#i was torn on what to have wilson say

[teardropwolf]

that one meme but I did it in ms paint with computer and mouse instead of my tablet

did this a bit ago but didn't post right away. I have a few things I haven't posted that I could probably put up daily since I haven't really been getting much up.

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 5)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 7.3k

Previous Chapter

The next day, she messaged Sam, asking if he could stop by her house before the briefing. His reply came quickly, surprised but agreeable, suggesting a time two hours before the meeting. When the knock finally came, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever reaction he might have.

She opened the door to his familiar, easy smile, but the knot in her stomach didn’t ease. “Hey,” he greeted casually, stepping inside when she gestured for him to come in. “This feels serious. What’s up?”

She led him to the couch, motioning for him to sit. Her palms were clammy, and her fingers twitched slightly as she sat across from him. “It is,” she admitted, “And... I need you to hear me out before you say anything.”

That wiped the smile from his face. Sam leaned forward and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “Okay. I’m listening.”

She inhaled deeply, and then, she started. From her life before Hydra -her simple, ordinary life in the 60s- to the day everything changed. The kidnapping. The endless, suffocating years as a prisoner, a tool. Her voice faltered as she described the barest surface of what she’d endured and what she’d been forced to do regarding the Winter Soldier. She tried to keep the focus on herself, omitting the details that might betray Bucky’s privacy, but it was impossible to completely separate their pasts.

Sam listened without interrupting, his expression shifted with every new revelation: concern, disbelief, pity, before being replaced with something softer. Compassion.

When she finished, she let out a shuddering breath, slumping her shoulders. “I’m sorry I never told you anything about... this. For giving you my manufactured past. For lying to you about who I am.”

He shook his head immediately. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s your story, and it’s yours to share whenever you’re ready. Or not at all. I get why you didn’t say anything. Hell, I can even understand why the government kept it locked up.” His gaze softened, leaning back slightly. “But it doesn’t change a damn thing. I never doubted our friendship. Not for a second.”

Relief bloomed in her chest at his words. She managed a small smile, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap. “Thank you, Sammy”.

Sam nodded, and then his expression grew thoughtful. “So... that’s why Bucky knew you couldn’t heal yourself?”

“Yeah.” She gave a short, almost bitter laugh. “The information was never given by Hydra to him, but there were... moments. Times when he saw me.” Her eyes drifted downward. “And I guess he connected the dots. If I could heal myself, why would I walk around for days with a bruised lip, or limping?”

Sam exhaled slowly, his brow furrowing. “Damn.”

She nodded, tightening her hands together. “Yeah.”

“And... I didn’t tell you this either,” she hesitated, twisting her fingers in her lap. “Bucky and I... we’ve been seeing each other. After Poland.”

Sam’s brow quirked, a small, curious smile tugging at his lips. “Oh?”

She exhaled, searching for the right words. “Just... reconnecting. Or connecting. I don’t know exactly what to call it yet. Our relationship -if you can even call it that- back then didn’t precisely involve normal conversation over coffee.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “So, the Winter Sulkier talks to you over coffee?”

That drew a chuckle from her lips, lightening the tension in the air. “Yeah. I mean, he’s more of a listener most of the time, but yeah, he talks.”

Sam’s smile softened as he observed her, but she dropped her gaze to her hands again, and her expression turned more serious. “Thing is... he was here yesterday when you called me about the mission. And when I mentioned Argentina and a large crew heading there...” She paused, tightening her fingers together. “He got all worked up. I think he intuits there’s something to do with them.”

Sam’s expression darkened, and his easy demeanor faded. He shook his head slowly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “He isn’t wrong.”

Her chest tightened at the confirmation, but she continued. “He left immediately after that. Told me to talk to you about... us.” She hesitated, then added, “And, that he’s coming.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Of course he did.”

“I tried to tell him it wasn’t his decision to make,” she said quickly, “But…”

“-there’s no stopping him,” Sam finished with a faint shake of his head, a flicker of exasperation in his tone. “Yeah, I know.”

----

Sam drove them to the briefing at the DHS Strategic Operations Center, a heavily-secured government facility that handled covert international assignments. The building loomed large, with its sleek gray façade and high-security checkpoints manned by armed guards.

To her surprise -or not-, when they entered the briefing room, Bucky was already there, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He looked calm, but the tension in his posture told her otherwise.

Sam quirked a brow at him, gesturing vaguely toward the entrance. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Bucky just stared at him in response, with an unreadable expression.

“Seriously, man,” Sam pressed, muttering something under his breath, shaking his head as he took a seat. She, on the other hand, couldn’t help but smile faintly at him, though the knot of worry in her stomach hadn’t eased.

The room began to fill with agents and operatives, and a few heads turned toward Bucky, with flashing recognition across their faces. It was clear that having both the Winter Soldier and the Falcon in the operation was a major bonus for the mission and a point of fascination for everyone in the room.

She slid into a chair beside Sam, sneaking a glance at Bucky, who had claimed a spot near the corner of the table. He caught her eye briefly, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them.

“Looks like the government’s thrilled to have their star players,” she murmured under her breath to Sam.

----

The room fell silent as the operation leader stood at the head of the table, pointing to a digital map of Ushuaia Province projected on the wall. “As suspected, there’s an active Hydra facility in the region. Thanks to intel provided by Argentina’s military forces, we’ve identified its exact location. It’s heavily fortified, with multiple levels of security and a significant number of personnel. Resistance is expected to be strong, and casualties are a possibility.”

The words hung heavy and foreboding between the crew.

“As we continue,” the leader said, turning toward her, “your role is crucial. Due to the expected resistance, we need you on the field, embedded with a group of agents. Your abilities may be needed in the heat of the fight. Even some casualties won’t be avoidable, your presence could make the difference between life and death for many of our operatives.”

Bucky’s body tensed immediately, snapping his sharp gaze to the leader. He didn’t wait to be addressed, didn’t wait for permission to speak. “No,” he said firmly, his voice cut through the room like a blade. “I don’t agree.”

The leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”

Bucky straightened from his spot, squaring his broad shoulders. “Sending her into a live combat zone? With Hydra? It’s a mistake. She doesn’t belong on the front lines, she belongs somewhere safe. She can work from a plane or a secure location if you need her. Putting her directly in danger is reckless.”

She could feel the weight of his words pressing against her like a physical force, but her focus was on the leader, not him.

“Barnes,” the leader started, “with all due respect, this isn’t your call-”

“No, but it’s common sense,” Bucky cut in, hardening his voice. “If things go south, she’s the one they’ll target first. Do you really think they wouldn’t recognize her? That they wouldn’t know what she can do and what she’s worth to them?”

Her heart clenched at the words, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she stood, scraping her chair softly against the floor as she rose to her feet.

“Enough,” she said sharply, interrupting him.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped to her, but she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked on the operation leader, unwavering and resolute.

“I’m in,” she said firmly.

“You don’t-” Bucky’s voice carried a mix of frustration and concern, but she turned to him before he could say more.

“I said I’m in, Bucky,” she repeated, in a softer tone this time but no less determined. “This is my choice.”

The room was silent again, the tension thick in the air as the leader gave her a small nod. “Good. Then we’ll move forward as planned.”

Bucky’s hands flexed into fists at his sides, but he said nothing more. She could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his disapproval and concern, but she didn’t falter.

This was her fight too. And she wouldn’t let anyone -not even him- take that from her.

The operation leader continued detailing the roles while pointing to the screen. “Barnes, your job is to breach and clear one of the facility’s entrances. You’ll be working with a tactical unit to infiltrate and eliminate the immediate threats on the perimeter.”

Bucky crossed his arms, flexing a muscle in his jaw. “I’ll go with her team.”

The room collectively turned to look at him, as the team leader narrowed his eyes in displeasure. “That’s not your assignment.”

“Well, I’m making it mine,” Bucky said, sharp and unwavering.

Sam let out a low scoff, raising a brow at his partner. “You’re just great at following orders.”

Bucky shot him a sidelong glare but ignored the jab, turning back his attention to the leader. “Let’s be honest,” he said, his tone bordering on cocky. “I’m the best asset you’ve got going in there. If she’s on the field, it makes sense for me to stay close. She makes sure I keep going, and I’m the one who can get her out in one piece.”

The leader leaned forward slightly, clearly distressed by the audacity. His hands fell flat on the table. “You’re overestimating your authority here, Barnes. This isn’t a solo mission.”

“I’m not saying it is,” Bucky replied “But if something goes wrong, I’d rather she have me at her back than anyone else.”

Another agent, seated further down the table, cleared their throat. “With all due respect, Sergeant Barnes, you’re probably not the one who’d need her help. You’re a super soldier. You’ve got advanced healing, stamina, and the works. If she’s in the field, she’ll be more useful to the non-enhanced units who’ll be taking the brunt of the fight.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. He knew she was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He didn’t need her assistance. He wanted her nearby for reasons that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the protectiveness that burned in his chest.

His jaw tightened again, but he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, forcing himself to back down. “Fine,” he muttered, though the word sounded like it was dragged out of him.

The operation leader’s gaze lingered on Bucky for a moment longer before he turned back to the room. “Then it’s settled. Everyone knows their roles. We leave in three days. Dismissed.”

As chairs scraped and the room began to clear, Sam caught up to Bucky near the door. “So, what’s the plan now, guard dog? Gonna give her a tracking device or a leash?”

Bucky shot him a look that could kill. “Not now.”

Sam grinned, unbothered. “Just saying, man. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Bucky ignored him, drifting his gaze to where she stood by the table, gathering her things. She glanced up, catching his eye, and offered a small, reassuring smile.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He might not be able to stay by her side during the mission, but one way or another, he’d make sure she came out of it safe. Even if it killed him.

----

They didn’t see each other again until they boarded the plane. She spotted him immediately, seated at the far side of the hold, inspecting one of his many weapons with mechanical precision.

Bucky was fully geared up, every inch of him screaming Winter Soldier in a way that made her chest tighten uncomfortably. His tactical suit, dark and imposing, seemed like it was made to swallow him whole, to erase every ounce of humanity she knew was there. Knives, pistols, ammo, -there were more weapons strapped to him than she thought possible-, and Sam, seated nearby, muttered under his breath as he caught sight of him.

“Jesus, Buck,” he quipped, leaning back in his seat with an incredulous look. “Where do you keep all that? Got a secret pocket dimension you haven’t told us about?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance up, focused on the rifle in his hands as he loaded it with a meticulousness that bordered on obsession.

She hesitated before sitting down, diagonal to his, close enough to see the taut lines of his jaw and the cold set of his features. He was somewhere else entirely, locked inside his head in a way that made her stomach twist.

Her fingers tapped lightly on her knee as she debated. Eventually, she mustered the courage to try and break through the wall he had so obviously put up. “Bucky,” she started softly, testing the waters.

He didn’t look at her. “What?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said curtly and dismissive.

She tried again, leaning forward slightly, lacing her tone with a touch of warmth this time. “You’ve been quiet since the briefing. I just... wanted to check in.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said flatly. He finally looked up, but it was brief, just a glance before he turned back to the rifle.

She bit the inside of her cheek, and the pang of melancholy deepened. He was shutting her out, retreating into himself in a way that felt impenetrable. She wanted to say something more, to push through the wall he’d built around himself, but every clipped answer was like a door slammed in her face.

Eventually, she leaned back in her seat, slumping her shoulders slightly. Sam, catching the shift in her demeanor, leaned over and nudged her gently. “You good?”

She gave him a tight smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Just... tired.”

Sam didn’t press further, but his gaze flicked between her and Bucky, knitting his brows together in thought.

The hours of the flight passed in uncomfortable silence. She stopped trying to talk to Bucky, resigning herself to the fact that he wasn’t in a place to let her in. Instead, she found herself leaning on Sam, who kept the mood light with his casual banter and stories, though she knew he could see the strain on her face.

----

After 22 long hours of flight, the group finally arrived at Ushuaia, skipping any rest stops and heading straight to the location marked on the map as the Hydra facility. The biting -7°C temperature hit them the moment they stepped off the plane, but no one said a word. Adrenaline and focus were locked firmly on the upcoming assault.

As the team deployed, spreading out to take their positions, she adjusted the straps of her gear, ready to follow her assigned group, when she felt a hand wrap around her forearm, halting her steps.

It was Bucky.

Before she could say a word, he gently tugged her closer, his steel-blue eyes piercing through the dim light of the icy morning. Without hesitation, he dipped his head, resting his forehead lightly against hers. The gesture was intimate in a way that caught her completely off guard.

“Stay safe, doll,” he murmured, barely audible over the wind. His other hand slid to her lower back, a solid and steadying touch that sent warmth spreading through her chest despite the freezing air. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like time had paused around them.

Before she could respond, he pulled back, slipping his hand from her back as he released her. The touch lingered like an imprint on her skin, a phantom sensation she couldn’t shake.

He gave her a small, firm nod, and then turned, walking away to take his position. She stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing and her thoughts spinning in a blur. She didn’t notice the tiny tracker he’d deftly pressed onto the back of her jacket, concealed in one of the seams.

She exhaled deeply, shaking her head as she regrouped with her team. It was only after they began their cautious advance toward the Hydra’s den that she realized she hadn’t said anything back.

----

Bucky's moves were methodical and relentless, bordering on terrifying. His rifle barked sharp bursts of gunfire as his entry key. The initial resistance barely had time to register what hit them before he had breached their defenses with precise and purposeful shots, clearing the way with deadly efficiency. Once inside, the rifle was slung across his back, and he transitioned to pistols, twin bursts of fire that cut through the dimly lit hallways.

When a close-range ambush came at them, he didn’t falter. A knife was in his hand before the first attacker could barely move, and the blade moved in a blur as he parried, slashed, and dropped him in seconds. His other hand went for another approaching assailant, and the dull thud of his fist meeting flesh sickly reverberated down the hallway. The third guy went down with a savage elbow strike to the jaw, that sent the man crumpling against the wall.

The facility was a maze, and he navigated it with an almost preternatural awareness, dispatching any Hydra remnants that dared to cross his path.

Behind him, his team could barely keep up. “Does he even need us?” one of them muttered under their breath, clutching their assault gun tightly as they followed, watching Bucky tear through Hydra’s defenses like a one-man wrecking crew. They focused on providing cover and securing the areas he left in his wake, though it felt almost redundant.

He wasn’t reckless, he was purposeful. Every move was efficient, calculated like a finely tuned machine operating at full capacity. And beneath that precision, was a driving force, a singular thought that fueled him: finish this, finish it fast, get to her.

He turned a corner into a wider room where a group of agents had set up a defensive line. Their gunfire erupted the moment they saw him, but he was already moving. His body twisted as he sprinted toward them, weaving through the barrage with inhuman speed. A flash grenade from his belt bought him the split second he needed to close the distance. When the deafening pop and blinding light cleared, he was in the middle of their formation.

One went down with a knife to the gut, another with a pistol shot to the temple. The third tried to grapple him, only to be met with a swift blow from his vibranium arm that sent him sprawling. Bucky didn’t stop. His fists drove into ribs and jaws, his knives carving through the last line of resistance like it was nothing. Blood splattered onto the cold floors, and the once-deafening room fell silent except for his steady breathing.

The radio on his team leader crackled. “Barnes, status?”

“Clear,” he grunted, wiping the blade of his knife on his sleeve and sheathing it in one fluid motion. His team moved in behind him, sweeping the room as they murmured amongst themselves about the inhuman force of his assault.

He barely heard them. His mind was already elsewhere. His heart was pounding, not from exertion, but from the worry that ate away at him. The sooner his end of the mission was done, the sooner he could ensure she was safe.

----

As Bucky cleared the last room in his assigned sector, he took a final sweep, ensuring no hidden threats remained. The bodies left in his wake weren’t his concern, only the safety of his team, and more importantly, her. So he turned around and started walking away.

He moved like a shadow through the corridors, silent and methodical, operating on pure instinct. The tracker he’d slipped into her clothes pulsed steadily on his HUD, leading him through the labyrinth of sterile hallways and flickering overhead lights. Hydra never changed, their bases were practically carbon copies, and he used that to his advantage, cutting through shortcuts only an old ghost like him would know.

Gunfire crackled in the distance, shouts echoing through the steel walls, but none of it mattered to him.

He picked up the pace as he neared her location, tightening his grip around the pistol in his flesh hand, his vibranium fingers twitching in anticipation. Then, finally, he reached her sector.

The sight before him sent a cold fury ripping through his chest.

The fight was still ongoing and it was clear her team was barely holding on. Some were down, some wounded, and the rest were outnumbered. But Bucky’s eyes only locked onto one thing: the asset trying to restrain her.

She was struggling. He could see the way her limbs lagged just a second too slow, the way her stance wavered ever so slightly, she was exhausted. She’d burned herself out healing the others, and now they were trying to take her.

The bastard restraining her was big, armored, and clearly enhanced. Bucky already knew the type, one of Hydra’s modern knockoff attempts at recreating him. The man had his arm locked around her middle, wrestling to subdue her, while his other hand reached for a syringe strapped to his vest.

Bucky didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

His pistol fired once. Clean, direct. The bullet punched through the asset’s wrist, making him snarl and drop the syringe before he could use it.

Before the man could react, Bucky was already on him.

The Winter Soldier resurfaced with brutal efficiency. He grabbed the man by the vest and threw him off her like a ragdoll, sending him crashing into a nearby crate. The asset barely had time to groan before Bucky was on him again, landing a punishing strike to the ribs, then another to the jaw.

The bastard recovered quickly, swinging at Bucky’s head, but he dodged with ease, catching the incoming arm and twisting sharply. The asset howled, but Bucky silenced him with a savage punch that sent him sprawling.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

He didn’t stop until the man stopped moving.

When he finally turned, he found her staring at him, breathing hard. Her hair was disheveled, her face marked with sweat and dirt, but she was alive.

Still his.

High on adrenaline, Bucky turned toward the dantesque scene unfolding around him. Her team was struggling, pinned down by the remaining opposition, outnumbered and exhausted.

So he moved.

The first man barely had time to register his presence before Bucky’s knife found his ribs, twisting with brutal precision. The second one lunged at him, and Bucky let him, sidestepping at the last second and slamming his elbow into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. They kept coming but the room was cleared in minutes. Efficient. Lethal. Over.

His feet carried him forward before his brain even fully registered it, his hands reaching for her the second he was close enough. He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her tightly, his chest rising and falling against hers as he tried to steady himself.

His face found the crook of her neck, and he inhaled deeply, calming himself with her scent. She was real, she was safe.

She was trembling, whether from exhaustion or leftover adrenaline, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. He just held her tighter, curling his fingers into the fabric of her tactical gear, pressing her against him like he could shield her from everything.

He didn’t speak. He just held on, waiting for his heart to stop hammering, for the instinct to fight, to kill, to protect, to settle into something quieter.

He didn’t let go. Not yet. Not for a long while.

----

She let him hold on, basking in his unrelenting grip. But as the minutes stretched, something felt wrong in her chest, a creeping worry she couldn’t shake.

“Bucky,” she breathed against his ear, trying to pull back just enough to see his face.

He didn’t answer.

Her hands skimmed over his back, searching for wounds, for anything out of place. “Bucky, are you hurt? Let me see you.”

Nothing. No response. If anything, his arms locked tighter around her.

She leaned back slightly, shifting her hands to his face, ready to insist -look at me, talk to me- but then she saw it.

The empty stare. The idle, blank eyes she knew too well.

Her stomach dropped.

Her fingers threaded into his hair, gentle but firm. She inhaled deeply before trying. “Soldat?”

A barely-there shudder ran through his body. His grip twitched, tightening before loosening just the slightest bit.

She swallowed hard. She knew exactly where he was, adrift in the space between past and present, somewhere dark, somewhere cold. She cupped his face,  sweeping her thumbs over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “Listen, everything is fine now. We are safe, you did good. You can rest.”

Her breath hitched as his grip slipped down and tightened around her thighs, and the world tilted violently as he hoisted her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Soldat-” she started, but he moved with single-minded purpose, boots echoing heavily against the bloodstained floor as he strode down the corridor.

The others tried to move after them, with evident concern. “Stand down,” she called over her shoulder, her voice firmer than she felt. “Don’t- don’t interfere.” Because if they do…

They hesitated, but obeyed, exchanging wary glances as the two disappeared around a corner.

“Soldat,” she tried again. “Put me down. I’m fine. Where are we going?”

No answer. Not even a flicker of recognition. His grip remained firm, arms locked around her legs, his vibranium hand pressing against the small of her back to keep her steady.

The hallways blurred past in a dizzying, all-too-familiar pattern. He knew where he was going. Of course he did. Hydra never changed their layouts, never altered their twisted efficiency.

And then he stopped. A metal door loomed ahead, slightly ajar, the faded remnants of a red cross still painted on its surface.

The infirmary.

Before she could speak, he shoved the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. She staggered slightly as he set her down “What are you-“

But he wasn’t listening. Not really. He pressed his back against the door, sliding down until he sat on the cold floor with one bent knee and the other stretched out. His head tilted back against the cold metal with a dull thud, and his eyes flicked shut for just a second before snapping open again. His chest rose and fell in deep, measured breaths. His gaze landed unfocused somewhere in the distance.

She took a cautious step forward, lowering her voice. “Soldat?”

His fingers twitched.

The only thing she could think to do was play along. Her pulse hammered in her throat, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. First, she pressed a hand to her comm, switching to Sam’s channel. Keeping a steady voice, she whispered, “Sammy, I’m fine. My side of the facility is clear, but there’s… a complication with Bucky. My teammates will fill you in. Just don’t come looking for us. Please. I need you to make them understand.”

There was a long pause, before Sam’s voice finally came through the crackle of static, lower, graver than usual. “…You sure about this?”

Her gaze flicked back to Soldat, watching the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, coiled like a spring. She swallowed hard. “Yes. Let me handle it.”

Another pause. Then, a resigned sigh. “Alright. But if you need backup-”

“I’ll let you know.” She shut off the comm before he could argue, pushing the outside world aside.

----

She clasped her hands in front of her, standing straighter, adopting the crisp authority she’d seen Hydra’s handlers use a thousand times before.

“I need a mission report.”

His fingers twitched again. His gaze flickered -just slightly- but it stayed distant, unfocused, locked somewhere behind her rather than on her.

A long beat of silence.

Her stomach clenched.

She took another step closer. “Soldat,” she repeated, keeping her tone firm but even. “Mission report. Now.”

His jaw worked, and a slow inhale expanded his chest.

“…Facility neutralized.” The words came rough and automatic, like a reflex. His voice was lower than usual, mechanical, like the syllables were pulled from his throat against his will. “Threats eliminated.”

She swallowed. “And my status?”

His breath stuttered slightly. His fingers flexed, curling into loose fists before releasing.

“Secure,” he said after a pause.

She exhaled quietly, steadying herself.

Her mind raced for the next step. She couldn’t just order him out of this. She needed to guide him back. She took a slow breath, crouching down to his level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Good,” she murmured. “So… mission’s over now, right?”

Another twitch. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

She hesitated, then reached forward, brushing featherily his vibranium knuckles. No sudden moves. No pressure. “Remember what happens when a mission is over? You let me check on you and I get you all better.”

He hesitated. His brows knitted together as though sifting through fragmented, conflicting commands buried deep in his mind. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a single, curt nod.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding slipped from her lips.

“You did good,” she said again, keeping a reassuring voice. “Go sit on the stretcher and let me see you.”

He stood immediately at her command, a well-oiled machine running on deeply ingrained instinct. With precise, practiced movements, he removed his rifle, his sidearm, and every knife tucked into his gear. Each weapon clattered softly onto the nearby tray, in a quiet, chilling symphony of steel.

Then, without hesitation, he stripped away his tactical vest, shrugging out of it like armor no longer needed. His Henley followed, baring his torso under the harsh, sterile light of the infirmary. His skin was streaked with sweat and blood. The deep, ugly wounds carved into him were the only indication that he wasn’t invincible.

He sat on the stretcher with squared shoulders and rested his hands on his thighs as he stared ahead. Silent. Waiting.

Her breath hitched when she saw the extent of the damage. Two large-caliber bullet wounds, one grazing his ribs, the other embedded deeper near his shoulder. A deep stab wound on his side, red and angry. The blood had slowed to a sluggish trickle, but the damage was undeniable.

She inhaled heavily, steeling herself, knowing she was running on fumes. She had drained so much of herself in the fight, trying to keep others alive, trying to be useful. But she couldn't stop now. Not when he was in front of her, hurt because of her.

Her hands hovered over the worst wound, shaking slightly before she forced them to steady. Focus. Do what you have to.

But as she pressed her glowing fingers to his skin, and the warmth of her power seeped into his body, another weight settled over her. Guilt.

He came here because of her.

He got hurt because of her.

And worst of all… his mind was slipping, because of her. Regressing into something she wasn’t sure she could pull him back from. She choked on a sob, and her vision blurred as she fought to keep her hands steady, mending his torn flesh.

The sound made his jaw tick, and something shifted in his expression. Slowly, he turned his head to her, knitting his brows together as he took in the sight of her tear-streaked face. His gaze flickered toward the door -searching, assessing-before settling back on her.

The hesitation flickered in his usually unwavering demeanor. Then, with a slow movement, he lifted his flesh hand and cupped her cheek.

“Why?” he rasped, his voice was rough, uncertain.

That made her sob harder, but she didn’t stop mending him. She leaned into his palm, pressing her cheek against the warmth of his hand as she sniffled, trying to regain control of herself.

“S-sorry,” she managed, her voice unsteady.

“You are always sorry,” he countered, in a neutral, almost observational tone.

Something about the way he said it made her pause. It rang a bell. The Soldat never spoke to her before. Not when they dragged him into the med bay, not when she pleaded with him to respond in those stolen moments of quiet, not when she whispered apologies he couldn’t acknowledge.

But this wasn’t Bucky either, not completely. This was a fractured version of him, a Soldat pulled from the depths of his mind, not the same hollow shell she remembered. He was speaking to her, processing things in a way he never had before. How much of him was in there? How much did he understand?

“It seems so,” she conceded, in barely above a whisper, more to herself than to him.

He studied her, tilting his head slightly, the way he used to when something puzzled him. “You should stop before the handlers come in here,” he said, not harshly, but matter-of-factly, as though it was the most natural conclusion.

Her heart clenched. His mind was caught in the past, in a time when her presence at his side had always been followed by pain, by orders, by unseen eyes watching their every move.

She forced a small, steady breath, keeping her hands moving as she knitted his skin back together. “There are no… handlers here,” she said softly, keeping her tone careful, controlled.

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. His thumb brushed absently over her cheek, like he was still trying to place her, to make sense of the moment.

She swallowed hard. “Do you know where you are?”

He blinked, and his eyes flickered toward the corners of the room as if searching for cameras, for listening ears. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, like he was telling her a secret.

“I know I was sent to retrieve you,” he admitted. “You are the one who fixes me. Always do.” A pause. “You shouldn’t be talking to me. I know what happens to you every time you talk."

Her throat closed, and suddenly, it felt impossible to breathe. A sharp twist of nausea coiled in her stomach, memories slamming with brutal force. Her hands trembled slightly where they pressed against his wound. “No one is going to come,” she whispered.

His brow twitched. His head tilted slightly, and his eyes scanned hers, as if searching for something, truth, deception, an explanation that made sense in the fractured landscape of his mind.

“They always do,” he said again, quieter.

She swallowed hard and lifted a trembling hand, resting it lightly against his jaw. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips. “Not this time, radnój,” she murmured.

His breath stilled.

His flesh hand, still cradling her cheek, stiffened slightly before his grip loosened as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold on or let go.

The endearment shocked him. That word had never been meant for him. He had heard it before but never directed it at him. His fingers flexed uncertainly against her cheek. She always had spoken to him before -soothing words in hushed tones, quiet reassurances when no one was listening- but never this.

His brow creased, and his gaze searched hers as though trying to make sense of it. “You don’t-” The words caught on his lips, and he shook his head slightly. “You shouldn’t.”

She exhaled shakily, brushing her thumb over his jaw in soft defiance. “I do.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his features. Soldat did not hesitate. But something about her -about this- was pulling him somewhere he didn’t understand.

“…Why?” he finally rasped, in a quiet, rougher tone.

His eyes searched hers, as a storm of confusion and something else swirled in them. His hand still hovered near her face, as if caught between instinct and reason.

“Did I overstep?” she deflected softly.

His gaze dropped, and the furrow between his brows deepened. “No,” he mumbled after a long pause, almost contemplative. “I just don’t… understand.” His brows drew together further, and his expression was caught somewhere between confusion and something deeper, something close to longing, buried under years of conditioning.

She took a slow breath, before carefully asking, "Is it okay to hug you?"

She and Bucky hugged a lot, usually with him being the one to start the embrace. But this man in front of her was not entirely him, not yet. And she wasn’t sure if Soldat would welcome such physical contact.

He blinked at her, and the hand in his thigh tightened briefly before loosening again. His brow creased in thought, like he was trying to decipher a foreign language. Hugging. That wasn’t something that belonged in his world. Contact had always been a means to an end: restraint, punishment, control. Not this.

She waited, patient and open, making no move to force it. Just offering.

Finally, after a long beat of silence, he gave the smallest nod.

Carefully, she leaned in, moving slowly, telegraphing every motion as she wrapped her arms around him. He tensed at first, but she didn’t pull away. She just held on, warm and calm, resting her cheek lightly in the top of his head.

His breath shuddered out of him, and after another beat of hesitation, his metal arm came up around her. Not crushing, not desperate, just holding her.

It was different from Bucky’s embraces. Bucky clung, seeking comfort he didn’t know how to ask for. But Soldat? This was uncharted ground. He wasn’t seeking, he was discovering. Testing the weight of the contact. Trying to understand why something so simple could feel so foreign.

She squeezed him just a little, in silent reassurance. “See?” she murmured. “Safe.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go either.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in silence. She felt his chest rise and fall in measured breaths, as if he was trying to calibrate the sensation of being held. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested against her back, flexing as if testing their own freedom to move.

She exhaled softly, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, so much of it, always there, always braced for the next order. But no command came this time. No mission awaited.

“You can let go if you want,” she whispered, though she made no move to pull away. “But you don’t have to.”

His grip tightened, just barely. A silent answer.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, just enough for his forehead to ghost against her temple. The breath he released was deep and measured, like he was recalibrating himself against her presence.

She closed her eyes. This was Bucky, somewhere underneath, even if his mind was still tangled in old wires. And if she had to be his tether back to himself, she would be.

“I’m here,” she murmured, not expecting a response.

But after a moment, barely audible, he rasped, “…I know.”

She leaned in just a fraction more, tilting her head so their foreheads pressed together, brushing her nose against his. A barely-there touch, light as a whisper. He was so still, caught somewhere between the past and the present, between instinct and something softer. His vibranium hand flexed at her waist. She whispered his name. Not Soldat, not a title, just his name. A soft reminder. His grip on her tightened, slightly curling his fingers into the fabric of her clothes. His breath became uneven and shallow. “I know,” he murmured again, in a rough, almost pained tone. He didn’t let go. And neither did she.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, wide and uncertain. The flickering light overhead cast shadows over his face, deepening the exhaustion etched into his features.

“I need to keep taking care of those wounds, hm?” she murmured softly, gentle as the touch she brushed along his back.

“Later,” he rasped, slightly tightening his grip at her waist.

She sighed softly, ghosting her fingers over his temple, pushing back a stray strand of hair. “I know you’re in pain, just-“

“And you’re drained,” he cut her off, tightening his jaw. His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Always… drained. Always crying. Always good. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

There he was again, stuck in the past, tangled in guilt and old wounds that refused to close.

Her heart clenched, but she didn’t let go. Didn’t move away. Instead, she cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb just beneath his eye.

“You deserve kindness,” she said firmly. “You always have.”

He turned his face slightly into her palm, as if hiding from the weight of her words. “…I don’t believe that,” he admitted.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, tightening her fingers against his skin. “Then let me believe it for you.”

Slowly, cautiously, she leaned in.

His breath hitched and his fingers flexed against her back, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t stop her.

She hesitated just before closing the distance, stopping her lips a whisper away from his. A silent offering, not a demand. He could pull back. He could reject it.

But he didn’t.

His grip on her tightened ever so slightly, barely perceptible, but she felt it, the smallest tug, a subconscious need.

So she closed the gap.

The first touch of her lips against his was featherlight, hesitant. The kind of kiss given when neither person was sure if they were allowed to have it. When the past weighed too heavy, when the present was too fragile.

He stiffened at first, as if his body didn’t know what to do with the warmth, real warmth. The softness of her lips against his, the tentative press of her fingers against his cheek, all of it felt foreign, too delicate for someone like him. But then, something in him cracked. His fingers curled against the fabric at her back, then tightening his grip and for a second -just one second- he leaned into it.

Then a sharp inhale. A shudder. His grip twitched, his body went rigid again, and she felt it, felt the exact moment the weight of too much history, too much instinct, too much them came crashing down.

She pulled back immediately, searching his face. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, his breath shallow. His lips parted, as if trying to form words but finding none.

She gently stroke her thumb along his cheekbone. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

His throat bobbed, and his fingers ghosted at her waist, barely touching, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her lips for the briefest moment before darting back up to her eyes.

Then, barely above a whisper, rough and unsure-

“…Again?”

A request. A plea. A fractured man grasping at something good, something warm, something he never thought he could have.

She smiled softly, before leaning in once more, giving him exactly what he asked for.

Next Chapter

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Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[zvdvdlvr]

Hi! Firstly, I wanted to say that I adore your imagines! Secondly , I was hoping you’d agree to write an imagine based on s3 e7. Specifically the end of it when he’s sitting on his couch rubbing his fingers the baby touched. Maybe that makes him realize he wants a baby of his own with you? Thanks in advance!!!🩵

what i want ✩ gregory house

🫀- synopsis. Greg knows what he wants, but he needs to know that you want the same thing.

🫀 - warnings. I got a little carried away… SLIGHT impregnation kink. OOC House but i dont care. i hope you enjoyed this, anon!! 🤍

Greg’s mind had been bizarrely silent.

Instead of the regular influx of thoughts that flooded his brain, Greg just heard his heartbeat and his breathing. Well, the T.V. too, but the point is that something was off.

The face of House’s watch read fifteen minutes before eleven o’clock at night, and Greg hadn’t thought if a single thing since the surgery.

The case was an unusual one- as always- consisting of a pregnant photographer who had a stroke. After fainting, House and the team had deducted that the baby (House consistently reffered to it as ‘the fetus’) was killing the mother. Eventually, her organs started to shut down so a surgery was needed to fix the baby to fix Emma.

During the surgery, the unborn child had reached out and clasped it’s tiny hand around Greg’s pointer finger. The baby’s arm wasn’t even the length of Greg’s finger, House noticed. Truly, Greg hadn’t realized how long he had been staring at the baby’s fingers until Cuddy had called his name twice.

Now House thought of that moment in the operating room. He pressed his thumb down lightly to match the amount of pressure Greg felt when the baby held onto him.

Kids were a nuisance. A waste of money, the reason why so many people had heart attacks, and disrespectful. But��� they were also cute sometimes and, apparently, wanted nothing more than to make their mommy and daddy proud of them. Well, that’s what Wilson had said when Greg had asked why people wanted kids so badly.

Greg didn’t know if you wanted kids.

You were great with them at any age- infant, toddler, and even those devilish pre-teens. In fact, you seemed to glow whenever someone trusted you to hold their baby. You made sure to look up and find Greg: watching you like he always does. He can’t help but feel a wry smile pull at his lips when he pictures you, your own finger being clutched by your own baby.

Greg was torn; he didn’t know what he wanted.

“I think I’m going to blow up,” you sang as you closed the door behind you. Greg stays still, thumb still pressing on his pointer finger.

You toe off your shoes and start to unbuckle your jeans as you head for your shared room. Greg doesn’t look up when you eventually traipse back out wearing Greg’s sweatpants and and old shirt Greg didn’t know he had. You navigate yourself under his arms and carefully over his leg to lay carefully on him. Greg feels the slow puff of your breath on his neck as you exhale. “Did you eat already, love?”

Greg lets out his own sigh and he let’s his hands rest on your back. “No. Expired lasagna didn’t really sound too appealing to my refined taste,” he replies.

“What’s wrong?” You ask looking up at him.

Greg blinks at you. As he slowly meets your eyes, he starts to feel you hand gently raking his hair back and running your thumb over his prickly facial hair. Just like you always do.

And then it comes to him.

“Do you… want kids?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “I… don’t think so. I don’t- well, you don’t want kids, do you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Greg chided, squeezing your ass. “Do you want kids?”

It takes you a ling moment to answer. So long, in fact, that Greg thinks you may have fallen asleep with your eyes open. “Probably not. I don’t think you want kids so I haven’t really thought about it. Why?”

Greg keeps going. “Would you want kids? With me?”

You lay your head back down on his chest. “Yeah. If you wanted them too.”

House doesn’t really know how to proceed with the conversation, so he lets you play with his fingers as you watch the baseball game Greg put on. “I want one.”

Your movements stop. Yet again, you peer up at Greg. This time with unhealthily furrowed eyebrows. One of your hands comes up to check your boyfriend’s temperature. “Are you okay? Do I need to call Wilson?”

Greg looks pained as his hands slide up your body to rest at your face. His thumbs rest on your cheekbones. “I want a baby with you, y/n,” he tells you, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “I want- I want your womb to swell with our kid. I want a little extension of you to put up with when you’re working late. I want you to marry me and I want you to be the mother of my child.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s- wow.”

“Wow,” Greg repeats with an unsure smile.

“I’m not going to lie,” you say, cracking a smile. “I’m pretty turned on right now. I’m just really surprised that you have baby fever.”

Greg groans. “Tell me what you want, woman! I just rather uncharacteristically spilled my guts and you say ‘wow’!”

You snicker and support Greg’s neck with your hand as you lean up to kiss him. As expected, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist and reciprocates your passion tenfold.

“We could practice the baby-making for the honeymoon,” you whisper after pulling away from his lips.

Greg’s eyes flutter closed and you chuckle. “I would say ‘race you to the bedroom’, but I think you’re going to beat me anyway,” he rasps. You exhale a laugh through your nose as you start to press kisses from his lips hown to his neck. “Let’s go to the bedroom, yeah?” Greg asks, humping you pathetically as you kiss him.

“Fuck yeah,” you respond lowly, a dangerous smile in your face.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Ok, after having listened to TTPD on loop, I have a request ft. But, daddy I love him.

Dream sequence fic starring Sunshine x Bucky and the dream is set in the 40s with Nick Fury and Sam Wilson as Sunshine's father and brother respectively. Something magical hit 'em and now the whole team is kind of in a dream while loki is the only one awake (he's a powerful witch duh😂) and everyone has been weirdly cast in the 40s roles.

Feel free to run along as you'd love. As always, I adore your writing 🫶🤍

No because I’ve never written a dream sequence before but like that means I can be a little more unhinged frivolous than I normally am. I know this took a hot minute, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you for the ask! 💛

But Daddy I Love Him

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Summary - You weren't really his daughter. He wasn't really your father. And yet, his constant disapproval makes you want to scream 'But Daddy, I love him'.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"Nick," Sam tries for what feels like the dozenth time. "Really, they didn't have anything to do with it. It's on me, I'm- "

"This meeting is adjourned," Nick sharply cuts Sam off. You begin to stand from your seat at the conference room table as Nick Fury's cutting glare meets yours, "Not you."

The moment those words leave Fury's mouth, Bucky freezes.

There's a part of Bucky that knows anything he says or does right now will make this about ten times worse.

And yet, there's an even bigger part of him that doesn't care. He'll defend you to Nick Fury. He'll stand there and refuse to let him tear into you about this of all things.

Nick glares at him, speaking pointedly as Bucky refuses to move an inch even as the rest of the team timidly shuffles out, "I said meeting is adjourned."

You nod as Bucky rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, "Go. I'll be okay."

Bucky's eyes meet yours for a short moment, silently asking you if you'll actually be okay. You nod again, jutting your chin toward the door.

After the door clicks shut behind Bucky, the room is quiet for a long moment.

Your eyes flicker up to meet Nick's, "It was an accident, Nick."

"An accident?" He snorts in disbelief, "Going public with the Winter Soldier is an accident?"

"With James. James Buchanan Barnes."

He rolls his eyes, grunting in distaste, "That's not who the world sees."

You stand up from your chair, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a petulant child, "I don't care! I don't care what the world sees!"

"You don't care?" he scoffs, resting his hands on his hips. "You don't care that the reputation that you've built is going to be singlehandedly torn to shreds? You're saying you're willing to burn down everything you've worked so hard to build... for him?"

There isn't a moment's pause or hesitation as you utter a single word, "Yes."

"For him?"

"For him."

Nick shakes his head, his muscles in his jaw ticking, "He's not good enough for you."

You scoff at him, "Is that what this is about?"

He rolls his eyes, planting his hands on the table, "No, now, it's about your imminent fall from grace."

"My name is mine to disgrace, Nick! I love him!"

"You're not thinking." Nick forcefully taps his temple, "Think about this. Think about what you're doing!"

"No!"

He throws his hands up in frustration, "So that's it then?"

"Why can't you just support me?" you implore.

"Because you clearly don't care what I have to say!"

"That's not true!" you raise your voice, feeling a wave of defensiveness wash over you. "It was an accident. Sam didn't mean to post that picture. He told you that himself."

"I think he did," Nick sharply accuses. And for the first time ever, he speaks to you like the Director of SHEILD instead of the Nick you've always known. "I think you didn't like that I told you to wait, to bide your time. I think you went behind my back and disobeyed direct orders."

You scoff, "So you're calling me a liar?"

His tone is sharp. Another first, it seems like he doesn't even care about sparing your feelings. His words are as sharp and cutthroat as his reputation, "I think you're blinded by your own feelings. And I think that you're making a big mistake."

This time, you do stomp your foot like his petulant child, "It's my mistake to make! I'm not taking it back."

He raises his chin defiantly, "And I'm not changing my mind."

You cross your arms, refusing to back down, "Me neither."

He stands to his full height, his face blank and emotionless, "Then I guess there's nothing left to say."

The words feel like a punch to the gut, but you still can't bring yourself to back down, "I guess not..."

"You're dismissed."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You've never actually been dismissed. Everyone knew you weren't just an Avenger or agent or Asset to Nick. And now, he was talking to you like that's all you were.

There's a heaviness in the pit of your stomach as you stand out of your seat. You keep your eyes locked on his as you stand up, silently imploring him to see reason, to see how much you love Bucky.

It doesn't happen. You shake your head at him once more.

And you walk out the conference room feeling more distraught then you've felt in quite some time.

You never fight with Nick like that. You hardly ever had disagreements, let alone full blown screaming matches.

The pain of the intense argument just reminds you that he's always been more than just your commander, more than just the director of SHIELD. He's the closest thing you've got to a father figure. But you're not changing your mind anymore than he is.

"I take it that it didn't go well?" Loki asks, leaning against the wall in front of the conference room.

You shake your head with a sad smile, "Not exactly."

He places a light hand on your shoulder, patting it once, "It’s a rite of passage for a child to disappoint their parents. It was bound to happen.”

"Except Nick isn’t my dad.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at you, “Didn’t you refer to him as your father?”

“That was one time and it was an accident!” you huff.

“Accidental or not, it’s a part of growing up. Especially for a precocious, dutiful daughter like yourself.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, “Are you trying to make me feel better?"

Loki shrugs, "I suppose I am. Is it working?”

"Not really, but thank you." You scrunch your nose, shaking your head slightly, "I appreciate the attempt."

He lets go of your shoulder with another pat, "It will work out. One way or another."

"Did your magic tell you that?"

He begins to walk away with his signature, mischievous smirk, "Something like that."

"I didn't like the way you just said that, Loki," you call down the corridor. "Should I be worried about that?"

He shrugs, "Like I said, it will settle. One way or another."

There's a part of you that knows you should go after him and question his plans.

The part that wins out is the one in desperate search of comfort after the blowout with the closest thing you have to a father figure.

“How did it go?” Bucky asks the moment you enter your room. Your only response in a defeated groan as you slump down face first onto your bed. Bucky sighs, pulling you close to him, "He'll come around."

"I hope so." You turn your cheek, looking up at him with a sad smile, "Even if he doesn't, I hope you know that it doesn't change anything, I love you."

He strokes your cheek, "I love you too."

"We should get some sleep. I'm drained."

"Come here."

You rest your head against his chest, allowing yourself to be soothed by the warmth of Bucky's skin.

The last thing you remember is drifting off into a restless sleep.

In the next moment, you find yourself jolted up with a sharp gasp of air.

You stare down at yourself, your normal clothes replaced by a puffy poodle skirt and a neatly tucked in crisp, white blouse. “Wow… this is different.”

You jolt at the sound of the familiar voice behind you. “Tell me about it.”

You can't help the wide grin that tugs at both corners of your lips as you take in the sight of Bucky before you. His normal, short, fluffy hair is entirely slicked back. His dark jeans and henley replaced with rugged, blue denim and a white t-shirt with a snug leather jacket.

You cheekily tug at Bucky's unzipped leather jacket. “Oh, I'm having that dream again.”

He quirks an eyebrow, “Um... did you mean to say that out loud?"

"What?"

He smirks down at you, twirling the ends of your high ponytail, "You dream of me like this?"

Your eyebrows pull together. Your head whips around as you take in the room again. And yes, you're sure you're still dreaming.

A similar realization dawns on Bucky - this isn't normal. This isn't like any dream Bucky you've conjured up.

No, this was really him.

Right here.

In your dream.

He paces the length of the room, the worry in his eyes palpable. “Are you really here right now? In my dream?”

“Am I?”

“Are you?" you challenge.

Nick storms in, the door slamming behind him, "Didn't I tell you to stay away from her?!"

Your head whips toward the door, "Nick?"

Nick blinks a few times, staring down at his hands for a moment, "What the hell?"

"Uh... what the hell is happening right now?" Bucky lilts.

You shrug your shoulders, "I have no idea."

Sam storms in from the stairs behind you, "You're not good enough for my sister!"

"Sam?" you squawk. "What is happening!?"

"Even in my dreams I can't escape him," Bucky grumbles.

"What are you doing in my dream?" Sam demands.

"What are you doing in my dream?" you counter.

"Everyone shut up!" Nick interrupts. "Now, everyone think. What happened just before we went to sleep?"

"Nothing, I went to bed like I normally do."

"Same here."

"I fell asleep in front of the TV in my room," Sam admits.

"So how the hell did we all end up here in the same dream?" Nick rhetorically asks.

"I don't think this is a dream," Bucky interjects.

You look over at him, quirking an eyebrow, "Why?"

"My arm." He glances down at his metal arm, flexing his arms. "I don't normally dream it. In my dreams, I have my flesh arm."

"So then what is this?"

"Magic?" you reply.

"If someone hit the Compound, wouldn't everyone be here?" Sam counters.

Your head tilts as you weigh his words, "That's true..."

"So what if this was targeted?" Bucky offers.

"And what exactly would be the point of that?" Nick argues.

You sharply gasp, "Loki..."

"What? What about Loki?"

"I ran into him in the hallway after me and Nick..." Your eyes flicker up at Nick, whose mouth twists with something vaguely resembling remorse. "He said that we would work things out."

"Is that all he said?"

"Yeah, pretty much. He said we would work things out one way or another."

"One way or another? What if this is 'another'?"

"Who says that we're even stuck in here? Maybe we all just need to wake up?" Sam offers.

"And how would we do that?" you ask.

Without missing a beat, Bucky reaches out, pinching Sam.

"Ow!" Sam shrieks. "What the hell?"

Bucky offers an unapologetic smirk and half shrug, "That would've done it."

"So we're stuck?"

"Maybe this is like an escape room kinda thing. Maybe we're supposed to find a key or something."

“Okay, we just need to figure this out. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”

“Or there’s a weird, strange, magic thing going on that we will never be able to explain.”

“Yeah, or that.”

"Hey guys?" You look down at the coffee table. "Were these scripts always here?"

"Scripts?"

"Look, we each have one with our name on it."

"I'm not doing this," Sam announces after a quick skim. The house starts rumbling beneath your feet. Dishes from a kitchen you can't see clatter to the ground. "Okay, okay, I'll do it!"

The moment the words leave his mouth, the ground settles.

"Wait to piss off the magical dream, Sam," Bucky hisses.

"Okay, Nick, you're up first."

He grunts in displeasure, taking a long moment before finally acquiescing, "Fine... Didn't I tell you to stay away from my daughter?"

"Sam..." you cajole.

"Fine," he groans. "You're not good enough for my sister! But for the record, I only lightly threatened Bucky. I was never against your relationship."

"You once threatened to chop me up and feed me to the fish."

"Yeah, but I only did it once!"

"But daddy I love him?" you awkwardly recite. "I can't say this!"

"Just read the damn script!" Sam groans. "I want to go back to sleep. For real this time!"

“And I’m having his baby!” Both Nick's and Sam's jaws hit the ground. You look up from your script to their shocked faces. “No, I’m not - but you should see your faces.”

"Whoever wrote this script, it needs some work!" Sam shouts out into the ether.

"And what will they say about you?"

"I don't care." You take a step out of Bucky's arms, "I'm not coming to my senses. He's the one I want."

Nick makes a sound of open displeasure, "Of course, I have to listen to this in and out of consciousness..."

"Maybe if you would actually listen to me, you wouldn't have to hear it over and over again," you shoot back.

"Or maybe if you stopped acting like a child throwing a temper tantrum the second you don't get what you want-"

"I'm being childish?" you squawk.

"Yes! You're being unreasonable and impractical!"

"You're the one being unreasonable!" You storm over to the front door, flinging it open. "Why do you even care so much?"

"Why do I care? Why do I care?" He shouts back, right on your heels as you angrily pace the front porch of the dream house. "Because if I'm the only father you get, you better believe I'm gonna be a damn good one!"

The words stop you in your tracks. You sharply inhale, the emotions lodging itself in your throat, "Nick..."

The words take him aback, but even he knows there would be no point in denying it. Even if you both denied it, there was really only one reason why he was coming down so hard on you.

He stands before you, shaking his head, "I know it's not much, I know I'm not perfect, and I know it doesn't make up for you being alone for so long, but I'm here now. I'm here. And if I'm what you get, then I'm going to give it my all."

In his short pause, you can say nothing, still mostly stunned silent. Even if you could speak, you know there's nothing that you could say that could accurately show how much it all meant to you, how much he meant to you.

All your anger, all your outrage disappears the moment you realize what this all boils down to.

He cares.

In his own, Nick Fury way, he cares.

You rush towards him, slightly knocking the wind out of him with the force of your embrace.

He strokes the back of your head for just a short moment, “You really love him, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

Nick's hand drops, sighing with a slight grumble, "Clearly enough to concoct this elaborate dream sequence."

You chuckle, pulling away, "Oh, this really wasn't me. I have no idea how we all ended up here."

"What?"

"Yeah, I had nothing to do with this. We could be trapped here for all I know."

"We could be trapped here and we're having a heart to heart on a fake porch?"

"Hey, Nick? How did we get out onto the porch?"

"What do you mean? We walked right through that-" His words trail off as he points to a door that isn't there anymore. "That door."

A panicked gasp leaves you, "Oh my God, Sam and Bucky are gone too."

Nick rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, "Let's just stay calm. We just need to think this through."

You look down at the script tightly clutched in your hands. "Wait, look, the script changed."

Nick sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Now what?"

"Daddy, I love him," you begin to recite. "And he loves me too. I know it won't be easy, but he's the one I want."

"If he makes you happy, then I'm happy for you."

You look back up at him, your eyes shining with hope, "Do you mean that?"

"That's not part of the script."

"Do you though?"

"Assuming that we ever escape this, yeah, I do mean it. I just worry. I worry about you."

"Thanks, Nick."

Nick violently jolts awake from the dream. He looks around his room in a cold sweat, "Motherfu-"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarnes @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan @marvelatthem @capswife @1-akira-2

[caplanbuckybarnes]

This Could Be Heartbreak (Mafia!Bucky)

Summary: Bucky walks in on you fucking around with his most trusted henchman, Clint Barton. 

Warnings; mentions of an affair, mobster au, angst, a murder

Word Count: 321

A/N1: Sorry for the onslaught of tags. i can't control myself lol. i *may* write a part (or 3) of this if anyone wants it.

A/N2: I've been locating old fics of mine from blogs that used to follow me on an older blog of mine. i've been able to locate HUNDREDS of my old fics. Over teh next several months, I'll be reposting them here & on ao3 (which most of them should already be there!)

Read on Ao3!

--

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a gun against his head he knew better. Clint fucking Barton knew better than to speak when a gun was pointed at him. Especially when the one who held the gun was none other than Bucky Barnes himself.

“What the fuck was you thinkin’, Barton? Huh?” Barnes prodded his temple with the barrel, grimace etched deeply on his face. “You touchin’ on my girl without my permission. Boy, you must have sniffed too much of that snow powder, huh. To think I could trust a man like you with my lady.” He sucked his teeth. “I was foolish.”

“She came onto me, Barnes!” Clint hollered out, earning a scoff from your lips. “I swear it! I’ll go under the knife if you want! Please! She-she called me over here, tellin’ me she needed help stocking the drinks. She asked for my help. Once I got here, she was sprawled out over the damn bar, showing me everything. What man wouldn’t take the chance at a lady as beautiful as her, man?”

“Is he speaking’ the truth, doll face?” Bucky’s frown turned to you, where you were lounging on the car counter, your skirt ruffed up to your thigh, torn nearly off when Clint had attempted to get his hands on your pretty skin, just before Bucky had stormed into the palace, face full of outrage. “Did you come onto my right hand man without my permission? Did you show your body to him, Y/N? Were you flirtin’ around behind my back?”

“Oh, Bucky,” you drawled out slowly, a smirk playing on your lips as you glanced between both men. “Of course not, love. Why would I ever do such a terrible thing to you? I would never approach a man without your consent, you know that. Right baby?”

Bucky licked his lips hungrily as his gaze fell upon his comrade yet again. “You’re dead meat, Barton.”

“Boss-!” Clint’s plea was drowned out by the sound of a bullet entering his skull.

Bucky grimaced as he wiped at his face where Clint’s blood had splattered. “Say, sweetheart, what’d yah say we head on over to Wilson’s place, eh? I’ll call lil ole Steve to clear up the mess here.”

“It would be my pleasure, baby.”

--

Ko-Fi

[twobeesornottwobees]

I have many thoughts on Challengers (2024) and I need to get them out so here we go

First, the tennis.

This movie understands tennis better than any film, tv, book, etc. I have ever seen. You know exactly how the relationship between the three main characters is going to play out just based on how they play. The cardinal rule of tennis is you want to get to the net as quickly as possible. Playing from the baseline (the line that you serve at) is all well and good and it's a vital part of the game but playing at the net is where the action is. The quicker you get to the net, the more likely you are to win.

From the first moment we see Art and Patrick, Art is at the net and Patrick is at the baseline. Then we see Patrick serve. In the language of tennis, Patrick's serve is a crime against beauty. It might work well enough for him but it is ugly. Those two facts put together mean that when Tashi tells Patrick he isn't a tennis player, she knows what she's talking about. Art is not as talented as Patrick and neither of them are as talented as Tashi but Art gets to the fucking net. He understands what Tashi means when she says that tennis is a relationship.

Second, the framing of the narrative as a tennis match.

Patrick wins a set, Art wins a set, we're left looking at the tie breaker. Brilliant. Camera shots from far away steadily get closer and closer, just like if you were in a rally and you were moving toward the net. Tashi, in particular, always moves closer to the person she's talking to and she always wins the point. She goes towards the net.

Third, Tashi as a character.

I love her, your honor. She is in love with the game of tennis. She doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything else. When she says she would stab a child to have the recovery that Art did, she means it. Moreover, we know that the child in question could be her own daughter and she would still mean it. From the first night in the boys' hotel room, she doesn't care which of them gets her number, she just wants to see good tennis. She is unlikable and yet Art is right. Who wouldn't love her?

Fourth, Art and Patrick.

One thing about tennis: your teammates are also your competitors. They are the yardstick by which you measure yourself, the only people capable of making you better, the people that you most need to beat. The relationship between the two of them, even from the beginning, perfectly reflects this.

I would actually argue that not a single one of the three of them is a good person. But the narrative is completely uninterested in whether or not their moral people. All it cares about is if they're good tennis players.

Fifth, the background details.

Art is sponsored by Wilson, his rackets have their logo repainted on (normally, you get rackets restrung and don't get the logos painted back on, only the players that are sponsored get that done.) Tashi was sponsored by Wilson (and Adidas but only for her clothes). Art only switches over from Dunlop to Wilson after they get married. Patrick's racket is restrung, but no logo, he's not sponsored. But, his poverty is at least a little bit performative because you don't smash up a $300 racket unless you have money to spare.

The ad in the background of the parking lot. It still has both Tashi and Art on it while Tashi and Patrick are having sex but by the time the final match starts, Art's half of the picture has torn away.

Patrick's changed serving style. Only when communication is happening directly between him and Art, that Tashi has no way of understanding, do they start functioning well on a court together. Ironically, when Tashi is removed from the relationship she finally gets to see some good tennis.

Anyways, I love this movie.

[oldmanffucker]

my first instinct upon seeing this was to get angry and want to hit this person with hammers, but actually I want to talk about this.

this post, and I didn't even want to click in the read the rest bc it made me to sad to see, is saying that Wilson and Amber only dated for a maximum of three months, so should he really be this torn up about her loss?

So, as a grief support specialist and house fan, let's talk about it.

First and foremost, it's the depth, not the length, of a relationship that matters. Quality over quantity, all of that. Of course. But also, if we look at Amber and Wilson's relationship itself, this is kind of the first time Wilson is in a relationship that feels really good to him. Amber doesn't just want Wilson bc she needs him and needs to be put first by him, she wants him to take care of himself too. He's being challenged for the first time (in a romantic context) (canonically) to not put himself on the back burner for everyone else, but to think about what Wilson wants. House, of course, does this too, but in different ways. Which is also to say that Amber is a revelation for him because she is like House--House who is his longest and arguably only real friend, the person he trusts the most, is most able to be himself around. And now he's found this person who he can feel all that in a romantic and sexual context too.

Which is all to say that this relationship wasn't like any other three month fling he had, this one had a depth to it from the very beginning that was really important and profound to Wilson, and was changing some parts of himself in a way that was really kind of life altering, even as it was also pretty subtle in many ways to the casual viewer.

This, plus the fact that her death itself was really sudden, very traumatic, and prolonged (a couple days and many really traumatic failed attempts to save her life, including his best friend risking his life for her), really adds up to someone being profoundly affected by this loss.

But beyond this, Wilson did not only experience the loss of Amber with her death. There are losses we grieve beyond simply dying. The whole experience before finding out she was even missing and hurt, of seeing House without memory, of even for a little while thinking they may have had an affair, of watching House kill himself (literally) to bring back his memories - this portion of the situation alone is an experience of a loss of safety. He's realizing that life is random, and terrifying in a whole new way than he may have known it before. His best friend was in a bus accident. Life is random and he could have died. There is no guaranteed safety. His best friend who knows everything suddenly knows nothing. A loss of the status quo, of what he's assumed is the way things are. he's watching his best friend go to extreme lengths in order to capture his memories. he's watching his best friend fucking die on a bus floor as he tries to revive him with his boss. Loss of control, loss of the norm, loss of the future they could have had if none of this happened.

THEN.!! He's made aware that Amber was involved in all of this. And we don't know where she is or how she's doing. He's now been introduced to ambiguous loss (which he has experienced at great length with his brother who went missing, and is now experiencing again). Now they have to find Amber. Okay and now they've found her and she's in a coma and really on the brink of death. And this too is an ambiguous loss of another variety. He's experiencing both sides of ambiguous loss about Amber back to back (1. Physical absence and psychological presence (ex. someone missing/estranged) 2. Physical presence and psychological absence (ex. parent w dementia, someone in a coma))

He then has to skip over the grieving part and jump into problem solving and trying to keep her alive. and then his boy best friend has to risk his life for amber and wilson and almost die. And then Wilson has to realize that now, his kind of technically-alive-but-not girlfriend, he has to let her go. And she's woken up and he has mere moments to say his goodbyes and I love you's.

And ALL OF THAT is just the loss itself.

Then he is "grieving" or "mourning" in the way that is generally understood by the average person. If you ask the average person (esp in the US) what grief is, they'd usually point to this--after someone dies when you're sad--and none of the many paragraphs of grief and loss grappling I wrote about just before that.

The average bereavement leave is 3 days. Grief will invariably last more than three days. The amount of time we see Wilson grieving is frankly, really fucking regular. Even for a death less fraught and traumatic (subjectively) than this one.

Besides all of this, there are a number of different grief styles, and I think that Wilson's grief style is that of the Intuitive, or Heart, Griever (isn't that just perfect? I wonder if the writers knew that when they named the episode Wilson's Heart...).

This type of griever is more overtly emotional than the Intellectual, or Head, Griever (the other 2 styles are the Blended, or Head & Heart Griever, and the Dissonant, or Head vs Heart Griever). But is again, really common! Perhaps the asker of this original Reddit question is a head griever, or a dissonant griever, or perhaps even someone who has never yet had to grieve, and has only been fed the myths about grief, and they're trying to make sense of such a large grief.

There is no right way to grieve, there is no correct length of time that that grieving should last. There's no correct amount of time you are allowed to know someone before you grieve their death or pain. The way you grieve is the way you need to grieve, you simply have to try to honor it.

(I don't have a reddit so I can't respond to this directly, but feel free to link this in the responses to the post itself if you feel so inclined)

[urdepressedslut]

You could never hurt me

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky realizes what he’s done to you after an episode, and starts to doubt if he deserves to be with you.

♡ Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of choking

It was fair to say that shit had hit the fan, the sliver of calm that was held before… ripped away.

Somehow Bucky was triggered into The Winter Soldier, allowing many to see how he was in action up close. Much to Bucky's dismay, nobody trusted him even more now. Besides his close friends that is, which sadly wasn't many.

The trio, Sam, Steve and (Y/n) had tried their best to subdue the soldier, but were easily outmatched.

Sam walked away with a sore back, some bruises here and there, while Steve was able to come out of the tussle without many marks himself. (Y/n) on the other hand, had some pretty bad bruising circling her neck. She felt fine physically, having taken worse damage at some other time in her life. Though emotionally she felt torn, knowing that Bucky wasn't in control, but she knew that wouldn't stop him from punishing himself.

Able to seclude them four away from prying eyes, the trio waited for Bucky to wake. Steve and (Y/n) was hoping that it would be their Bucky that would eventually stir, and not the soldier.

"How you doing?" Steve asked her from her sitting spot, a good distance away from Bucky's hunched over form.

"Not too bad... I've had worse." She answered, wincing at the discomfort from speaking.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He asked with a 'Really?' look.

"Guess not. Sorry... I just..." She paused, exhaling painfully, "He's been through so much, he can't seem to catch a break."

"I know." He said solemnly, focusing his gaze to a spot on the floor by her shoes.

"With everyone looking for him, now we got Tony added into the search squad."

"You really think he won't help us out?" Steve asked, making (Y/n) scoff from her spot on the floor.

"It feels unfair to ask him for help... Knowing what you know." She told him, giving him a disappointed look.

Steve looked into her eyes now surprised, having not known that she was aware. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find an appropriate response.

"Its not fair Rogers... After everything he's done for us? It's not your choice, he deserves to know." She stated, giving Steve a look of disapproval.

"I know, okay?" Steve finally spoke, running his hand through his disheveled hair.

"Hey Cap!" Sam shouted from his spot near Bucky, grabbing both him and hers attention, halting their current conversation.

Both making their way over, she stood behind the boys, watching Bucky cautiously.

Bucky let out a groan of discomfort, trying to sit upright, noticing his metal armed pinned. He glances around taking in the weary looks on the men's faces, while he notices (Y/n) hiding.

"Steve?"

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked, not willing to take any chances.

Bucky thought hard for a moment before speaking.

"Your mom's name was Sarah," He pauses, "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes." He lightly chuckles, causing Steve to smile in relief.

"You can't read that in a museum." Steve stated.

"Just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked him.

"Sam..." (Y/n) warned, slowly stepping out from behind Steve.

"What? A guy can't be too careful." Sam told her, receiving a glare.

"Enough Sam..." She locked eyes with Bucky, "It wasn't him."

Bucky suddenly focused his gaze on her neck, wincing at the apparent hand-shaped bruise forming.

"I did that." He stated, not needing anyone to confirm for him, he was a monster.

"Buck, it wasn't you. That doctor triggered you." She told him, trying to convince him.

"But I still did it." He retorted, watching the frown form on her face.

"No, because I know you... Bucky would never hurt me." She told him.

"Doll I..." Bucky started, but stopped himself from giving her a lousy apology.

"Can you guys release his arm and give us a minute?" She asked the two.

"(Y/n) I don't think tha—"

"Please." She begged, keeping her eyes locked with Bucky's shame filled orbs.

The two nodded in agreement, releasing his arm and giving them privacy.

"Your heads bleeding, let me see." She told him.

Bucky knew he didn't deserve her kindness, but he couldn't find it in him to push her away, he craved her touch.

"Really, I'm okay." He tried to convince her, even though he was far from it.

"You've never been able to lie to me... So don't try it now." She spoke, her voice shaking just barely.

"Doll, I'm so sorry I..." He choked up, "I never wanted this to happen, my worst nightmare has come true."

Her hands held the sides of his face, smearing away the escaping tear. Rubbing her thumbs up and down, she watched the quiver in his lip slow.

"The only way you could ever hurt me, is if you left me." She cooed, feeling both his arms wrap around her sides, pulling her slightly closer in need of comfort.

"I'm supposed to protect you. I can't protect you from myself. We can't... You shouldn't be with me." His voice went to a whisper by the end, the words feeling bitter rolling off is tongue.

"I'm sorry Buck, but you're not allowed to make that decision for me. I'm always gonna stay." She spoke strongly, no more shakiness in her voice.

He went to respond, but choked on a sob. He truly didn't deserve her, and he still couldn't comprehend that after everything, she still wanted him. Leaning forward he snuggled his face in the crook of her neck. Taking in her comforting scent, he was home.

"I love you baby... I love you so much." She promised, hearing his sobs die down, his breathing slowing.

Lifting his face so that his was inches from hers, he gazed into her eyes adoringly. His eyes danced down to her lips, then met her orbs again.

"I love you (Y/n)... I don't deserve you." He whispered.

He closed the space between them, capturing her lips in a devoted kiss. He let his metal arm pull her onto his lap, letting his flesh fingers tangle themselves into her hair. They could taste their shared breath, feeling the light thump of their heartbeats against each others lips.

Pulling away from him for air, she held his face in front of hers, letting their foreheads connect. Bucky closed his eyes in content, letting their breaths warm each other.

"You deserve everything." She whispered.

A/N: im so protective of bucky, he deserves to be happy 🥺 pls feel free to send in requests 🤍

[whatcjdidnext]

Daddy’s Girl || Essie Shelby

1919, Birmingham England. Arthur Shelby Sr comes back and Essie doesn’t remember him.

(Set in season one episode five)

Essie Taglist: @cillianmurphysdimples, @munstysmind, @watermeezer, @sherwoodknights, @gothicacetheatrekid, @hllywdwhre

Essie Shelby was many things. But shy, she was not.

She sat at the table with a book and a plate of biscuits, made fresh that very morning with Essie’s help and supervision. The book was interesting, “The Secret Garden” by Frances Hodgson Burnett and Essie was loving it. Ever the brilliant and bright bookworm that she was, Essie turned the page then let her eyes lift from the book when Arthur strolled in. She held the book up to show her oldest brother then let her face drop as a man she vaguely remembered walked in.

“What the Christ are you doin’ here?”

Polly never moved so quickly in her life, standing behind Essie’s chair and resting a hand on the ten year old’s head. Her keen eyes sought Finn out and she beckoned him over with a head nod but he stayed rooted to John’s side.

“Came to see the wains.. Ahh there’s yourself then”

Essie didn’t know what to do, clamming up as the man sat to her left, she wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers - Tommy wasn’t keen on her finding too much out. She scrambled from her chair, taking her book with her as she fled to John’s side and when Johns fingers worked through her curls, Essie’s shoulders dropped.

“It’s Daddy, Essie-girl”

Essie shook her head slowly as Arthur placed a plate with a sandwich in front of the man. He looked like Tommy but he sounded an awful lot like Uncle Wilson.

“How about Daddy gets a cuddle, hey Essie-girl?”

Essie didn’t like the way John tensed up and she shook her head frantically, her confident nature dashed in mere seconds “I don’t have to hug you. Aunt Polly says so”

“Thank ye, son. Much appreciated” Polly, John, Finn and Essie watched as Arthur pressed his hands together

“Bless us, father, for these bounties we are about to receive”

Polly's reaction was immediate “Jesus Christ”

“Woman please.. Not in vain” Essie’s frown deepened. No one spoke to aunt Polly like that and got away with it. Not even John and John had a mouth on him that no one could compete with

“Finish your sandwich then sling your hook”

“Pollyanna..” Essie pressed closer to John frowning. She did not like this man “I’m a guest of the head of the family. So why don’t you maybe tend to your mangle or your scuttle?”

“The head of the family ain’t here..”

John’s words made Essie feel better and she pushed her face into his side, relaxing as he held her close. It went quiet a while before Arthur stammered over a response

“Tommy sometimes uhh.. helps me with business, Da”

She could sense Tommy approaching even before the door swung open. Aunt Polly always said how Tommy and Essie were one soul split into two.

She listened for the sound of his cap hitting the wooden sideboard and the sound of his foot fall filling the hallway. Essie was torn between staying tucked into John’s side or running out to the hall and letting Tommy carry her.

“Ahh speak of the devil..” Essie had decided she didn’t like this man who claimed he was their father “How are ye son?”

“Get out” Tommy’s command was quiet and he nodded to the door before looking past their father. When he locked eyes with her, Essie smiled.

“Ahh come on, Son. I’m a changed man now”

Tommy was unrelenting “This family needed you ten years ago when you left a baby on our doorstep. We don’t need you now, get out”

“Tommy, he’s different n-” Essie pushed closer to John as Tommy’s voice cut Arthur off. She didn’t like it when her brothers argued.

“Shut up.”

“It’s alright son” Essie released a breath as the man picked up his hat. Was he leaving?

She peeked up at John, who’s face looked like a storm cloud and flinched as the Irishman spoke again “Arthur Shelby never stays where he’s not welcome”

John had the good sense to put himself between Essie and the strange man. His larger hand clutching her little one and Essie grabbed Finn with her free hand as he was pushed behind John as well.

“Quite somethin’ you’ve become”

It was silent for ten minutes after the man left and Essie counted each one slowly, stifling a sob as her oldest brother spoke up

“Tommy.. he’s our Dad”

“He’s a selfish bastard”

“You callin’ someone a selfish bastard, that’s a bit rich coming from you, Tommy. We’re already down a bloody sister”

Essie was used to the language she heard from her brothers but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The first quiet sob left her lips into John’s jacket as his legs hand cradled the back of her head.

I’m here too Essie wanted to say it out loud. I’m here too, you don’t have to miss Ada

“You wanna see him, Arthur?” No. No don’t go. No Essie didn’t want this “You want to see him? You go with him”

Essie wiggled free from John’s hold as Arthur left the room and followed him out to the street. Grabbing on to his jacket, she gave a tug and sobbed as Arthur turned around

“Go on ‘Ess.. you go back inside ‘eh?”

Her sobs grew louder as Arthur followed the man down the street.

Essie didn’t even dare to fight it as Tommy lifted her up and held her against him, letting her cry her frustrations out.

[shmaptainwrites]

house giving wilson amphetamines (s3, ep22), he becomes a stuttering mess and when he saw reader he accidentally becomes flirty towards the reader and backtracks again n again

when i say this made me cackle when i first saw it 💀

this is so funny because wilson’s heart is racing and he doesn’t even know what’s coming out of his mouth at this point but suddenly he thinks he’s just told you he thinks you’re hot and then he tries to cover it up to make it seem normal, but he makes it worse for himself, and like you said he just keeps going back and forth between flirting with you and then realizing he’s divulged too much and trying to backtrack and maybe accidentally insulting you

it’s like whiplash from your perspective because you have no idea what’s happening and you’ve never seen wilson this energetic and antsy and fidgety, eventually when you bring yourself out of your shock you ask him if he’s okay and he admits he’s not quite sure anymore and so you grab his arm to take his pulse and feel his heart racing for yourself and when you bring this to his attention he has a feeling he knows what happened so he rushes off to go deal with house leaving you very confused

i think later, maybe it’s been a few days since the incident and you see wilson is definitely back to normal so you go to talk to him to ask what had happened in the end and he doesn’t really want to admit that he slipped house antidepressants and in retaliation he did the same with the amphetamines, but you have a certain way of coaxing the information out of him and it makes you laugh at his and house’s ridiculous relationship, and he insists he’s learnt his lesson although you doubt much will change between the two

then after a small lull in the conversation maybe you get the guts to bring up what he said to you and basically say you were confused about what he was saying and if he even meant any of it in the first place. again, wilson feels a little torn about whether to tell the truth or not because on the one hand it could go in his favour and maybe you feel the same about him or maybe you don’t and it could make things awkward for both of you

in the end he settles on saying he did mean the nice things, if you could even call them that, and you smile a little to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest and saying maybe you guys could grab a coffee or something sometime and that he doesn’t have to worry, you don’t plan on drugging him

he somewhat shyly asks if that means you feel similarly about him and you nod and say “yeah, but you’ll probably have to drug me if you want me to tell you i think your butt looks cute in those slacks” and then leave before he can do anything but laugh in surprise

send me your RSL character x reader thoughts

→ accepting asks for james wilson, cruise, and peter müller

→ i’ve seen up to 5x6 of house — NO SPOILERS PLEASE

[queersolarfandompage]

Thinking about House risking his life to save Amber’s, because that’s what Wilson wanted. And when after everything Amber dies Wilson abandons House. And this has always upset me. House risked everything only to be left.

So I started thinking about what if there had been complications when they opened up House’s head and started poking around. House has a seizure and doesn’t wake up until after Amber has passed and Wilson is avoiding him. When he does wake up, he’s forgotten some things. I’m torn between the idea of House having full amnesia or his amnesia mainly affecting his memories with Wilson.

So when Wilson avoids him and eventually leaves, House doesn’t know he’s missing something, besides the gut feeling he has saying that something important is now gone.

Wilson leaves Princeton Plainsboro, unaware of House’s state. He moves to his new place, sure that House would still find him and bother him. But after the first month with no sign of House he’s confused. A second month passes, then a third with no sign of House, and Wilson is paranoid checking to see if his place is bugged or if House hired someone to spy on Wilson. When he doesn’t find anything though, he starts growing worried.

The next time Cuddy calls to check up on Wilson, he can’t help but ask about House. And Cuddy isn’t sure what to tell him. House was more irritable since the accident. His pranks were no longer playful but just cruel. He was constantly hard on his team, pushing them well past their breaking point and Lisa was just waiting for the resignation letters to come in. There were a handful of time she’d find House standing in Wilson’s old office as if looking for something, but when she asks him what he doesn’t know. So Cuddy tells Wilson the only thing she knows for certain with House. “He needs you.”

Wilson brushes it off but when another month passes with no sign of House, Wilson breaks and returns to visit Princeton. After meeting with Cuddy about getting his old job back, Wilson goes to his office to start unpacking his things, but he finds House standing there, and he’s anger returns. He tries to shoo House out of his office, which aggravates the older man. “Who’re you to tell me what to do? I don’t even know you.”

And Wilson can’t help but freeze. He looked at his old best friend, who’s still booking with anger, and finds no trace of a joke or prank on the others face. He talks to House’s team, who are all overworked and irritable, and none of them are too happy to see Wilson. They’ve all seen how broken up House is about his friend leaving, even when the man can’t remember Wilson. And as much as they hate House for how hard he’s been pushing them, they can’t forgive Wilson for breaking the man.

[world-of-aus]

Never Been The Type To

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Mobster!Reader

Warnings: Cliff Hanger????

Author's Note: An accompanied piece to Tell Me I've Been Lied Too! I'm not sure where I will be taking these pieces but if y'all are interested I'll try and see where I can take this. Hope you all enjoy this follow up! Happy Readings Buns.

The shipment was torn into, bullet casings strewn amongst the wooden framing that adorned the floor of his warehouse. The longer he looks at the damaged goods the harder his jaw clenches, teeth grinding, as he looks over what will set him back months to replace. “Security’s been taken care of,” Steve calls from behind him flanking his side as he joins his boss, eyes assessing the scene. 

“Cameras catch anything?” 

Steve’s silence is enough to have Bucky sending his foot into the already damaged crates, the wood splintering further under his foot as the fire burns within him, rage all consuming. “What the fuck am I paying for then!” the brunette all but growls as he rounds on his best friend getting in his space. “No one,” he points to the doors behind Steve, “No one should have been able to get to these crates without a bullet between their eyes, do you know how far back this sets us? Do you know how much money I've lost to this? Give me something Rogers, something other than Security's been taken care of!” 

Steves hard gaze is undeterred, “whoever did this knew what they were doing, they’re not some chump hired off the streets, it could have been a rat.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he glares his concierge down, “you telling me that you let a rat fly under your radar unnoticed,” he growls poking Steve in the chest, “don’t think Wilson would let something like that happen if he had your rank.” Steves features mirror his, “not what I'm saying,” the blonde grits teeth bared, “but this person knew what they were doing Barnes, they took out the cameras, took out our men and our cargo in a matter of minutes, whoever this is has it out for you.” 

The brunette turns away from his friend, cold eyes going back to the problem at hand, “I took care of every last person who would even think of pulling some shit like this when I went after those who wronged my father.” Steve doesn’t have to say your name, for Bucky to know what he’s thinking, “she doesn’t have the drive to pull something like this,” Bucky lies turning away from his friend. “We can’t scratch her from the list,” Steve murmurs, “you lied to her, betrayed her trust, you murdered her father in front of her!” 

Bucky’s on Steve in an instant his hands curled around the lapels of his collar, “I did what I had to do,” he growls, “she wasn’t made for this life Steve, couldn’t even see the corrupt shit her old man was doing behind her back, I had to do it! Her father was ready to sell her soul for the next big thing!” 

“So you to lie to her, couldn’t be the bigger man and tell her what was going on? Had to be just like daddy?” Steve knows he deserves the fist to the face, but he also knows his boss needs to hear it, Steve had never agreed to what Bucky felt he needed to do you that night. Couldn’t stand at his best friends, stand at his bosses' side, the night he murdered your father. Steve knew your father deserved it with what he had planned for you, but he couldn’t agree with how Bucky went about it. “Feel better big man,” Steve spits, blood splattering the concrete, Bucky pushes him away, “Go home Rogers, you’re done here.” 

“You think letting yourself into her home is going to make matters any better for you,” Steve calls after Bucky. “I’m getting answers Rogers, answers you all have failed to give me, go home to Peggy, you’re done.” 

Your back was to the wooden oak doors of your office, cooled glass in hand as you look out the French windows of your home. It was dark out, your security having gone home for the night after inspection of your property, your father wouldn’t have agreed to the new change implemented, but they had families; loved ones who waited up for them, waited for their safe arrival home. 

You swirl the cube of ice in your cup, bringing it to your lips as you swallow down the last of the amber liquid. You pretend not to hear the soft creak of your office door, the cautious steps into your office. You wait, “you have a death wish?” You chuckle placing the empty glass down onto your desk before you’re turning to face the man you once thought was the one. 

You wondered if the ache in your chest would ever wane. 

“If it’s my time, it’s my time,” you answer voice void of any emotion, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

In the dim of the office you catch the tick of his jaw, he’s annoyed, good. “Your dad’s gone and you just let your guard down? Anyone could just walk in and” he points his fingers at you in the representation of a gun going off right between your eyes. The laugh you let out is cold, “you’re the reason he’s gone James. Is that why you’re here asking stupid questions? You come to end my life the way you ended my fathers? Shame, was expecting you sooner than this, you’re slacking.” 

The tick is more prominent, you’re getting under his skin, “I think you and I both know why I'm here.” You raise a brow, “no actually I don’t, care to let me in or are you going to leave me in the dark like you always did.” “Cut the shit y/l/n the cargo,” he grits, “you’re the only one who could have pulled an operation like that, you knew -” 

You cut him off with a loud laugh, “you’re here because someone fucked with your shit and you think it was me?” “My men are dead because of you,” he growls. Your lips are set in a thin line as you stare the brunette down, “No your men are dead because of you. Not everyone has a vendetta to get those who wrong them Barnes, and my condolences to your men’s family but whoever fucked with your shit it wasn’t me. The day my father died was the day I vowed to myself never to be seen with the likes of you again.”  

“If it wasn’t you then who was it? I made sure to take care of every last person who wronged my father, you’re the only one who could have -” 

“Get out,” you grit, “I said get the hell out of my home Barnes!” you yell when he doesn’t move. “I want nothing to do with you, I don’t want to know anything about you, I hate you, I hate what you’ve done to me, who you’ve made me. I have lost so much because of you, I won’t let you take anymore.” 

His lips part but you hold a finger up, head casted down as you will the knot in your throat away, “Get out. Please.” 

The tick returns, but he doesn’t go against your word as he turns on his heel. It takes a lot of you not to crumble, your features stoned as you heave in shaky breaths. You turn to the desk picking up your burner unlocking the device as you pull up your messages. Opening the only message that sits there you draft up a reply, a file going attached with your warning. 

‘This is all I know. Don’t let your guard down, he’s coming for all of you.’ 

With notification that your message had been received you're sending the device crashing into the floor, your heel cracking straight through the screen glass. 

[rainismdata]

I am obviously bad at this, but here we go.

What if House had a motorcycle accident in s3e8? The one when Wilson was waiting for the bus? Maybe Wilson had already on the bus or the taxi when it happened.

Either way, he got stopped by the crowd and police officer ask the bus/taxi driver to choose the other way.

Wilson asked for the reason as to why the road was blocked, and the answer is there's a big accident. He offers his help, letting them know that he's a doctor and could possibly help to call for ambulance from PPTH.

Until that point he got into the point when he's looking at someone he probably recognize. He found the person under a vehicle, trapped by his leg. Wilson looks around to found a broken motorcycle. A motorcycle that he knew. Also, a familiar cane was scattered.

He rushed to the person just to find out that it was House. He calls for his name, getting no responds at all while he breathes weakly and his heartbeat is slowing down. Not only there's scratches on his body (even his jacket got torn), House obviously got bleeding on his head.

He tried to waking him up, while others tried to getting him out of the vehicle. He's bleeding pretty badly, in pain, the weather doesn't help either.

I want to say that the moment they got him out, House heartbeat suddenly stopped (to make it more dramatic). Wilson says things; calling his name, telling him to wake up, telling him that he was here, telling him that he needs house's heart to beat... while trying his best on working on it.

Finally got a pulse back, he calls for another emergency on PPTH's E.R. This time, he calls Cameron to get her prepared. She wasn't prepared on what was happened to whom.

At the road, on their way to PPTH, consciously or not, House mumbles things to Wilson. Wilson's heart beating faster; he knew as much as he want House to stay sound, he needs House to save his energy. But— there's a clear words on something House said. House calles his name and says, "It... It doesn't hurt anymore..." The mumbles stop, but he's still breathing, barely.

Wilson finally got House to the PPTH. Obviously got concussion, head trauma by the state of his head's condition.

To make it worse (and unreal), they had to make him into coma (or House just fell into coma by himself, so it needs tests or something for later) for a few days (or hours if it's possible, I need to research on that, obviously. Weeks is too long, but who am I to say that) because of his head injury.

Wilson stayed on his side for days. Even it should've been unusual for the fellows to witness him on House's side, it's almost questionable to also witnessing him sleep on House's side of the bed, keeping close to him, found him keeping House's hand in his, kissing House nape when he has to get out of the room.

The fellows knows nothing about them, how close they were, but they knew they are close. But, these latest weeks has been hell for the two (and both departments, and the PPTH, go to hell, Tritter)

Wilson... He's trying to stay vocal to House, telling him things as if House is there to heard him. To the point he was so desperate. He confesses his feeling to House; telling House to come back to him, telling House to wake up for him, telling House that he doesn't know how could he live without him, telling House that he loves him all this time, telling House he was so stupid and all that stuff because he doesn't make the move and all.

Until the time House brought out of coma. Another "hell" came.

House doesn't remember who he is, having no idea of his self. But— He's still there. He's still House. He could responds to the diagnosis. He still remember those hard names of diseases.

The fellows hoping it would just be temporary. But about how long would it took, they don't know exactly (I'm imagining it would be just for days or a few weeks).

Tritter tried to came to him. But Cuddy somehow could use her "connections" to overpower him. He could do nothing anyway, now that House doesn't even remember a thing.

Either way, he feels familiar around Wilson. He's afraid to ask Wilson about things, to ask the fellows about things. But, he feels that he heard things when he was in coma. He's unsure about the things he heard.

Took months (or just another weeks) for House to recover his memories. Wilson and the fellows were helping him through it, and has made more and new memories. And until then, when he's finally getting familiar— recovering his memories of Wilson; House recognizes the voices he heard when he was in coma. He was sure it was Wilson's voice. Wilson was always helping him. He could do his work at any how he could do, but still got most of his time to be with House.

It was one day, the diagnostician fellows came to House' house, having differential diagnosis, evem though House haven't yet officially came back to his position, and Cuddy still letting the fellows to go to House. Even Wilson helped through the DDx, having opinions and recommendations.

When the fellows going back to PPTH, House finally ask a personal question. He called Wilson's name when Wilson was helping him preparing the packaged foods to the table.

House asked if Wilson really intended about what he said. But, House didn't say anything about what was he was talking about or when he did say it. Confusion arises on Wilson, bit he still asks further.

"I mean— what you've said... When I was in coma— I think..." House wasn't sure on what did he remember of the voices said to him. "Ignore it. It's just my hallucinations...”

Wilson take a moment of silence, as if he's going to his memory on what he said to House on his coma. House was never talking about anything happened in his own coma.The question does make him taken aback, but not surprised. He didn't say anything about his confession either since House awake from his coma. Wilson smiles through it, continuing what he was doing. “If it contains the word that I love you, then it's real. I mean it.”

House blue icy eyes is looking for answer on those chocolate browny eyes. He does remember that whatever going on between both of them, House feels familiar and he loves every bit of it; mostly, he feels he loves Wilson too much that he couldn't even say anything about it out loud, or even seriously confessing on the younger.

Wilson is making sure that his confession is now being heard. He told House the things he said when House was in coma; telling House to come back to him, telling House to wake up for him, telling House that he doesn't know how could he live without him, telling House that he loves him all this time, telling House he was so stupid and all that stuff because he doesn't make the move and all.

[the-clumsywitch]

How Can I Get Closer to Becoming Successful? Pick-a-Card Reading

The Fool The Empress The Hierophant

Reading suggestion from @enderwood-township

Pile 1 - The Fool

Cards

The Empress

Knight of Pentacles

Judgement

For this pile I feel that you tend to view everything as the end all be all, if you happen to fail at something you feel as if it is the end of the world. Not realizing that failures are just lessons, it can let you know things such as what you need to improve or if you might want to consider leaving something alone entirely. Failures are just teaching you about yourself, not saying that you are done for. Allowing yourself to sit in your feminine and self nurturing energy (I know not everyone assigns gender to energy so take it as you will) might be best for you at this time. With the knight of pentacles I feel like you are starting to see some improvements in success as far as finances go but be sure to take time to relax and listen to your intuition. Be mindful of those times where you are forcing rather than flowing. Forcing can actually cause upheaval not advancement.

Pile 2 - The Empress

Cards

Justice

Four of Cups

The Tower

For this pile I hear the phrase "it's time to jump ship" if there is anything that you feel is no longer serving you, it's probably because that's the case. It could be a job that you're just not satisfied with or a relationship that no matter how you try just won't work. Whatever the case, now might is the time to consider leaving because it could be causing you to miss out on opportinities. Sometimes holding on to something that isn't for you disrupts and redirects the energy of what is for you, pushing it farther away. This pile must be philosophical because I am also hearing "what you seek is just behind what you fear." I know, very mystical and ominous right? With the justice card I feel like when you let go of what is no longer for you is when things will start to balance themselves out for you. You won't feel like you're torn between two different things and have to chose one or the other in order to be successful. Once again for this pile the idea of success can either be associated with your profession or a relationship.

Pile 3 - The Hierophant

Cards

Death (Reversed)

Five of Swords

The Moon

I feel like this pile has an issue with self worth and still sees themselves through the lens of who they used to be. And you feel like no matter what you do you can't be successful because you still aren't seeing yourself for who you really are. You are not the same person you used to be, you do not have to fight with yourself anymore. I feel like acknowledging just how far you've come. And how much work you've put into becoming a better version of yourself will help aid you in becoming more successful as well as realizing it's never to late to accomplish your goals.

Note for all piles: Please only do what you feel comfortable with and make sure that all the decisions you make are ones that will work for you.

Image Sources

The Fool: Biddy Tarot

The Empress: Stephen Wilson Studio

The Hierophant: Wingsdomain Art and Photography

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

Ok. I'm going to get into conspiracy theory territory and probably could lose follows for how insane it all sounds. I want to make it known that this is a theory and express that you come to your own conclusions. I just want to say my piece now that this is being brought up due to the recent raids and indictment of Sean Diddy Combs. This will be a LONG LONG POST. Most will be under the "read more" cut.

I also understand that yes, most people either do or do not like the woman in this video. I am NOT going to tolerate political attack over this. This has NOTHING to do with who she is or what party she is for or whatever else. I want it to be known that I'm talking about my opinion on MICHAEL JACKSON AND HIS DEATH in conjunction with these new revelations.

Okay, now with that said....

I believe Michael was always innocent of all wrongdoing. He never harmed a single child, he was trying to protect them. He kept them around because he was a child at heart, himself.

I have TRIED to put myself in the shoes of those who believe he was guilty. I've TRIED to get into that thought process to better understand the events that happened due to not being born until 1998 and being too young to know about it when the second round of allegations came around. I have TRIED to understand it and no matter what, it always — ALWAYS — made me sick to my stomach to do so. No matter how much I tried to put myself in the shoes of those who did believe that he was guilty, I never could do it.

It just felt plain wrong.

Michael's own family and his children believe that he was murdered. Paris has said it briefly in the few interviews in which she's been asked about it. La Toya has been very open in the fact that her brother was murdered. And truthfully, it makes a lot of sense when you take into account what was going on leading up to the death/murder of Michael Jackson.

Michael had a list of people who he did NOT want getting their hands on his estate, his music, etc. A list of people who he did NOT trust that had their hands in the higher workings of Hollywood.

The first conflict between a larger corporation with their hands in everything started in 1997 against Sony, as the company started to try and control Michael and his work. The artist wanted the rights to his songs to revert back early in the new decade. The label however turned their back on him and extended the copyright. his created a conflict of interest between the two parties, with Michael deciding it was time to leave the label, so he could manage everything by himself, without having to pay them a bigger part of the benefits. Following Tommy Mottola being notified of Jackson's requests, Branca helped Sony re-write contracts that tied Michael to them. The company decided to butcher the promotion for Invincible, making it perform weaker compared to previous releases. Additionally, Michael couldn't release songs he wanted as singles and ideas for many music videos had to be shelved. As it also turned out, Jackson's lawyer who represented him in the case worked for Sony, something that the King of Pop was not aware of. Not even a year after its release, Sony Music suddenly stopped promoting the project. Michael concluded, that they're trying to sabotage his own album. In July of 2002, Michael Jackson made a public statement, protesting against the company. Below is the speech that Michael did in July 2002 regarding this conflict and him being able to get out of Sony's clutches:

"Anyway, I first let me say, I really don’t like to talk that much. I really don’t. I prefer performing than talking. Let me just say this… The tradition of great performers… the tradition of great performers from — I really want you to know what I say! — from Sammy Davis Junior, to James Brown, to Jackie Wilson, to Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly. The story is usually the same though. These guys worked really hard at their craft, for the story ends the same. They are usually broken, torn and usually just sad, because the companies take advantage of them, they really do. And… Sony…Sony… Being the artist that I am, at Sony I’ve generated several billion dollars for Sony, several billon. They really thought that my mind is always on music and dancing. It usually is, but they never thought that this performer — myself — would out think them. So, we can’t let them get away with what they’re trying to do, because now I’m a free agent… I just owe Sony one more album. It’s just a box set, really, with two new songs which I’ve written ages ago. Because for every album that I record, I write — literally, I’m telling you the truth — I write at least 120 songs every album I do. So I can do the box set, just giving them any two songs. So I’m leaving Sony, a free agent,… owning half of Sony! I own half of Sony’s Publishing. I’m leaving them, and they’re very angry at me, because I just did good business, you know. So the way they get revenge is to try and destroy my album! But I’ve always said, you know, art — good art — never dies. …Thank you. And Tommy Mottola is a devil! I’m not supposed to say what I’m going to say right now, but I have let you know this. Please don’t videotape what I am going to say, ok? Turn that off please. Do it, do it, I don’t mind! Tape it! Mariah Carey, after divorcing Tommy, came to me crying. Crying. She was crying so badly I had to hold her. She said to me, “This is an evil man, and Michael, this man follows me.” He taps her phones, and he’s very, very evil. She doesn’t trust him. He’s a horrible human being. And we have to continue our drive until he is terminated. We can’t allow him to do this to great artists, we just can’t. I just wanted to let you know, I appreciate everything you’ve done, you’ve been amazing. You’re so loyal! Diana, everybody, Waldo, all the people here! I love you all. You’ve been amazing, I love you! But still, but still, I promise you, the best is yet to come!"

He was already trying, in his own way, to call out the underhanded behavior of the music industry back then — and they hated it. When he did this, Michael became a threat to Sony. He wasn't going to let them do as they pleased with his legacy while he was alive, and they knew it, and it both scared and angered those higher up in Hollywood.

Michael also employed someone who was connected to P Diddy, Faheem Muhammad, who was his head of security in 2009. According to Rodney "Lil Rod" Jones' lawsuit documents against P. Diddy, Faheem Muhammad (referred to as Mr. Muhammad) was the head of his security team. Mr. Muhammad had the power to make problems and people dissappear. He also had connections within law enforcement. P. Diddy instruct his staff to always contact Mr. Muhammad if they are ever pulled over by the police in Miami or California.

Above is a fan and then both of Michael's sister, Janet and La Toya, voicing their take on Michael having been murdered rather than passing from an accidental overdose.

The above videos are recordings of the last phone calls Michael himself made. He KNEW something was going to happen. He KNEW that he was losing the battle and had every right to be terrified for himself and his children.

Something that also never got much explaining but stood out from the day he died? The bloody shirt/blouse found in his closet.

It's been noted that during his autopsy, Michael had multiple bruises over the length of his body. There was bruising and fracturing to his chest and ribcage due to the resuscitative attempts my EMS and hospital staff, but other bruisings do not match with said attempts.

Then it was made public that the above white, bloodied shirt was found within his closet during the investigation.

First off, why would this be in his closet? Outside of it being a Halloween shirt, I don't see a reason, and even in the event that this is a shirt for such a holiday, wouldn't he have kept it with other holiday decorations and such? It wouldn't make sense to just keep a bloody shirt with his other articles of clothing like this.

It makes me wonder... given that Faheem was someone that was stressed time and time again to be called when conflicts with the law occurred per Diddy himself, and Faheem was also head of Michael's security at the time of death and had ways of making problems disappear, is there an alternate means of death that took place but got swept under the rug due to Faheem's connections? I don't really see any other reason for this shirt existing. I don't.

Now above is Diddy and the late Kim Porter reacting to the passing of Michael. While I do take into consideration that his passing affected the entire world when it happened, even causing Google, Twitter, and Wikipedia to CRASH for the first time ever, simultaniously, because of the breaking news.... I try to analyze the body language here.

Look at how Kim, who many suspect was killed by Diddy in some way, shape, or form, reacts when Diddy brings up Michael. If it were any normal celebrity, I feel they would have stayed on camera due to the way it would look in the press. The publicity team would have the opportunity to use sad, mournful camera shots to depict the emotion behind the words being said at the end of the interview.

Kim doesn't do that. As Diddy begins to "praise" Michael for his legacy and success and his feelings of him, Kim looks away. She appears to roll her eyes, raise her brow, and turn away. Even going as far as to step away a bit as Diddy speaks.

I feel she knew something. With everything we have being brought up about Diddy now that he's been indicted, denied bail, and now is considering a plea agreement, how can these things NOT add up to anyone? Michael knew that kids were vulnerable and he wanted to protect them, not just because he had no childhood of his own that caused personal trauma, but because he had been in the industry long enough to see the dark turns and spirals it was taking and younger and younger prodigies' were coming to the spotlight. Michael himself said he would slit his wrists before he ever hurt a child. So knowing that Diddy has all of these Epstein-esque charges and the potential for sex trafficking, child sex crimes, and a slew of others, that's something Michael would undoubtably have been against. Michael more than likely knew what was going on in the dark corners of the industry and was considered a threat to many due to the things he knew and how he was willing to share his opinions on the matter (such as the conflicts with Sony and it's executives).

Diddy may have had a role to play in Michael's murder. There's nothing that will change my mind that Michael was murdered, too many signs point to that. Conrad Murray was the fall guy, the one who the higher ups paid to take the fall, and even in taking the fall he didn't serve the full sentencing.

I'm sorry to sound delusional and insane, but... truthfully, Michael was murdered and Diddy being taken down is going to bring all sorts of celebrities and executives down with him, thus causing a lot of lied about and unheard information to light. Lies will finally have truth spoken and this is one of the cases that I now strongly believe will be brought up again for the justice Michael rightfully deserves.

[gen0ration9k]

This is two characters from my au Alpha Prime, I reused my own lines in drawing them because I'm lazy. There was also some referencing but as you can see the designs are very different so don't be too harsh. Lol

The one in white is the au's Sans: Versal, the one in black is his brother Wilson, also known as Failsafe.

Anyways, Alpha Prime was made with inspiration from an au I actually dislike heavily, the au was made to troll the undertale fandom and got big, yet the creator is toxic and the au is very poorly made in my personal opinion. Characters are so powerful it's sickening, like one who can wipe out the omniverse, as in all universes, all multiverse, across all fandoms, literally everything, none of the lore really makes sense, and all the characters are made up of the stolen and vaguely altered designs of other characters yet the au lore states the au came before Undertale itself and that all the main characters call themselves Sans for some reason. The au relatively tries to one up everyone and the owner is relatively messed up as a person. If you don't know what the au used for inspiration is you'll probably get a bit of a hint in my au's lore, with my au I aimed to fix everything I dislike about the other. I like strong characters but there's a line to be drawn, so I made these characters to be planet busters rather than multiverse destroyers. I fixed the originality issue by altering names, appearances, roles, everything down to lore, this may have taken inspiration but this is in no way an au of the inspired au at this point, it's an original concept now, though you may find a trace of similar characteristics in some of the more major characters. As for lore, I'm working on that currently, rather hard actually, I'm writing the story on Wattpad and currently trying to figure out how to go about it. I know the general story I'm going for and each individual characters lore but I need to figure out how I'm going to put it in to best tell the story to readers and cover what has happened, what is happening, and what takes place later down the line since the story goes into the future of this au and what takes place within it. When it's done I hope you'll all enjoy it, I'll be sure to update you all on it when it's finished. Now, here's some lore regarding the au, hopefully it helps hint at what the au used for inspiration was if it's not yet clear.

Alpha Prime is home to a vast array of characters, the eternal Solomon also known as Googolplex and his son's; Sans (Versal), Wilson (Failsafe), and Dennis (Riot), as well as Wilson's son Rameses. In this au, many things have taken place, such as Dennis's descent into insanity after years of torture at the hands of his brother Wilson, his eye torn out, or the revenge he took in slaughtering the woman Wilson loved. I do not want to spoil too much but I will say the Judge and Lord of the multiverse are both present here, let that be a big hint. Good luck figuring out the au used for inspiration and I hope you all enjoyed my art!

I apologize for deleting this post, the app glitched and displayed two but I'm reposting this now. Thanks for being patient.