lee knew that it was a bad day before he even opened his eyes.

He felt like he was experiencing the world through a haze of numbness, his senses dull. Even opening his eyes to add sight to the mix didn’t help the veil lift, so he found himself staring up at the ceiling blankly. It took him a few moments to register that he didn’t feel present in his own body, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could ever fix.

Lee let his eyes close because he simply couldn’t think of a reason to keep them open, drifting in and out of awareness. However, he knew it wouldn’t last; which came as a muted shock because he wasn’t sure how he knew that until a tentative hand settled on his shoulder. The hand was a warm weight on his bare skin, six fingers spreading out to cover as much surface area as possible.

“Lee,” An equally warm voice murmured, blanketing him with a sense of familiarity that was far more kind than the inescapable nothing that held him in a vice grip. “It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

Lee managed a weak grunt of acknowledgement, lacking the energy to provide more substance to the conversation. Ford didn’t seem to mind his lackluster response though, the bed dipping as he delicately climbed onto the bed beside Lee. And even if Ford’s company was unexpected, it wasn’t altogether unwelcome.

“Can you do something for me, Lee?” Ford asked, his body slotting against Lee’s back with an ease that had his chest tightening. Lee turned his head just enough to peek at Ford from over his shoulder, only able to see the top of Ford’s fluffy gray hair since he had his cheek pressed against the dip between Lee’s shoulder blades.

“Whaddya need, Ace?” Lee mumbled, lazily letting his head flop back down onto the pillow, trying to wrestle his mind into something that resembled functional. Lee already knew that he was going to do whatever Ford asked of him regardless of his poor mental state, he would sooner drive a nail through his own hand than deny Ford anything he needed.

“Could you call for me when you feel like this? I don’t want you to be alone.” Ford whispered, the words saturated with the kind of fear that Lee was all too familiar with. Lee’s eyes closed as the shroud of numbness slipped away, sucking in a fortifying breath before resolutely rolling over to face Ford, who immediately ducked his head to hide his face in the crook of Lee’s neck.

“Ain’t alone, Digit.” Lee huffed, affectionately knocking his jaw against Ford’s temple to try and coax him to come out. It worked like a charm since Ford could never resist the temptation of physical contact, his head raising to nuzzle Lee properly.

“You were.” Ford countered without missing a beat, running the bridge of his nose across Lee’s jaw, tracing an invisible path. “You were alone. For hours. Anything could’ve hap–”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Lee cut in, knowing better than to let Ford’s mind gain enough traction to pursue those dark avenues.

“I know. I know, Lee. But… but I can’t–” Ford couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, unable to find the words that could accurately convey the maelstrom of emotions that resided in his head. Thankfully, Stan could read in between the lines well enough.

“I’ll say it until you believe me.” Lee declared, one of his arms sliding over Ford’s waist to draw him closer while the other stayed tucked between their chests. Ford obediently closed the gap between them with a few calculated adjustments, tucking an arm under the pillow that Lee was resting his head on while his other hand trailed up and down Lee’s arm.

“You’ll be saying it forever then.” Ford warned with a half-hearted chuckle, an undeniable thread of truth in what was otherwise presented as a joke. Lee tenderly tapped his forehead against Ford’s with a sigh, lips twitching in amusement when Ford’s piercing gaze snapped to his face like he was the only thing worth looking at.

“Fine by me.” Lee said with a deceptively casual shrug, holding eye contact until the message was received. Ford slowly nodded with a soft exhale, the tense line of his shoulders easing as he melted into the contact, his eyes closing.

“Lee.” Ford said in a hushed tone, part statement and part desperate plea.

“I won’t leave you. Not like that.” Lee promised, relieved to find that he was speaking the truth. The thought of leaving Ford behind made Lee’s throat close up, blinking rapidly against the telltale burn of unshed tears. Lee couldn’t take another brother from Ford, it would be cruel to give in to his dark urges and condemn Ford to travel down the one-way road of self-destruction.

Funny how it was easier to stay when it was for someone else’s sake.

#gravity falls #somebody to call my own au #stan pines #lee pines #ford pines #lee and ford #stan and ford #stan twins #fic request #tw: depression #tw: implied/referenced suicide

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sicktrix · 9 hours ago

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To add to my last post something hits me about the fact that I think Tabby expresses care the best way he can; by trying to mirror the affection given to him.

Initially, Jammer is extremely confrontational towards him— his first action is to startle Tabby awake for no reason and then immediately starts spitting out accusations of being untrustworthy or out to get them. If all Tabby’s ever known of their relationship is “I don’t trust you, therefore I will not take the time to understand you, therefore I don’t like you” he’s obviously going to be extremely petty and childish back. (shoutout no jammer sign I miss his hater days). But then there’s a sudden shift, and both of them take the time to honestly understand each other down to their fundamental parts. That’s what matters to Tabby— true understanding. Because to understand is to connect, and to connect is to belong. Tabby’s nickname of TB2 later on only pushed him further into that place of belonging.

I think the little moment where Tabby draws K is also very sweet. K has been the most friendly to Tabby up to this point, constantly checking up on him and advocating for him in the group, and K is the first one to immediately humanize him (calling him “he” before anyone else). In the moment where K is kind to Tabby, it’s not necessarily the same as the experience him and Jammer went through, but it’s still important— the act of being seen. Not just as an object, but as a living thing. Of trying to connect to something even on a surface level. I think that’s why he drew K. Not just to better study them, but to convey a sense of reciprocity. “You see me, I see you”

Evan, on the other hand, got a (for better or worse) very emotional part of Tabby. The using of his own magic to repair something, to pour his hope for success and the joy of being with the people he loves into the act of fixing Tabby, immediately ricochets back at him. Tabby now gets the full “experience” of friendship and care past just initial connection. Is it good??? Eh. But it’s important to note that Tabby’s feelings on Weugan are a direct mirroring of Evan’s outlook at friendships amplified to the worst level given they’re on cocaine island where everything is pumped up to 11. He’s clingy and keeps cementing the fact that they are best friends and constantly tries to remind everyone that he is useful so there’s a reason to keep him around (He literally says Evan “taught him” that it’s only a matter of time before people leave) but is still bright and cheery and conversational. If an energy like this— if a kindness like this is given to him, he has no choice but to express a carbon copy of it back. And his personality shines! He’s playful and silly and so so curious, he find fascination in deep conversations and magical items and humour and people— it’s almost like he, for the first time, is genuinely alive.

#hi guys did you know I’m so normal about this little freak #‘Siffrin nobody cares’ I DO. I CARE SO MUCH ACTUALLY #I promise I’ll shut up about him soon #tabby mismag #dimension 20 #misfits and magic #misfits and magic spoilers #mismag #mismag spoilers

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ane-doodles · 3 days ago

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Do you have any tips for drawing?

Oh wow, tough question. I think it would depend on what you really want to do.

If you want tips on learning how to draw I would say observe… a lot! Every object/being is made up of basic shapes (circles, squares, triangles, etc.), once you discover them drawing becomes a matter of putting the shapes together with the correct proportions. The step after this is converting those 2D shapes to 3D (circle = sphere, square = cube, triangle = pyramid)

If you already know the basics of drawing and just want to improve then I would say find ONE simple thing you want to improve and dedicate yourself to it. For example, if you choose to start improving the way you draw eyes, then dedicate yourself to becoming an expert at drawing eyes, even if the rest of your drawing pales in comparison. Once you feel comfortable with that move on to the next thing you want to improve, and so on. "Perfect one technique and become the master of it" haha!

If you already consider yourself good at drawing and just want to keep leveling up your skills, I would recommend going back to basics, because yes, even when you're good at something it never hurts to remember how things work… it's like giving your talent a little maintenance. I would also recommend trying to draw those things you once said you wanted to try but have put them off because you consider you don't have enough skills to do it (look at me, drawing furries after putting it off for more than 10 years). Getting out of your comfort zone helps you reevaluate from a different perspective what you already know how to do.

But if all you're looking for are exercises to do to improve regardless of your level or if you just want to pass the time, then I can recommend:

1) Forget about perfection, your drawings don't always have to look like museum works of art, sometimes a sketch with guide lines is enough to capture your idea. Then you can revisit it and perfect it, just don't miss the opportunity to hunt for perfection.

2) Practice gesture drawing (cool poses). It's a surprisingly fun thing to do and you can fill entire pages and notebooks with it that you can then use as a catalog of poses for future drawings. This helps you practice poses, anatomy, dynamics, proportions and expressiveness for the price of a five-minute stick figure.

3) Look at the artists around you. The internet is a wonderful place in this regard where thousands of artists share their work for you to see for free. Look at their drawings, sketches and finished works. Analyze what you like about them compared to others and ask yourself… would you like to add that to your art? how could you do that? what would that look like in your own style?

I hope this is helpful and not too long to read :) I think I went on a bit too long… Here are some of my own practices in return.

#ane talking #ask #ane doodles yay!

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bethanythebogwitch · 9 hours ago

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Original New Zealand Pokemon

Another post of Fakemon for my original Goorda region based on a combination of Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand. I've given Australia much more focus so far, so I'm balancing things out by making more kiwi Pokemon. But not an actual kiwi Pokemon. I already did that one.

Tinamu, the Green Stone Pokémon, rock-type. These shy Pokomon live deep underground and are tended to by their parents. Their bodies are made of a rare and valuable green stone and they make their burrows near deposits of this stone. Miners looking to harvest this stone traditionally leave food for the Tinamu as a form of trade.

Tinamu evolves to Pouina, the Green Stone Pokemon, rock/ghost type. When a Pouina wraps its tail around its neck, it gains the power to see into the spirit world. The icon of a Pouina wrapped around itself is used as a symbol of harmony and connection to one's ancestors.

Pouina evolves to Mananamu, the Green Stone Pokemon, rock/ghost type. When a Mananamu ties its tail into a knot, it gains the power to walk between this world and the world of spirits. Legends say that in the past, war almost broke out between the living and the dead until a hero with a Mananamu calmed the ghosts. Since then, Mananamu have been used by psychics and shamans as messengers between worlds.

The Tinamu line are based on pounamu, several types of green stone found in Aotearoa that is culturally important to the Maori and is frequently seen carved into multiple symbols. I tried to work the carvings into the designs. They are also based on the Manaia, a legendary creature often depicted in pounamu carvings (I specifically took inspiration from this carving). The Manaia is a messenger between the human world and the spirit world and its symbol is used to ward off evil. It is often depicted with the head of a bird and the tail of a fish and is often depicted curled into a figure 8, which is where I got the idea of the Pokemon wrapping their tails around themselves. I also based Mananamu on a hadrosaur, specifically a Parasaurolophus, mostly because I thought it would be cool. Their names come form "tiny", "pounamu", and "Manaia"

Sprink: the Bungee Pokemon, normal-type. Sprink have long, prehensile tails that can extend to great lengths, then retract. They wrap their tails around tree branches and wit for bug Pokemon to pass beneath. Then, they jump, catch the bug, and their tails retract to pull Sprink back up with its prey. The sport of bungee jumping was inspired by Sprink.

Sprink is based on skinks, many species of which are native to Aotearoa, and bungee jumping, which (in its modern form) was invented in NZ. The markings on Sprink's body are based on safety harnesses. TBH, I may go back to the drawing board on this one. I feel like it's missing something. Its name comes from "skink" and "spring"

Pāunomacre, the Abalone Pokemon, psychic-type. These strange Pokemon levitate through the air with their psychic powers and habitually collect and examine objects with their tentacles and eyes. The iridescent colors on their shells constantly shift and can mesmerize those who look for too long. Jewellery and carvings made Pāunomacre shells are highly valuable due to their shifting colors and high quality.

Pāunomacre is based on abalone, large sea snails known for the layer of iridescent nacre (mother of pearl) that line the inside of their shells. The shells are often used to make jewelry and decoration. For Pāunomacre, I added an extra shell on the bottom, put the nacre on the outside, and made it into a flying saucer. he tentacles are inspired by sensory tentacles on abalone while the ring of blue eyes around the body comes from scallops. The name comes from "pāua" (the Maori word for abalone), "anomaly", and "nacre".

Korm, the Root Pokemon, ground/grass type. These worm-like Pokemon are actually burrowing plants. When they feel safe, Korm expose their rear ends to the air and unfurl the fronds growing from them to absorb sunlight. Korm have soft bodies that leave them vulnerable to predators. As a result, they are very shy and will burrow away at the first sign of danger. Dirt that Korm burrows through is left enriched in nutrients and supports plant growth.

Korm evolves to Woodworm, the Root Pokemon, grass/ground type. It has developed a powerful yet flexible armored tube of wood around its body that supports larger fronds that can reach higher into the air. When threatened, Woodworm retracts its soft body into its wooden tube. If a small forest appears out of nowhere, It is likely a colony of Woodworm that have decided to stop and photosynthesize for a while.

Korm and Woodworm are based on a number of influences. First, they are earthworms and Aotearoa and Australia have some remarkable large earthworm species. Earthworms help recycle nutrients into the soil, which is why Korm leaves enriched soil where it grows. Second, they are based on ferns and fern trees. The Koru is a spiral symbol that represents an unfurling silver fern frond, which I tried to recreate in Korm's design. The tube that Woodworm has is based on tube worms, aquatic relatives of earthworms that build tubes they can retract into for protection. Korm's name comes from "Koru" and "worm" while Woodworm's name is a pun on "wormwood".

Cololite, the Stromatolite Pokemon, rock-type. Cololite are so strange it took scientists decades before they deciphered its biology. Cololite is a colony of microbes that work together to grow a hollow structure of living rock. Smaller stones bud off of the central body and can be levitated and manipulated through unknown means. By the tine the central stone splits off of the rock it grows from, it is ready to evolve.

Cololite evolves to Concraki, the Stone Colony Pokemon, rock-type. Concraky is a group of spherical, hollow boulders built and controlled by a hive mind of microscopic organisms. The boulders levitate and can be arranged into any configuration, though they are always directed by the largest boulder. As the boulders grow, they crack open and eventually shatter. The fragments of shattered boulder are believed to act as seeds from which new Cololite grow.

Cololite and Concraki are based on stromatolites, stone structures built by generations of photosynthetic bacteria and archaea. As the bacterial colonies grow, they lay down layers of sediment that results in an iconic layered appearance that is represented in the base of Cololite. Most stromatolites are only known from sollils, but there are living ones living in places around the world, including Australia. Concraki is also based on the Moeraki boulders or Kaihinaki, a series of spherical, hollow concretions found on Koekohe Beach. I wanted to make something very bizarre with these, making a Pokemon that doesn't even look like a Pokemon. Their names come from "colony", "stromatolite", "concretion", and "Moeraki".

Previous posts in this series: new evolutions, misc 4, misc 3, single stages, non-natives, regional standards, creepy lines, regional variants, birds, early game standards, misc 2, misc 1, Johto starter variants, starters,

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