#interesting to see how these pieces move? now look to your right; something is exploding' and then at the very end it all comes perfectly

[bitegore]

baru cormorant seems to me to be a series that suffers miserably for me having read machineries of empire first. unfortunately everything BC is doing strikes me as something MoE did better and more believably and with much a greater and more grounded eye for how systems, complex system interaction, and oppression like. work

[bachirasbimbo]

Meguru wasn’t someone whose spirit was easily broken down.

In-fact, there’s never been a time that you can recall where his spirit has been completely destroyed.

He’s always kept a level-head.

Energetic? Sure.

Enthusiastic? Also sure.

Crazy? Beyond that.

But you found that extremely endearing to say the VERY least.

You crushed on him from afar, obviously way too scared to actually make a move on him.

He was everything you wanted in a guy, and despite not being too bad looking yourself, he made you much too nervous.

You had never felt like this about a boy, so for you to be going insane? That’s valid.

He didn’t notice when you would wave at him, blushing profusely as he waved back.

He didn’t know that whenever he brushed by you, your heart exploded in your very chest.

He didn’t notice that whenever he flashed you a sheepish smile, your stomach would churn in a way that left you puzzled.

Meguru Bachira was something that needed to be studied in a lab, you thought to yourself.

But you had also thought Meguru never noticed you.

Which was a total and utter lie.

During his games, you were always there, cheering him on from the sidelines.

He’d catch glances of you staring at him, even if only just for a split second—but he never made it obvious he noticed you.

He liked the way he had you wrapped around his finger.

So everything he had done you thought were part of your delusions? It was intentional. Because he liked seeing you squirm.

In-fact, Bachira had spent countless of nights thinking about you.

Whether it was your face,

Your eyes,

Your lips,

Or even your body.

Your enthusiasm towards him had sparked his interest, and that was enough for him to make the move on you.

It happened when you had been bored, you had decided to go see a movie.

You were waiting for your friend to sneak some drinks near your way.

She had been gone an awfully large amount of time, which was frustrating for you.

You were pretty alone in the theatre, this movie really wasn’t well-liked but you had been dragged here against your will.

A voice echoed, the tone was playful, light.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Bachira asked, pointing to the movie seat next to you. In one hand he was holding a paper bucket of popcorn, propping a piece of the buttery delight in his mouth every few seconds.

You were stunned, you just stared up at him, eyes wide.

Was this really happening? Wait—No, why is he even here?

You cursed under your breath, your mind reeling. But if he takes that seat my friend won’t-

“Hello?” He waved in front of your face, bringing you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, uh, no.” Screw your friend.

She was taking too long to get back anyways, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Bachira lazily hummed, falling back onto the seat as he stared towards the big screen, his hand occasionally digging into the popcorn.

The fact he was sitting right next to you excited you, your heart was twisting into knots.

Honestly, it was kind of scary how much of an effect he had on you.

All you could hear was random hums from him, or the crunch of his obnoxious chewing habit which you had grown to like.

He was carefree, and it was something you admired deeply.

You bit your lip, trying to distract yourself. Your gaze was on the movie and the movie alone, though, occasionally stealing a glance at him.

There was an abrupt silence between the two of you, as the movie proceeded.

Your friend still wasn’t back, by some miracle.

“So, do you like this type of series?” He asked, his voice still light, cutting you from your thoughts.

It was just casual conversation. You felt pathetic with how fast your thighs clenched together.

“Uhm—Yeah.” You replied, a bit too quick for your own liking

Shit. Now you just looked weird.

He replied with a click of his tongue.

“I don’t really like horror.” He said, a little too casual for your liking.

You just nodded slightly, your eyes still glued to the screen. You wanted to look at his face so badly right now. But you were scared.

The unsettling feeling of his gaze had settled in your stomach, you felt like he was staring holes into the side of your head.

Was he staring? Or are you just being delusional?

Oh, he was indeed staring. And quite shamelessly too.

He paid no mind to the movie playing upfront, and your gut clenched.

When you finally turn your head to meet his gaze, he smiles. Flashing you that grin you admired so much.

You don’t know what happened. One thing lead to another and you had somehow landed back at his place, breathless under him as he stared down at you.

Even as he met your gaze now, sandwiching you under him. His gaze was just as light as it always is.

Maybe you should be scared by his enthusiasm, or maybe his lack of shame.

But you weren’t. You were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

He leaned down, his grin widening. “Your crush was soo obvious!” He taunted, giggling more to himself than you. He probably found it entertaining humiliating you.

All you did was blush, your heart was erratic by this point. You wouldn’t be surprised if you just rolled over and died.

“I-“ you attempted to talk, to defend yourself, just for him to shove a finger to your mouth, effectively shushing you.

“Shhh!” He said, still smirking widely.

It was no surprise when things quickly escalated from that, and for some reason, he wouldn’t allow you to stop looking at him as he pounded into you, his grip on your thighs bruisingly tight—unbeknownst to him.

he destroyed you, your gut hurt so badly as you clenched around him, shaking as you came undone on his cock for the third time.

You were worn out, the use of your pretty little cunt had you unable to breathe properly.

Not how you imagined losing your virginity, but since it’s Meguru Bachira? It’s fine.

Your moans to him were like heaven, and you were a present he wanted to unravel and tear to shreds.

He urged you on, entertaining it all as he rubbed your clit, the pad of his thumb moving rhythmically on the wet bundle of nerves, like he had done this 100 times—but he hadn’t. He was a fast learner, is all.

You were an overstimulated, drooling, moaning mess.

You practically squeeled like a pig everytime he came inside of you, pulling out to watch his seed drip from your pussy only to push back in shortly after.

“Bachira- Ngh!” He had no shame, letting out noises of his own as he continued his thrusts.

The grip on your thighs was getting to be extremely painful, but your senses were too overcome with bliss to care.

“No.” He silenced, before leaning in, closing the distance between your fucked out face.

“Meguru.” He corrected, connecting your lips as he pushed his tongue into your mouth with such fervour it scared you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, you were too overstimulated to even process his words.

Your tongue wrapped around his own as he continued to fuck into you at a pace steady enough to make you yearn for more, but enough to overstimulate you.

The clawing of his back came into the picture, your nails scratching down his bare, meticulously fair skin.

The only noise shrouding the room was the plap! plap! of his skin meeting your own and faint moans.

The room smelt like pure sex and arousal, not that you cared.

You couldn’t continue on, he was a monster. His stamina was something you had never thought of whenever you fantasised about him.

But he could go for genuine. Hours.

For once, you thanked your friend for being unreliable.

And as your consciousness began to fade, your walls strangling another load out of him, spasming, you could make out a faint smile forming on his face.

“Night night.” Is the last thing you heard.

[goth-ch3rri-headspace]

TR| How you met them

For context you had never interacted with them previously

Mikey

- while shopping you felt like someone was following you

-it got so bad that while walking home you turned around in fear screaming a storm at whatever was in hearing range

-you around to see a blonde staring at you in confusion yet amusing intrigue

-as he starts introducing himself you come to find out he has been following you around for awhile now

Draken

- you were getting tayaki for your friends

- once you got the aisle where they were but it was too high

- draken comes and helps you get them

- you thank him as he walks away

- something felt odd yet interesting about him

- it led to you unconsciously following him around the store

- he figured out early and called you out on it

- one thing led to another and you two started talking

Takemichi

- he was walking home after getting beat up by kiomasa

- you saw him limping while coming from school

- seeing a person look like hell you just couldn't stand it

- after insisting he get patched up you brought him your house

- while helping the both of you talked about how he got in this situation etc

- before he left for hinata's he wanted your number and was on his way

Mitsuya

- you were a famous yet individual in the sewing club

- everyone knows your work but you worked so late after school no one knew who you were

- while coming in he found you toiling at a piece

- he asked where you got such skill and you told him everything

- he soon pieced together that you were the famous person and got hyped about meeting you

- you thanked him after he how your work is a huge inspiration to him

- in that time you both talked he only realize after you parted ways that he didn't ask for your number or socials

Chifuyu

- a week after you moved into apt across is when you found peke j

- him and baji would find him well fed and wonder who it was

-one Saturday weekend Chifuyu found you feeding peke j

- he went over and started to feed and pet him too

- this led to a battle of who could get peke J's attention better

- luckily it ended with you winning

- Chifuyu wanted to know the person who beat him so he asked who you are and where you live

- once he found out you live in the same apt and on same floor he Invited you for dinner

Baji

- you were minding your business taking an evening walk

- you had stopped at a light and behind you was alley

- baji had just set a car on fire and it was about to explode and he was screaming at you to move but you could hear him (real)

-right before it was about to explode he pushed you out of the way

- you were scared and tried to kick him but shook you and started screaming at you

- Both of you heard sirens and he started getting you on your feet to start running away

Hakkai&Yuzuha

- whenever they got beaten up by taiju they'd come to you to patch them up

The twins

- your parents were friends to you all were friends

Izana and Kakucho

- all you 3 were orphans which ended up with you and Kakucho be Izana's servants

A/n this is my first post after while I'm happy ><

[starlightsreigns]

that's my girl | t. tonga

summary: malia just needs a breather, and the MFT is here to give her just that.

warnings: smut! mdni!

word count: 937

author's note: it's exam week for me, but here's something short & sweet while i get those done xo

I love watchin’ you take it

To trust a man is to put your pride aside. To trust Jimmy Uso is to watch his every move because he plays too fucking much. Malia loves him, and that’s why she knows him all too well and knows that this dinner tonight could all go to hell if he didn’t let up on the tiny black remote that he had in his position. what would possess her to wear the vibrating thong under her dress tonight and then give him the remote to control it? She must’ve been drunk when it happened because now, she was sitting between Jimmy and Tama, pressing her legs together to keep from exploding. 

malia swallows some water, squirming in her seat as the speed goes up. The conversation was lost on her as she shot Jimmy a quick glare. He smiles innocently, turning to talk to his brother from across the table. 

“you good, lia?” tama studies her for a moment. “I can feel your leg shakin’ against mine.” 

that is embarrassing and Malia just gives him a curt nod, “Yeah, just a lot in my head.” 

That is enough for now for him, and Malia bits her lip. She crosses her leg to try and find some relief, but that has the opposite effect. she grips the table and quickly uncrosses her leg. Jimmy smirks in her direction, then looks past her at Tama who eyes them suspiciously but full of interest. 

Malia rests her head against the table, but that makes Jimmy increase the speed. fuck, she wants to kill him in the middle of this dinner but all she can do is straighten out and look at him. 

“Baby, please.” she whispers, punching his thigh from underneath the table. “I can't do this.”

But that’s not enough as Jimmy shakes his head. malia takes a deep breath and sinks further into her seat. tama, who smirks knowingly, scoots closer to Malia. He whispers into her ears. 

“you know, he’s gonna make you cum right here on this seat.” his voice was like honey in her ear. 

it takes a moment for her to meet his eyes. She nods slowly. Jimmy's not the sharing type, but for some reason, he bent the rules when it came to Tama - not that Malia completely understands or opposes. It was a conversation out of the blue one day about how she felt about Tama joining them one night because of a simple comment she made once. The man is attractive, she’s not one to shy away from saying so. It was only once, months ago, but right there in his living room and in the middle of the dinner, she could see there was a plan involved. 

“I'll be right back,” malia murmurs as she stands from the table. 

Her walk upstairs to the bathroom felt like a million years but she needed to get out of sight of everyone. As she reaches for the bathroom door, a hand grabs her and pulls her into the bedroom. malia lets out a soft moan as the volume increases again. She can’t take it anymore and when her eyes meet Tama’s, she collapses into his chest, gripping his shirt as the euphoria washes over her. 

“How was that?” Tama smirks, showing her the remote. “When Jimmy passed me this earlier, I knew I had to get you alone.” 

Malia gawks at him, “you two are pieces of shit,” 

Tama chuckles as he moves her to the bed. She watches as he hikes her dress up and slips the panties off and tosses them behind him. He stands up between her legs and drinks in every curve of her body while she lays back on her elbows. Malia motions him over. There was nothing else to wait for and her horniness had taken over. Malia knew exactly what the men planned, and she wants it now. 

“Are you gonna take whatever you and Jimmy agreed on?” She flicks her hair off of one of her shoulders.

It takes no time for Tama to be over her, deep in her guts without a care for his guests who were downstairs. Malia holds onto him as he pounds into her, hiding her moans in his neck. His fast pace made it to where the only sounds in his massive bedroom were from their skin as it slapped together. Tama continues driving into her, balls deep, as she squeezes her eyes shut. 

“This what you wanted? You ain’t gone beg me, Malia?” He grunts in her ear, as she moans in response. Tama slams into her, causing all thought to leave her brain. “C’mon, say my name while i’m in it.”

Malia can't think straight let alone form a coherent sentence, but she finds herself moaning his name as he speeds up. Her fingernails were deep in his back, leaving scratches that she knew he’d have to hide at work. Her back arches off the bed and her toes curl, lost in the rush of everything happening - she felt like she wasn’t in her body anymore. His dick slams against her g-spot like it was its home. And as her eyes flutter shut, Malia has to find all the power in her weak body not to scream at the top of her lungs. 

“That’s my girl, let it go.” He coaxes in a soft voice.

“Fuck, Tama, fuck!” She moans, feeling her body go limp. Tama bites her shoulder before quickly pulling out between rugged thrusts to cum on her stomach. They go quiet to catch their breaths. “This what you wanted, Tama?”

“More than anything, Malia.”

xx i love tama so much, help me. until next time x

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Hank Voight x IAD!Reader

Synopsis: reader is an IAD an agent tracking Voight, but when Voight is gentle with a child, reader has second thoughts, later, when reader later gets into trouble, Voight is there for them.

TW: mentions of abuse, rape and suicide

Voight knew something was up. He was perceptive like that - smart. He knew you were tailing him when he ran a red light on purpose. It meant you had to stop. To not seem suspicious. Good thing you had his GPS location.

You continued tailing him as he drove. Originally, he seemed to be heading home, but now he was leading you away, to the outskirts of the city. You considered for a moment, asking yourself whether you should keep on him or just let him go and cut it as a loss. He was moving further and further out of the city, and seemed to be moving toward the silos.

You followed.

When you arrived, he was leaning against the side of his SUV, hands crossed over his chest. He watched as your car pulled up, his eyes staring into your soul, or so you felt, despite him not being able to see you yet.

You let out a soft breath, then got out of your car, walking around to the other side. “Sergeant Hank Voight,” you said with a hum. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You could’ve come to my office, you know. You didn’t have to follow me all the way out here.”

“This is where you buried Kevin Bingham, right?” You abruptly changed the subject, cocking an eyebrow.

“If you know about that, then I’m sure you’ve read the report. There wasn’t any body found here.”

“It’s really funny how your buddy took the fall for that. Shame he had to lose his life over it.”

Voight visibly tensed, and you knew you hit a nerve. He looked you over. “Do you have a point to this?”

“I’m (Y/N), your new IAD agent.”

“And?” He looked back up to your eyes. “What is it you want? Doesn’t it say in my file that I don’t make deals with IAD anymore?”

You hummed, then nodded, taking a step closer to him. “Your file… has a lot of interesting things. The last few IAD agents ended up either resigning or arrested, right? Trust me, you won’t run me away.”

His lips pulled into a sly smile. “We’ll see how you feel about that in a few months. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

With that, the both of you got into your vehicles and parted ways. You were ready for the challenge that was Hank Voight. You were going to be the one to catch him in the act.

— —

The day finally came when Voight made a mistake. Looking over a few of his arrest reports, some things didn’t line up. You studied them, and recreated the cases as closely as you could, tracking his every move. You knew none of his team would flip on him to tell you what happened for sure, but you had dirt on a few of the beat cops that had been around. You could piece together a timeline based on their statements and what you knew. “Gotcha,” you whispered, before gathering everything and putting it into a neat case file, a small smirk pulling at your lips. Finally, you’d gotten Voight. Finally, you’d take him out of his job.

.

When you arrived on scene to find him, you had every intention of making a huge show of his arrest. However, after talking to his people, you realized Voight was inside a house they’d previously thought to be rigged with a bomb. Bomb squad confirmed it was safe and Voight had gone inside. You couldn’t be stopped by any of the nearby officers, simply opening the door to step inside.

The sight all but shocked you. A boy, sitting in a taped square with a laser pointer on his chest. He was upset, saying how he couldn’t leave the square otherwise the house would explode. One of the detectives, Upton, was sitting on the opposite side of the room. Voight was crouching, facing toward the boy. His back was to you, but he focused on giving the boy soft reassurance that there was no bomb.

Something inside you crumbled, tears brimming your eyes. Just like when you were little and scared, mistreated by people, and someone, a cop, came to your rescue. Voight was rescuing the little boy. You couldn’t help but melt at the sight. You watched intently as Vought coaxed the boy up and out of the square, then embraced him tightly, as if he were his own son.

With that, you swallowed hard and walked out of the house quickly, getting in your car and leaving without a word or even a look to anyone. How could you arrest him now? Knowing how gentle he was, and knowing that he really only did hurt bad people, how could you be so cold hearted? He saved so many women and children over the years. How could you take him off the streets?

You couldn’t, and Voight knew it. It was your weakness.

— —

“Hey, you work with that Voight character from the 21st, right?”

You glanced up at his name. He’d been more of a side project the last few months. You documented everything but took on other projects, ones that didn’t put as much guilt on your heart. “Yeah, I’m on Voight. What’s going on?”

“You’re going to want to see this.” Your coworker walked in and handed you a file speculating Voight shot a perpetrator out of revenge - an unarmed perpetrator, to be precise. All of the video in the file showed Voight shooting the man point blank. You nearly cringed, thanking your coworker and shooing them away.

You knew you could get Voight on this, but it weighed heavily on you. You needed to get a meeting with him, off the books, right away.

.

Later that night, you stood outside in the Chicago cold. Your eyes ran over the water, searching for answers. You still had no idea what to do. Do you take him in? Or, do you let him continue to go off the rails? Isn’t that why you have a job in the first place?

Voight wasn’t like other cops you worked with. He was older and more experienced, but most of all, he had this knack for always getting a specific outcome - one that always protected himself, even at the cost of others. Alvin Olinsky came to your mind pretty quickly as you pondered it. You hadn’t been on the case, but reading over the case files was the better part of your first week in the role. Olinsky had died in Voight’s place, to protect Voight from jail time and losing his job. To keep the intelligence unit alive.

You were pulled out of thought as an SUV rolled up, LEDs flashing past you, then turning off. He got out and walked over, his hands in his jacket pockets. “What was so important?”

You hummed and handed him the Manila folder of evidence. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s on book. Yet. This conversation will determine if this little ‘incident’ is included in the report.” You hummed as you gave Voight the ultimatum, taking the folder back when he was finished with it.

“You know, the last people to hang things over my head like this ended up in jail.”

“I’m clean, Voight. There’s nothing you can put me in on. Besides, I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” He laughed mockingly. “Help me with what? I don’t need your help.”

“You do, because if anyone sees the footage on that disk, you’ll be doing life for murder.” You shook your head. “Like I said, nothing is on book yet.”

“So what’s your bargain, then?”

You looked back out over the water, taking it in for a moment before looking back to him. “You owe me. That’s all.”

Voight considered it, looking you over. “So that’s it? All you want is a favor in the bank?”

“Mmhm,” you affirmed quietly. “Can you manage that?”

“And what will happen to that footage?”

You turned back to the water, leaning on the railing. “It’ll show exactly what it needs to, making this whole thing cut and dry.”

Voight moved beside you, also leaning over the railing to look out to the water. “Alright, then. I owe you.”

You nodded a little, standing at the water for a minute more, though you weren’t sure why. You moved to stand, but his voice kept you in place. “That guy orchestrated the kill on Al.”

You didn’t look up. “I know. That’s why you’re being investigated like this. You and Al were close. There are a lot of people higher than me that want to put you away.”

“And you don’t?”

You sighed, looking to him now. “I came to arrest you a few months ago. Something petty you probably could’ve weaseled your way out of anyways. I wanted to be the one to take the trophy. To make a big show of it.” You shook your head, looking him over as he met your eyes. “And then I saw you with that little boy. I reevaluated. What was truly important? The methods in which things are done, or the people that are ultimately saved?” You shrugged a little.

“That’s why you’ve been off my back, then? Had my file tossed to the side?”

“I’ve still been collecting and doing my job. There’s just not much to go on. You cover your tracks really well.”

Voight hummed and looked back out to the water. “You know, I’ve looked into you, too. I have favors in the ivory tower.”

“I know,” you replied with a soft shrug. “I have nothing to hide. You could’ve asked me anything.”

“That’s exactly what they told me,” he said with a soft chuckle, standing upright now to face you. “But, I did read into your file, and your history. I even talked to Officer Buchanan.”

You nodded, looking away at the name as you remembered him. The man who had saved your life. The officer who had rolled onto the scene first when you were on the ledge, trying to find the courage to jump.

Every fiber of self-preservation in your body told you not to, but your mind pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You wanted to die. You needed to. You were a burden. You swallowed a sob, tears streaking down your cheeks. You heard a door behind you open, and you looked back to see a single CPD officer. He was standing in the doorway, putting his hands up. “Hey, I just want to talk.”

“I’m done talking. Nobody listens. It’s too late now. People should’ve listened when I spoke up years ago!” You sobbed, shaking your head. You were 25, and had been mistreated for years. Nobody listened to you, seeing as you were the spouse of a politician. “Leave me alone. Just go back to where you came from. It’s too late for me.” You wiped the tears from your eyes, your entire body trembling.

“It’s not too late. It never is. I’m here to listen to you now. I wish I’d met you earlier. I would’ve listened. Sometimes all it takes is the right person.”

For over an hour, you went back and forth with the officer, who you later learned was named Richard Buchanan. He became a close friend of yours after you got out of therapy, and even let you stay with him for a while until you got back on your feet. He lived alone, so your company was welcomed. He had never been married or had kids, thinking the job was too dangerous to put someone through the grief. You had mirrored that sentiment when you joined the academy, pushing away any and all romantic interests so you could focus on your job.

The beat was rough, but you had soon passed your detective test, and when you ended up permanently injured, you moved into Internal Affairs. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but you did it well.

You still visited Officer Buchanan on the third weekend of every month. You could barely believe Voight had talked to the man about you. You wondered exactly how that conversation had gone down. You looked to Voight as you pulled yourself back into reality, letting out a breath. “So, what then? You find any dirt on me besides trying to jump off a ledge when I was 25?”

“Nope,” Voight replied with a shrug, his eyes meeting yours. “Nothing substantial.”

You matched the hike of his shoulders and hummed. “Then I’ve got you, and you owe me a favor.”

“Alright,” he agreed, holding out his hand. You took it and shook firmly, then hummed and walked back to your car, manila folder still in hand. You took it away and to a friend, who doctored the footage to make it look like the man had reached for a gun. Then, you submitted your investigation a few days later as Voight having a clean shoot and no further action was taken. Having his favor in your back pocket would come in handy when you were ready to use it.

.

The morning after you’d submitted the clean report, an envelope was slipped beneath your door. You looked up, walking quickly to open your office door and see who could’ve slipped it, but nobody looked out of place. You furrowed your eyebrows, picking up the blank envelope and opening it to reveal a blank “thank you” card. It had no writing on it, nothing personalized, but you knew exactly who it was from. You smiled a little to yourself, then slipped it into your desk drawer.

— —

Over a year later, and you continued covering for Voight, but watching him to ensure he didn’t go off the rails all the same. You knew if he ever got in too deep, you wouldn’t be able to save him without going down yourself. You looked at the blank card and envelope often, even though all it said was “thank you” and some cheesy pre-printed message inside. It made you smile, and it was something you held on to. You hadn’t met with Voight again outside of official meetings when you had to investigate him or someone inside his unit. Of course, it always either came up clean or inconclusive for whatever reason.

That day, a call buzzed on your phone, pulling you away from witness reports on a beat cop case. You glanced to your phone, finding a familiar number on it, but you’d never saved the contact. You took the call, hearing “it’s time,” on the other end before they hung up. You grabbed your stuff and took furlough for the rest of the day, citing that your stomach was off.

That was an understatement.

Finally, it was time. Your stomach was in knots. You weren’t sure how to feel. It was all so bittersweet. You went to your house, dropping your car off and changing into clothes you hated - clothes you’d kept for years. You waited for nightfall, biding your time and getting everything ready as needed. You cleaned your gun, although you weren’t inclined to use it, it was in case something went wrong. You’d never done anything like this before, but studying Voight had given you a pretty good idea of how to cover your tracks.

You grabbed your knife set, still in the leather case, and put it into a small duffel bag, along with a change of clothes and some other things you’d need to get rid of the body. By the time nightfall arrived, a black car came up to your house, and you grabbed your duffel bag and left your house, getting into the car.

The man you knew from the phone drove you out of the city, right to the outskirts. An abandoned warehouse was there, where he was being held. Him, he who had abused you, raped you, and let you try to kill yourself. Him, who was so perfect in everyone else’s eyes. Him, who’d gotten away with it.

He won’t ever do it again. Not after today.

You’d been biding your time for years, over twenty years at this point. You were ready to do this. Ready to make him suffer the way you had long ago. You wanted him to feel pain. You wanted to take back what he had stolen from you long ago.

You got out of the car, watching as it drove away, then walked into the warehouse. You were on your own, now. What happened here stayed here. Nobody would ever know.

You walked in, seeing him tied to a chair and struggling to get loose, to no avail. You hummed and grabbed a crate, pushing it in front of him and sitting on it, letting your bag drop beside you. Your gun was in the back of your waistband, just in case, and you hummed as you watched him struggle. “Having fun?”

“You sick, psycho bitch!” He spat at you, still struggling to get out. “Fuck you!”

“You did, remember? You did it, over and over again, even when I asked you to stop. Even when I passed out, you kept going. Just to get yourself off.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that? I remember you had on the same thing the night you tried to jump. You should’ve done it.”

“Maybe, but then I wouldn’t be here to take the pleasure in this.” A dark smile creeped onto your face.

.

It was nearly 3AM when you were finished with him. When he couldn’t move anymore, when he begged you for mercy, when he laid limp on the floor, finally, you were finished. You took the gun from your waistband, bloody fingers gripping it as you knelt on top of him. “Good riddance,” you growled before finally giving him the mercy of death, putting a shot straight through his brain, and another through his heart.

Then, you picked up the shell casings and dug the bullets out of his limp body. You put them into a bag and set them aside. You pulled his body over to a tarp and began wrapping him up meticulously. As if you’d done it before.

You made good work of the body, then cleaned the blood before stripping off your clothes and changing into the fresh ones. You hauled everything out to a fire pit, where it had already been set up, dumping the body and your clothes into the pit and starting the fire. It burned and raged. The smell was terrible, but you somehow didn’t mind as you watched the flames dance, engulfing the man who had hurt you so badly.

As the fire went on, you heard a twig snap in the woods. You grabbed your now clean gun from your waist and turned quickly, just quick enough to see someone in a hoodie running away. “Shit,” you mumbled, debating as to whether you should stay with the body or run after the man. You decided on the latter, slinging your duffel bag across your body and bolting after the man who had seen you.

You chased him for about a mile before he got tired and you caught him, tackling him to the ground and holding the gun to his head. “Who are you?!”

“T-Travis!” He said, wincing and panting from running. “I-I-I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for what?!”

“Did you kill that guy? I-I didn’t mean to see you!”

“It’s your mistake,” you huffed, but before you could take care of the problem, you heard sirens and saw lights. You got up, pulling him with you at gunpoint. “Let’s go. And if you scream, you’re dead.”

The man agreed, shaking, probably high out of his mind judging by the skunk like stench radiating from him. After walking back toward your scene, you pushed him to his knees near a tree. “Stay here. If you move or scream, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” You huffed as he nodded, leaving him there and taking a few more steps toward the edge of the woods where you’d been earlier.

The fire department and police were there, trying to put out the fire. Your stomach dropped. “Oh fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, knowing it was only a matter of time before they figured out who was dead and who had done it. Your mouth ran dry and you felt like throwing up. Not only had it started to sink in that you’d mutilated, tortured, and killed someone, but you’d pretty much been caught now too.

You went back to the man, pulling him up and pulling him with you by the arm. He protested but you shushed him quickly as you ran. You ran out to the opposite side of the woods, then pushing him down next to another tree. You pulled out your cell phone, that had since been off, and turned it on. Then, you dialed the one person you could think of to get you out of this.

“Come on,” you mumbled. “Answer the phone.”

When he finally answered the phone, voice heavy with sleep, you swallowed hard, tears coming to your eyes. “You owe me,” you said sternly. “I need you. Now.”

A pause came over the phone as you waited in silence, then he spoke again. “Where are you?”

.

Some time later, you saw his car pull up. The man who was high had since fallen asleep, but you hadn’t stopped pacing. Voight pushed into the woods to find you, catching you and furrowing his brow. “Alright, tell me everything.”

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet sob, gun still in your hand, clenching it tightly. “Voight, I-I…” You swallowed hard. “This guy saw me and I-I didn’t want witnesses but then someone must’ve seen the fire and-and-“

“(Y/N),” he said, stern but soft as he reached out, gripping your shoulders to pull you back into reality. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything so I can help.”

And so you did, telling him everything he needed to know to help. You cried softly as he held your shoulders, not knowing whether you should continue living or just shoot yourself here and now.

Voight held you as you spoke, then took the gun from your hand, putting it into his own waistband. Then, he pulled you into a tight hug, which made you break down further. Being in his arms made you feel safe, as if it were all a nightmare.

When he pulled away, he looked at you, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “It’s going to be alright. I’m going to keep your gun. Give me the shell casings and knives.”

You sniffled, handing him the entire duffel bag, then looking to the man who was sleeping. “What about him?”

Voight nodded. “You let me take care of it, all of it.”

“W-What do I do?”

“Don’t tell anyone anything. Business as usual.” He nodded to you. “Come on, go get into my car. I’ll take you home.”

You nodded and did as you were asked, sitting in the passenger seat. Voight took a few moments to wake up the high man and talk to him, then left him where he was. He put the evidence in the back seat, then sat in the driver’s seat beside you, nodding. “Everything’s gonna be alright, (Y/N). I promise.”

You swallowed hard, wiping your face as you tried to keep yourself together. “I can’t go home…”

“You have to,” he said with a small shrug. “It wouldn’t be right if you stayed with me, since you’re my IAD agent.”

You scoffed a little, shaking your head. “I don’t even care about all that,” you mumbled. “I’m only in IA because they won’t let me back in the field. I hate it there. Going after good cops? Screw my job. I want to quit.”

“You’re tired. It’s the grief talking,” Voight replied. “Don’t do anything rash. Just go in tomorrow, business as usual.”

You sighed shakily and nodded. Voight dropped you off, but before you got out of his car, he grabbed your hand. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

You swallowed hard and looked up at him. “Thanks,” you mumbled, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I owed you,” he replied softly with a small smile and a shrug. “Might as well go out helping someone I care about.”

You blushed, and with that, you leaned over again and kissed him softly. He reciprocated, gently putting his other hand on your thigh. You pulled back after a bit, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I care about you too.”

“I know,” he replied with a small nod, caressing your cheek. “I’d never let anything happen to you, favor or not.”

[according2thelore]

Just wanted to let you know how much I’m loving the age swap stuff. I highly encourage you to write more if any comes to mind. The subtle shifts in their dynamic are so interesting.

hi, anon!!

thank you so much!! (ageswap!verse for anyone interested!)

just for you, i wrote a little snippet 🫶!

dean tilts his face towards the sun, eyes closing. the sun feels warm--a little too warm, and dean tilts his face away just as quickly, blinking away the aftereffect of scraggly veins in his eyelids.

"staring at the sun again?" sam asks, as he rounds the hood of the impala. as he passes, he smacks dean's leg, and dean lets it fall off from his perch on top of baby's hood.

they'd pulled over thirty minutes ago to a state-border rest stop, to grab some snacks from the vending machine and see if they can find a state park map. something's been grabbing folks off of trails in the smokies, and sam and dean--with a lack of any direction--have been headed that way for the past few days.

they're trying to find a rhythm after...dad. after dad. they burned john winchester in a field, and haven't stopped moving since. dean's still got his words ringing in his ears, when he's quiet enough to hear them.

baby's been freshly refurbished--achingly put back together by dean, piece by piece--so dean takes extra care when he slides off of her hood and into the driver's seat.

"again?" he repeats, scoffing. "if anyone was staring into the sun, it's because someone told me it would make the spots on my face go away."

sam snorts, but doesn't reply, folding a few maps under his arm as he slides into the passenger seat. dean's been expecting sam to insist on driving, but since john handed over the keys to a fourteen year old dean the morning after sam left for stanford, sam seems to realize that whatever he and baby have is pretty symbiotic.

and that part about the spots is true. sam said dean's freckles were "angel kisses," and used to poke them all hours of all days when he was trying to get a rise out of him. apparently, mom used to call sam's moles that. dean's always hated them, but the second dean woke up from his coma, and they pulled that tube out of his throat, sam had wiped his thumbs over his cheeks, swerving to touch as many of dean's pale freckles as possible like he hadn't since dean was ten. whatever. touchy bastard.

dean puts the key in, and baby roars to life. the radio explodes to life, too, ace of spades screaming at full volume.

"enough," sam snaps, and he fumbles for the volume dial, turning it all the way down, "of this noise. what's your problem? you've been trying to blow out my eardrums since milwaukee."

dean's about to say something snippy, something cutting about the artistic integrity of good old lemmy, but it's that split second silence in the impala, between sam's words and his, that dad speaks up.

you might have to kill him, dean.

dean looks up at his big brother. sam's mouth is tilted down in the wake of dean's silence. he's wrong-footed now that dean's left him in the middle of the dancefloor, with no graceful move to spin them back together.

sam might become dangerous. promise me.

sam's eyes go soft as the silence between them stretches, and dean looks away quickly. he feels the hand on his shoulder, and aches desperately that he wasn't wearing dad's stupid fucking jacket, eight sizes too big and so heavy that it's going to drown dean alive. he wants to feel sam's skin, needs it.

"hey." sam says, all soft, sweet, sweet, sweet. all big brother twang and concern and dean could just melt in it. "dee. look at me, man."

dee. dean wants to shrug him off on principle--sam lost the right to call him that a long time ago, and dean doesn't know how long he's allowed to be angry, is afraid to let it go because if he does then he's let sam become his entire world again, let him blot out the fucking stars, and when sam leaves in six months or a year or next week, dean will just be a scared little boy with no rudder and no north star to guide him.

he'll be a little brother, without a big brother. so he'll be useless. small. not a brother, at all. just a man. dean's never been a good one of those.

and fuck him straight to hell, dean looks, because sam's hand is still on his shoulder, and he's endlessly patient when dean needs to think, but will snap dean's head off if dean asks him to spill his guts instead.

"you're okay," sam says, endlessly confident, like he can make it so just by saying it out loud. "we're going to be okay."

but his eyes are still soft, ready for dean to disagree with him, so it'll feel like an argument instead of a confession. sam's got him read to rights. read to filth.

dean can't open his mouth, so dad does, instead.

you're gonna have to step up, son. take care of sam, this time. sam might become dangerous. promise me. you might have to kill him, dean. to keep him from hurting anyone else. if it gets to that point, promise me you'll do what you have to.

dean's insides feel like they're being squeezed through a tube.

kill sam.

that's like asking dean to kill god. dean can't kill him, even if he somehow worked up the self-hatred to do so. he's too big. too...everything.

god can be killed. dean knows so. he’s seen it.

sam got ambushed by a ghoul outside of tampa, dad and dean too far away to stop it in time. it was dean’s third hunt, aged 12, and he’ll never forget:

sam, smuggled out of the hospital, twenty-six stitches holding his guts in, in the backseat of the impala. dean had held him close, hand on sam’s back, as sam hurled into a gas station plastic bag, dad laying on the gas like he was robbing a bank, not speeding away from antibiotics and hydrocodone and invasive questions. sam’s next heave popped some of his stitches, and dean’s comforting hand on sam’s stomach felt the bulge of something writhing, palmful of sam’s intestine that he pushed back in with small fingers, at a loss for anything else to do. the smell of gastric acid and blood and sam’s salty tears in his hair.

sam can die. but dean also knows that he can’t do it. the universe would know that the gun that shot loved its target too much, and the bullet would vanish mid-air. dean could slide a knife between his ribs, but sam would smile at him, and the knife would slide right back out, bloodless.

dad didn’t ask him to kill sam. he asked him to kill the hands that soothed over cuts and scrapes and burns, to kill the voice that read him bedtime stories about knights named dean that slayed dragons, to kill the arms that were the only place dean could actually breathe full, to kill the mind that solved impossible puzzles and taught dean how to read.

dean can’t do it.

dad’s dying wish, and dean can’t do it. sam could become anything, and dean couldn’t do it.

dean still hasn't been able to swallow all the way around his grief yet, and his orphanhood is lodged in his throat--has been, since bobby's. orphan. he's an orphan. at eighteen.

he's torn between love and hatred, for his father. and neither of those hold a candle to the overwhelming guilt or grief. dad wouldn't be dead, if it wasn't for him.

“dean.” sam says, more pointed this time. prodding. dean looks back up into sam’s eyes, and almost recoils. sam's eyes are glassy, and his tongue comes out to lick the center of his lips. “i thought.” he swallows thickly. “i thought you were—…that i…”

dean's suddenly grappling for the hand on his shoulder, pressing sam's fingers down farther into the swoop of his clavicle, the sharp point where it meets the joint of his shoulder.

they haven't really talked about it. they talked about dad, but they haven't talked about the hospital. about how sam was completely skeletal, hollow, sleeping curled over dean's bed from his plastic hospital chair. how he almost lunged at john in his hospital bed when he asked about the colt instead of dean a few doors down. how he bit back tears when dean moved the planchet on the board, how his greedy eyes tracked dean's every wince as they pulled the tube out of his throat, how he had to be restrained by hospital staff when dean flatlined.

dean can't imagine if it was sam, instead. he doesn't know how he'd act.

“sam.” dean says, just to feel it in his mouth. the corners of sam's mouth flick up into a brief smile, more watery than anything. he sniffs, hard. he pats dean's shoulder, hard, but doesn't take his hand away like dean feared he would. he keeps it there, and he looks back down into dean's eyes.

“i’m glad you’re here. with me.” sam says.

dean swallows. he doesn't know what to do with that. what does that even mean: that you're here, instead of dad? i'm glad that it's you? dean wants to scream.

sam shouldn't be. dean's been assigned as his executioner. sam should want dean as far away from him as possible.

"together, right?" dean rasps, throat tight. he's selfish. so fucking selfish. sam beams like dean just pressed the moon into his palm, like dean has promised him the sky. he smiled like that when dean finally learned how to tie his own shoes. sam nods.

dean's learned about the night of the fire in the past year. he learned about how dad pressed dean into sam's arms and told him to run, why sam has been so protective of dean since. they'd survived, together. they've been whispering it back and forth, since. they were the first words dean grated out his destroyed throat after he was extubated. together, right? he promised sam he'd come back to him, and he did.

dean shrugs sam's hand off his shoulder, anger and disgust at himself making him nauseous.

dean throws the car in reverse, and cranks the volume of the stereo, loud. motörhead blares through the speakers, and dean cracks the windows, so dad can’t find him. he ignores sam's eyes burning into the side of his head.

dean won’t be able to kill sam.

as they fly down the entrance ramp back to the interstate, dean thinks of pelias and his daughters, of kronos and uranus, of cain and abel.

dad should never have asked that of him. dean can't cut off the hand that raised him.

he cuts a look at sam out of the corner of his eye, to find sam staring right back, hair blown about in the wind, sunlight making his skin look bronze, mouth pulled into a dazed smile.

sam could never become anything wrong, or evil. he's dean's. for better or worse.

~~~

clearly i've been itching to write them again, lol. thank you for this ask, anon! i hope you enjoyed! <3

-lizzy

[yashkonu]

it's next fest! thought i'd share a few games i found interesting.

next fest is always hit or miss because there are a zillion roguelikedeckbuilder/openworldsurvivalcraft entities for every one of anything else, and those are both genres i'm just fully done with. also for added difficulty nowadays you also get a second zillion worth of shovelware badly papered over with ai art. here's a few things out of the mess that i actually liked:

Mycopunk

is a co-op shooter where you play as a bunch of robots and explode mushrooms. I don't honestly have much to say about this one other than 'it's fun how the enemies just sort of seem to assemble themselves like k'nex pieces until all the ones you've been ignoring are now a big pain katamari catching up to you' and 'i don't think extraction shooters are a good format'. It's another in the Hardspace Shipbreaker lineage of games that make their story about being abused by a corporate entity, which is always just kind of tedious to see in a game. Maybe I've just been a working adult for too long to think it's anything other than a bummer setting full of jokes that don't land. Still fun to play! Probably a good time in co-op.

Mina the Hollower

Is a top-down 2D action-adventure game very much in the style of the game boy zeldas. My intro to zelda was oracle of seasons so i'm especially susceptible to this. It's by Yacht Club Games, whose other work includes milking Shovel Knight for all it's worth and nothing else. I'm truly glad to see they're doing literally anything else. Mina the Hollower is a game about a rat girl inventor and fighter on a mission to save a cursed island. The art looks great, the movement and combat both feel terrific (and very much in keeping with the game boy style of game they're emulating) with some systems borrowed from other genres—you have estus flasks, kind of, and castlevania sub weapons, kind of—in ways that actually feel good and not just like an attempt to fit a genre mold. genuinely looking forward to this one!

Prison of Husks

is a soulslike, but not like that. A persistent woe of mine is that the sweeping majority of soulslikes aren't particularly soulslike, they're bloodbornelike. DS3-like at best. I need that Dark Souls 1 'wander around darkroot garden for several minutes and get very confused about the moving tree with a health bar' sort of flavor. That Demon's Souls 'where the fuck am i, they werent lying that swamp sure can sorrow' type of delicacy. Tromping around and only having enough stamina to attack twice, or once if you want to dodge after. Prison of Husks seems to be delivering on that, and is about a doll seeking its beloved, who is a woman. The demo truly scratched an itch and I'm looking forward to more.

Bubblegum Galaxy

isn't really for me, but I enjoyed my time with it anyway. It's a very genuinely cute game about a cat woman with a small house on her head interning at a company that makes planets by assembling tiles. Yellow flag on the 'haha, isn't work shid,' story framing, but it's a charming little puzzle game and you know it has to be doing something right because my tendency to sneer at any game calling itself 'cozy' is severe. I'd make a killer cartoon supervillain.

AEROMACHINA

absolutely fucking rips. It's a 3D platformer with some combat and exploration that mesh nicely with the platforming, and the demo is honestly more of a prologue than a demo. It has hidden optional bosses. The movement is the best I've seen in a platformer since Pseudoregalia (please don't ask me which is better i have no idea) and the upgrades you find expand on it in really gratifying ways. The combat isn't complicated but plays with itself really nicely—your little basic one-button melee combo isn't much to write home about, but when you start working in the other abilities you end up at things like combo -> end with a launcher kick -> bullet juggle -> aerial combo -> kick back to the ground. It's really fun. Terrific character design too, look at these three

[a-one-eyed-menace-official-blog]

So there were a lot of moving parts to this fic, it was originally going to be written differently and certain parts were going to happen before others, but there are parts of the original idea that eventually ended up in the fic like I think exact phrases from this piece were taken out and put into Chapter 9:

Being in a human like body sucked. Not only did he feel like his power was being suppressed literally all the time, because it was, but on top of that he had to deal with feelings, and feelings sucked. He thought he was done with the whole thing after the island, then when the town of Gravity Falls all collectively chased him around, or when the Pines family locked him in a cage for a month but no. Of course he wasn’t done. This was absolutely exhausting.

Now he had a new feeling to store away with the other already complicated emotions he felt around Stanford Pines, emotions like guilt, resentment, sadness, admiration, and confusion, just to name a a few, and he thought he didn’t have enough room for anymore emotions.

He was wrong. Because of course he was.

A new one started to creep up on him when he least expected it, one that had him watching him play his nerd game with Pinetree, wanting to push his hair back, noticing the glint in his eyes when he read something interesting, laughing at his slight fued with his brother, stealing his heavy brown coat just to make him look for it while mumbling his name like a curse, and smiling more around him. At first he thought it was just the usual positive ones, you know. The sappy ones.

He’d had a few of those on the island, he was happy to be with them, wanted their companionship, things like that. This wasn’t quite like that though, he wanted a closeness with Ford that he didn’t have with his friends.

But he didn’t know what that was.

It was annoying, being an all knowing being that couldn’t understand a problem, it had him snappier then usual and he found himself avoiding Ford whenever possible to try and sort himself out. Eventually he got so fed up that he turned to the only person who would listen and not make fun of him, maybe, Shooting Star. He had to bribe her with making Smile Dip appear out of nowhere but after that she was more than happy to listen.

“What’s wrong Bill?” They were sitting outside, her crosslegged and him floating. “I have this weird feeling around Fordsy,” He explained “Everytime I’m near him it’s like my heart is going to explode.”

She wrinkled her nose “Ew.”

“It’s very easy to do Shooting Star, anyway, it’s just around him! Isn’t that crazy? What if he’s trying to kill me again?”

���Hold on let me stop you right there.”

“Huh?”

“Does it ever feel like you have… butterflies in your stomach around Great uncle Ford?”

That. Checked out with his symptoms. “Yes! Do you know what he’s doing to me?”

“I think someone has a crush!” She shimmied her shoulders and he fell on the ground.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“But- but love is for humans!” He gripped his hair, sharp claws digging into his skin.

“I don’t know, I think triangles can get it toooo.” She was grinning from ear to ear and his face was so warm he was pretty sure it was on fire.

“Bill and Ford sitting in a tree! K I S S-“ He lurched forward and covered her mouth with his hands. “If you breathe one word of this I’ll put deer teeth in your Mabel Juice kid!”

She just giggled and licked his palm, making him recoil as she got up and ran toward the shack. He cursed and ran after her, stopping in his tracks when he saw Ford at the table, looking over some book with Pine Tree.

“Ah! Hello Bill, what were you and Mabel up to?” Mabel was trying so hard to keep his newfound discovery to herself she was practically vibrating and he didn’t say anything at all, he just floated up and through the ceiling.

As you can see Bill was supposed to already be “redeemed” in the eyes of both Ford and the town before realizing that he was in love with Ford by talking to Mabel but that’s obviously not how it went down in the fic. I thought it would be funnier to have Bill ask Wendy for teen magazines, mostly because she hadn’t been featured much yet aside from a mention.

[pokimoko]

2, 8, 11, 21 for the fic writer ask thing!!!! 💚

Thank you for the questions (from this fanfic game) :D Now get ready for some answers!

2. How do you come up with your plot ideas?

I'm sure this will be a very typical (and very vague) answer, but I get most of my ideas from the stories that surround me. Usually, that comes in the form of books/fanfic, video games, TV shows, podcasts, and movies (the fact I've written at least five fics that took inspiration from 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' is pretty telling), but sometimes a plot idea for me can come from a poem or the lyrics of a song, or a piece of mythology, or a single word (lacuna and perilune being two examples), or something I've heard someone in my life say, or an interest of mine, or even just an unrelated post on Tumblr.

Other times, it's just a stray thought in my mind late at night that I can even remember the origin of, or a piece of canon or a character I wanted to explore more that exploded into a whole slew of ideas I didn't even expect. If I get a certain idea for a fic, I often like to 'research' it by seeking out stories with similar themes to see if I can find any new concepts to incorporate. I'm very much a scavenger of ideas, always on the look out for inspiration in any way, taking bits and pieces of stories of both the fictional and real life variety to shape them into something I want to write and, more importantly, something I want to read. :)

8. Do you have any rituals or habits to get you in the zone?

Honestly, no, not really. I usually just write when I can, be that in the afternoon on my laptop listening to music or in my bed late at night (or just before work) writing on my phone, or even just writing snippets of ideas onto the back of my hands when I'm at work. I don't really have any set conditions to get the creative juices flowing (which unfortunately means a lot of time when I sit down to write, my brain comes up empty). Sometimes, when I'm not in the writing zone, I just read over parts of what I've already written and edit it, which in turn often helps to bring me back into the writing zone. That's the closest to a habit I think I have.

11. Are there any tropes that you particularly enjoy writing?

Oh, most definitely! If it isn't blatantly obvious by now when it comes to my stories, I love writing about ghosts—both literal and metaphorical—and using them to explore grief, the unreliableness of memory, sentient structures/objects (talking radios and haunted houses my beloved), and using horror as a medium to explore characters. In terms of more fanfiction-tag tropes, I love writing anything where 'Emotion Hurt/Comfort', 'Character Study', 'Grief/Mourning', 'Unreliable Narrator', 'Extended Metaphors', or 'Angst' plays a big part.

21. Have you ever used fanfiction as a way to explore your own emotions or personal experiences?

Of course! I literally started writing fanfiction just to do that. The first fic I wrote on AO3 back in 2017 for...sigh 😒...'Riverdale' was basically a means for me to explore my, at the time, newly accepted aroace identity; writing about those experiences through the eyes of another character (who *should* have been aroace in that damn show because he was canonically written that way in the—ahem, sorry, got possessed by my 16 year old self for a second, let's move on) really helped me embrace it in a time where the Internet, and specifically tumblr, was absolutely rife with aphobia, and I was struggling to feel like I had a right to even talk about my identity. As it's probably obvious with a few of slightly more recent (and certainly better written) stories, I still often explore my aroace identity through characters and stories.

Fanfiction is also a great outlet for exploring my anxiety and my grief (not so much regarding death but just people and places and moments I've lost over the years), as well as my joy and my hopes (sometimes, something comforting a character says is something you've always needed to hear). Sometimes, small experiences of mine find their way into my stories too, even if it's something as simple as a favourite treat (they will enjoy Australian confectionary whether it makes sense or not) or an interest of mine. Fanfiction, like any piece of writing, contains pieces of ourselves, so I can guarantee every story I've ever written, no matter to what degree, holds an experience or emotion of mine.

[charlotteswebbbbb]

What's the vibe? #63

Cannes wrapped up > next interesting festivals in August are Locarno and Venice (where I think we're getting a new Luca Guadanino film).

The Euros start next week. First England game is on the 17th June and they're up against Serbia.

French Open still going strong til the 9th - a women quarter final to check out is Coco Gauff v Ons Jabeur today, right now.

Isamaya x FaceGym collab and cosmetic surgery tourism:

Isamaya Ffrench has releases a gua shua metal accessory in collaboration with FaceGym. This non invasive cosmetic "procedure" if you can call it that, is an example of 1, the rise in this traditional, culture based way of approaching health and 2, related to the want for non invasive techniques.

The former - relating to maybe "decolonial" ways of living - "how did my grandma do this and is it related to today? does it work first of all?" You could also see this strand of thought going into storytelling, unfamiliar territory for some but I think that if Hollywood is obsessed with IP that already exists, that newness is risky for them. Independent wise, the base is built, the curiosity set up in adventurous watchers who love Letterboxd, so could work in that context. (Maybe this is West specific, the rest of the world is obviously going to delve into national myths.)

One of the biggest reasons in the big Korean soft power exploding alongside the fact that the music, food and general culture is big is beauty tourism. Korean skincare exploding has people looking at their "cutting edge" treatments to improve themselves on holiday. A little botox at 1, colour matching at 2.30, great dinner at 5.

Curating and individualism:

This is a funny read - as with many things about culture I never find people go deep enough about anything. I find that when people discuss trend cycles or something they've been in it for a while but now it's just...culture. It's the pouring of 300 bottles of liquor to create the glorious cocktail. They lack - I find it uninteresting

"are we killing culture?" isn't even a real idea or question. Culture will shift, mutate, regroup. I even think because of almost a year of activism, some tactics will be borrowed - it might be of the same speed/faster/underground or aggressively IRL because that's where you find

At the end of the piece, there's this link which was attached to the phrase "find our way back to reality".

IDK - even this doesn't move me - it's very stiff in terms of what to do. Like what do you enjoy? What's your perspective on things? There's consumption but people like enjoyment....which is why they consume? The most interesting writings or stuff is like maybe visiting Cafe Oto. You can observe from outside, hear the muffled sounds, enjoy a chat with a friend, go inside, experience something weird, different, go back out, write down observations, go back in and maybe read a little on stage to the audience and see how they feel about it.

I think now we've gotten near to peak curation, a lot of hidden gems are found and easily accessed - which is great for people, sometimes not great for creators, or businesses that are suddenly overwhelmed unnecessarily.

from above: "Structurally, the Internet is not getting better anytime soon; I have not hidden my pessimism about its future. But human creativity persists, even in hostile conditions. Figures like Gee, Reilly, and Shuherk make me hopeful that fun, interesting niches of activity can still survive online. There’s another word that we might apply to such people: “connoisseurs,” in the art-historical sense of passionate observers who shape a discipline through their judgments. We’ve always had connoisseurs, from the radio d.j. to the bookstore clerk, subtly but vitally informing the culture that the rest of us choose to consume. As Shuherk put it, “The person in the nineties working at Blockbuster—we’re the same person.”

I do think that the backlash to a lot of this in the next few years (or months) is just extreme gatekeeping especially for spaces for more marginalised people. Everyone wants to go to the cool thing but tourism decreases the legitimacy.

We're also in extreme tough economic times - see Black Keys, J-Lo cancelling US tour dates, Melt Festival in Germany stopping after 27 years due to changing festival landscape, (Maybe even Jamie XX doing a 10 night residency at Venue MOT). These examples to say anything smaller than the super established runs at a risk. It's hard to create culture when you can't pay rent but also hard to keep going if your audience extract the uniqueness from your creation.

from above: "An exasperated Dominic Cook, a former director at the Royal Court theatre, last month went so far as to call for renationalising the arts. His point, provocatively framed, was that the current system is broken. The model that worked when he started out in the late 1980s — when generous state funding and box office receipts combined to more or less cover costs — now requires hefty supplemental doses of private funding. "

We deeply need funding bodies to keep culture flowing - whether some new Medicis want to step in or "ethical" funding bodies or the government, we'll be happy nonetheless.

I mean this also doesn't mean that cool things aren't happening in industries such as film. For example something like not/nowhere or other cinemas are giving people the chance to learn new skills and showcase work.

4 the dating data heads:

androgyny dressing:

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough - Endless Act 3 quests

Spoilers below the cut!

OH MY GOD there’s too many things in Rivington…….. Luckily it seems most of these quests are small and self-contained so I can play by slowly advancing through areas and finishing whatever NPC thing is there before moving on?

Hey fellow dark urge players - have you ever noticed that if you look in the magic mirror, it resets your tav’s name back to The Dark Urge? And you will have to retype out the name you want? It does not do this for normal tavs. I wonder if this is just a bug. MORE interesting would be if they did it on purpose, and you are constantly having to reassert your new identity.

I was going through some old papers and letters and in a roundabout way realized there was a whole cutscene with Karlach that I missed back in Moonrise Towers. If you approach the bugbear trader with Karlach on your team, you will get a whole scene about an old friend of hers from Avernus. I love that there are little details like this in the game, and even though I am uncovering I think all or close to all of the little plot points, there will still be additional surprises like this if I replay with different teammates.

God, Rivington and especially Wyrm’s Crossing are so damned full of people. My computer is just lagging the fuck out. Not inspiring. I wish there was some way to optimize this better. Maybe reduce the rendering radius even more or something I dunno?

I found Arfur and his delightful little plot to blow up refugee children with toy bombs! What a delight that was. Too bad for this motherfucker, my brain-scrambled durge tav imprinted like a baby chick on the tiefling refugees during his first few days off the nautiloid, and this guy’s ass is now grass.

I’ve noticed that online guides seem to be incomplete (A SHOCK!) about how to resolve the situation with him, saying that you must either side with Arfur and the squatters leave, or else you side with the squatters which causes Arfur to go to Sharess’ Caress, and you can confront him there later about the plot. Me, I’m trying to take this enormous area in little pieces and I don’t really feel like opening up yet another new area yet - what if I want to deal with him right here and now?

There might be other dialogue branches to get to the same result, but here’s what I did: if you use detect thoughts during the confrontation, you can see Arfur is nervous about the squatters finding his basement. You can ask him about his basement, then ask him if you should go check it out. He will lose his patience and instruct his hired goons to attack. Once you kick their asses, (which btw you can safely do, as far as I can see, this fight does not aggro anyone else in the area) he stays in the area without running off, waiting for you to make a decision.You are then free to go and explore the basement and do the whole exploding toys quest. When Manip Nestor tells you to go find the one responsible for this, Arfur is still standing right there in front of his house, and you can finish the quest right here instead of going all the way to Sharess’ Caress. I’m assuming this conclusion is all exactly the same as if it was at Sharess’ Caress: you can agree to let him go, you can accept his bribe, or you can insist he’s going to be arrested. Then he walks away, presumably off to turn himself in at the jail like a good boy lmao, and the squatters thank you for allowing them to stay. Easy peasy and no need to go track Arfur down in some brand new area.

OMG Tara is so cute. If you approach her with Gale, she has a longer conversation with you. Is that the only time we see her?? Please say no! I love Tara so much!

Hey so I talked to the ironhand gnomes, went up through the ladder in their hideout, and discovered, surprisingly, that it leads to the smith’s rooms??? I wanted to ask him about it, why he has a secret hatch that leads to a domestic terrorist organization, but when I came through the hatch, I found he had been murdered by Orin!!! Is it possible to talk to him somehow that I missed?

Speaking of Orin - I know a lot of people are annoyed with her “ooooh it’s Orin, what an unexpected surprise!” schtick, but I actually do like the way she pops up. I like how you start speaking to an NPC and the conversation slowly starts to get more and more deranged. Before I realize it’s Orin, there is a second where it’s a genuine “what the hell is happening?” reaction. What I think the problem with Orin is, is that it happens too close together. Like, I spoke to the guard at the refugee camp, then extremely shortly after that, I spoke to the blacksmith and found her again. I am less annoyed with this concept, I think it’s cool, I kind of like the implication that Orin is out there gathering intel on you so you maybe need to watch what information you give out to random strangers, I just think the meetings needed to be a bit more spaced out, and it might avoid that annoyance that some players have with her.

I loved the courier’s zhentarim note that they hadn’t heard from the group in Waukeen’s Rest for a while. In my game, I killed all those guys when I found their hideout. I think it’s neat you have options to ally with them, but my tav personally has no use for a mafia that deals in slaves and tadpoles. If you didn’t kill the zhents in Waukeen’s Rest, does the letter still say they’ve lost contact, or does it change and say something else?

I’m finding an awful lot of murdered refugees all strewn about. I’m not exactly sure what’s happening here. I know Orin is being shitty, I know we have these doppleganger freaks, and I know there’s other stuff going on as well that I haven’t even explored yet, so who knows. I wish there was some kind of reaction line from tav or companions or something? Like. When we approached the blighted village, they commented on the dead villagers on the road. Here, I climbed down a well and found like four murdered refugees all in a pile, and there’s no comment??

I LOVED the weirdness of finding a child next to the southern checkpoint gate that was actually voiced by a real child, and not an adult VA. Very very jarring! As this is the only actual child voice in the entire game that I’ve seen so far, I assume this must be one of the dev’s kids that they put in to be cute, and I think that’s fun.

[finclgicls]

this… familiarity was an unfamiliar kind of discomfort. it made cleo feel like her skin didn’t quite fit right. not in the way that made her want to push ayda off the cliff or tell her to take the next ferry back to the mainland—no, it was worse than that. it was the kind that made her hesitate. made her toe the line between wanting to run and wanting to stay, like she couldn’t tell if this comfort was a trap or something she had been craving without realizing. she used to think she liked being alone. craved it even. she had built her life around it. but loneliness had a way of hollowing you out so slowly that you didn’t notice the pieces missing until someone looked at you with something other than suspicion or pity. the bleeding, the stares, the divine freakshow rumors—she could deal with all that. but this quiet hum in her chest, this longing she didn’t want to name, this desperate ache to feel like a person again… it was so much worse.

she had been walking that island since her legs were strong enough to carry her. she had scraped her knees on that sand, almost fallen off this very cliff more times than she could count, had memorized every goddamn crack in the road like they were part of her. and still, it didn’t feel like home anymore. people had always looked at her with something—curiosity, disappointment, the kind of condescension reserved for small-town tragedies—but fear was new. unsettling. they didn’t wave when she passed anymore. they crossed the street like she might infect them. talked behind cupped hands and locked doors. some whispered about god, others about devils, but none of them looked her in the eye anymore. it wasn’t about her being special, it was about her being wrong. and then there was ayda. sitting beside her like the cliff didn’t matter, like cleo wasn’t dangerous, like she wasn’t other. she spoke to her like she wasn’t a burden or a story or a time bomb waiting to explode. and that messed cleo up in ways she didn’t have the language for. it made her hungry—for company, for softness, for someone who didn’t flinch.

and still, she didn’t pull away. couldn’t, really. because how the hell do you turn your back on the only warmth you’ve felt in years?

“don’t worry about it,” she said, voice casual but cracked just slightly. “you’re just making it painfully clear your life’s way more interesting than mine.” she let the sarcasm hang there, a protective layer over the real bitterness tucked underneath. it wasn’t aimed at ayda—not even close—but it still stung. “i mean, who the hell launders money through kebab shops? that’s got to be one of the weirdest stories i’ve heard all year. maybe ever.” she shrugged, which for her was just another way of saying thank you—for filling the air with something other than the ghosts that usually haunted her. her job used to give her that. purpose. movement. now? now she wasn’t sure she’d ever be allowed near it again. the second her face hit a national paper, the vultures would circle. she’d be a headline, not a byline. and that anonymity she’d held onto so tightly? gone.

but ayda had this way of untangling her, of making the tension in her shoulders unravel one thread at a time. cleo actually laughed—okay, dryly—but it still counted, when ayda mentioned knowing people crazier than her. “you’ll have to come by and tell me some. anytime.” her words came out before she could catch them, and it wasn’t until they hung in the air that she realized how badly they gave her away. fuck. had she really just invited her over? to her home? where she hadn’t moved a single picture frame since her parents died? where grief clung to the walls like mold? “or maybe... coffee. in public. normal.” she winced at her own voice, the awkward little pivot painfully obvious even to herself. ��less opportunity for you to see the trainwreck in its natural habitat.”

and still, despite herself, she meant it. every awkward, vulnerable syllable. because ayda made her feel—god, she hated the word—normal. she made her feel real. not like a cautionary tale or a myth or a monster, but like someone who could maybe, just maybe, be worth talking to. it was dangerous. selfish. fleeting. and cleo didn’t give a damn. she could’ve stayed there all night, just listening to her, pretending this was what life felt like before it all burned down.

“yeah, the pain is something,” she murmured, shifting a little as her arms wrapped around her legs. “pretty sure i blacked out with the wrists. no big divine moment. just me trying not to faint like a dramatic little victorian girl.” she glanced at ayda, a flash of vulnerability darting across her features before she looked away again. “i did some research too. not enough to understand anything, just enough to completely scare the shit out of myself. it’s a skill.”

the silence that followed made her skin itch. she hated it. hated the way it left her exposed, so she did what she always did: she covered it with honesty, wrapped in humor sharp enough to cut.

“i’m not gonna tell you to fuck off, by the way,” she said, voice softer now but still laced with a smirk. “you’re the first person in... ever who talks to me like i’m not a ticking time bomb. like i’m not about to start levitating or jump off this cliff just to make a statement. so go on. take advantage of it. you caught me on a good night.” she paused, then added with a sideways glance, “doesn’t happen often. you might want to buy a lotto ticket or something.”

she had enough experience to be able to tell that she was staring too much. sure, making eye contact and gently coaxing out words from people was most of her job - that and editing it all down to three paragraphs lately - but there was a noticeable difference. maybe not because she was watching cleo with rapt, sincere attention - but it was as if she couldn't look away. like, physically, some rope was tethered between her gaze and the blonde's every move, every expression. she forced herself to blink slightly longer, to allow her eyes to glance back at the paper where she was taking messy notes.

there was warmth too, something more than just the fact that the wind and the chill in the air had made their bodies slightly creep closer, as if to preserve heat. it was in cleo's tone, in her jokes, as if her voice was gently tracing a path allowing ayda to follow her through. she chuckled at the words war crimes being used to describe some local lady's food, making an exaggerated point to note in the margin of her pad : no eating patty's food. "i'll be fine, i think. i've gone places with worse options, believe it or not. i once ended up reporting on a kebab shop that was accused of money laundering and the owner insisted on having me eat a new specialty each time i came in for questions. let's just say i took a break from kebabs for a while." she groaned at the memory, before biting her cheek, feeling it warm up at the fact that she had allowed herself to be this relaxed, as if cleo and her were old friends, not on each side of a particular story. "sorry. maybe that was too much. i'll steer clear of patty's food though, thank you for the tip."

once more, her eyes drifted to where the blonde was pulling at her sleeves, a clear show of not wanting ayda's eyes on her wrists. she followed the quiet instruction, instead allowing herself to dive back into the clear eyes - intriguing and yet stormy like the sea around them - as she listened once more, taking notes now and then.

she kept her feelings at bay, best as she could, trying to avoid the voice in her head that just felt pain for cleo, for everything she was going through. ayda decided to focus on the way she spoke, her cadence and the way it reflected what she was saying. she nodded along, another playful smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "you know what? if you keep calling yourself mental, i might just have to tell you about the weirdest stories i've ever had to report on, alright? promise that in comparison, you'll feel perfectly sane." she hoped it wasn't too much, as she noticed her hand reaching out to cleo's arm, instead wrapping her fingers around herself, an attempt at keeping the wind from seeping into her bones. last thing she needed was to catch a cold out here, on a cliff - during her first day.

maybe she voluntarily dipped down her head as cleo continued to talk, pretending to focus on what she was writing down, when she just didn't want the blonde to see her reactions to her words. brows furrowed, chewing on her bottom lip to stop herself from speaking out - there was a quiet rage brewing in her, something she hadn't felt in a long time - at the way cleo described everyone else's reaction to her. the way she talked, it seemed like everyone on the island saw a monster while ayda felt like she was listening to some young woman who just felt hurt, and hopeless.

more teasing about her skills as a journalist shook off the anger simmering inside of her stomach and she allowed herself to open up again, putting the pad aside as she stretched, eyes on the waves. her voice was light as she replied. "i'm afraid catholicism - and christianity in general - is not my forte either." she admitted. "though from what i've looked up, stigmata is seen as a divine mark." ayda added, head tilting towards cleo at the word divine. "no mention of mental anywhere in there. mostly - a mystery. happens to women more often. which is why it was seen as a symptom of hysteria by doctors in the past." she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "i don't know about the religious element much more. though the word that comes back the most is pain." the brunette added with some finality, her eyes drifting away from cleo's despite their magnetic pull, trying to not overwhelm her with what she had looked into. "i've got more questions if you're still up for it. but if it feels like too much, please tell me. even if it's to fuck off, that'd be understandable." she grinned, hoping that her more informal way of speaking would make cleo smile - even if she wasn't sure why she wanted that in the first place.

[ioveskye]

Wonder | Leo Fitz x reader chapter 3

Union Station had turned into chaos. Mike Peterson turned out to be the enhanced individual that had saved the doctor. However, after some research from the team- together with their new acquaintance Skye who is a member of The Rising Tide- they figured out what the cause of the explosions were. It was the centipede serum.

And Mike Peterson was full of it.

Fitz-Simmons had the job to find a way and let this situation go well, in a way the team plus everyone in the station would not blow up, in the mean time they had to find a way to calm Mike down as best as they could. Coulson was slowly approaching the man, Y/n and Skye watched from the back. She watched how Coulson laid down his weapon, in a way to offer peace. Y/n glanced upwards and spotted Ward with his rifle- going against what Coulson tried to show Mike.

"Think that means anything?" He caught the eyes of Y/n, who glanced upwards to where Ward was situated. He saw the rifle and knew he was under gunpoint. "I know you got men everywhere waiting to put me down." Mike said, looking back at Coulson.

"I know how this plays out." He adds.

"I don't." Coulson starts, moving closer to the man. Y/n watched the pair closely, seeing how Mike physically got angrier by the second. "I know you got poison in your system. I know it's burning you up. Mike, the last guy who wore that exploded."

"I am not like that other guy!" Mike walked towards Coulson, pushing him straight to the ground. His strength was too much for the agent to fight back. A gunshot was heard and it missed Mike's head by an inch. Mike looked up to where Ward was, the raven haired man was ready to take a second shot until Coulson yelled out.

"Don't shoot! Stand down agent Ward."

Y/n watched in anticipation, Ward backed down but she noticed the doubt in his face. Coulson tried to stand up but she saw he was hurt. Something in her there told her it was going to be fine, Mike just needed the proper words.

The detective walked up to the two men, her hands up in surrender just in case. They both looked at her and Y/n ignored the slight pull from behind when Skye tried to stop her from walking towards the duo.

"Mike, think about Ace." She said to him with a soft smile.

The mention of the mans son seemed to spike an interest in him.

" I know you're strong. Your boy knows it, but he needs you to let us help. Let SHIELD help you, Mike." She continued.

Mike seemed to calm down a little bit. His furrowed brows however told her he was still angry. He walked to the broken kiosk in the station, breaking a piece apart from anger.

"You don't know what it's like!" He pointed at Y/n with the piece of wood, rage was evident on his face. "I had to work my ass off day and night to make a life for my boy, and then New York happens, and guess what? They take away my job, and my life! That is what SHIELD is! They are no heroes, they step on us to make themselves stand out. But I matter, and my boy matters and I'm sick of being stepped on."

Mike threw away the piece of wood, it fell right before Y/n’s feet, but she didn't back down. She got what she needed from him. She knew his angle now, what the source of his anger was. It was her job to understand people and she definitely understood Mr Peterson now.

"Trust me Mike, no one here will understand you more than I will." Y/n took the silence from Mike as a sign to walk closer a bit. "But there are good people at SHIELD, Mike. But the good ones, the real deal, they're not heroes because of what they have that we don't. It's what they do with it. You're right, Mike. It matters who you are."

"I could, you know? Be a hero." He gave her a smile, something glistened in his eyes. She smiled at him and nodded.

"Hell yes, you could." She let out a chuckle of relief as he smiled at her. Mike starts to walk forward towards Y/n but a sudden bang cuts his action short- a bullet had hit him right in the forehead. Y/n’s eyes widened in shock and she almost fell backwards, a hand stopped her from falling. She looked behind her and saw Coulson standing there, his eyes mirrored an expression like hers. Her head shot upwards to the place Ward had shot from. But when she saw Fitz standing there with his thumb up, sending the team a reassuring smile her heartbeat calmed down slowly. She smiled back and she saw him wink her way. She looked at Mike, Jemma had ran past her in hurry and she checked his vitals.

He was going to be okay.

***

"I can't believe you guys found a solution in that short of a time." Y/n said in awe.

Fitz-Simmons, Ward, and Y/n had returned to the Bus when their mission at Union station had been a success. Coulson and Skye took it upon themselves to bring Ace to his aunt while May brought Mike to one of SHIELD's headquarters. Y/n was sure Coulson was going to ask Skye something today that could let her to stick around a little longer, she knew him well enough. She didn't tell the rest yet- hoping Skye could tell them herself. In the meantime the rest of the team was sharing some drinks and take-out they had gotten on the way back. Fitz had suggested to get some and Y/n was grateful, the adrenaline ran out of her system a while ago and she was starving.

"Well that was nothing like how you talked down Mike! You just stood there like a total badass." Fitz said with an exciting grin.

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at his compliment. She looked down towards her food, fidgeting with her food a little, biting her lip to prevent herself from grinning.

"Thank you, Fitz."

She heard some noise from outside, the cargo hold door opened slowly with a hiss and she knew who had come back. After the team in the bus found out about an 0-8-4 sighting from SHIELD they had called Coulson back to base, knowing this would be a new mission.

"Oh you wouldn't believe it!" Jemma walked back towards the three, a new beer in hand, the previous one already causing the Brit to be a little tipsy. "Coulson just came in with Lola- flying!"

"He what now?" Ward asked in disbelief.

Y/n laughed at his reaction before she turned back to her new friend.

"I bet he brought along a certain someone?"

"How did you-" Jemma's words caught short when two voices were heard from the entrance of the living area. Coulson came in and an excited looking Skye followed after him.

"Well,well, look what the cat brought in" Y/n chuckled in her beer bottle, taking a small sip.

"Hey guys," Skye smiled at the team that had gathered. "Guess you have to do a little more to get rid of me"

"Oh don't worry, we got plenty ideas." Ward said bitterly, although there was a hint of teasing behind it.

Loud steps came from the entrance not long after, Melinda May stepped into the room and glanced at the team. They all looked at her, waiting for her to join them.

"What are you guys doing? Wheels up in five." She walked past the group, not sparing them a glance as she made her way to what Y/n presumed to be the cockpit.

"Well then," Coulson turned back to Skye. "Let's get you back to your van, and let's talk about what time you're here tomorrow yea?" The pair walked back towards the exit, Skye grabbing her bag before leaving.

Fitz turned to the three others, confusion evident on his face.

"Do you- Why is she coming back?" He looked in between Jemma and Ward for a second before his eyes landed on Y/n who was already smirking. "You know something. Why do you always know everything, and what is it?" Fitz was getting really curious now.

"Well, it is my job you know." Y/n chuckled. "And let's just say that we're probably gonna see more of Skye here on board."

[starshipsofstarlord]

Not on my boat

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst helping Sam fix his boat, during the midst of its progression, Bucky corners you within the old Wilson heirloom, leaving your friend and future captain, rather disgusted in the both of you.

Warnings | tfatws spoilers, mentions of death, some angst, smut, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bit of choking, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Hearing the waves crash against the side of the boat brought a smile upon your face, as you felt the breeze brush against your face. It was peaceful, fixing something rather than leaving it broken in order to save lives. If you weren’t swarmed with the government on your tail about how you were not allowed to use your powers, you’d be living out a free and happy life with the man you loved.

You were enduring a break from your assistance on the old Wilson vessel, your legs plodded around its platform, as you surveyed every piece that was in progress. Soon it would be in tip top shape, and when Sam and Bucky’s relationship was on par with that, that was when the two of you had planned to leave. There were plenty of things the two of you had to make up for before you could reside in peace; one of those things was that list of his.

It was a ledger of the amends that he had to make, a reminder of all the lives that had either taunted his own, or he had stolen from whilst he was not himself. James did not deserve the grievance that he was pardoned with, he was struggling, that much was clear. He had lost Steve, and then he was forced to watch as the shield had been handed off to some wanna be cap. To say he had been furious at Sam was a deep understatement, but as said, he was making amends.

Sam was a good man, you had learnt that much from the time that you had spent avenging to him. You had yet to tell him, but you weren’t planning on going back to that life after Karli was stopped, you wanted to continue working in the small shot bar slash grill, where Bucky and Youri would visit during your hours for lunch, and remain in that partition of worlds. Having Bucky and normalcy was a fine balance, which was a deep seated structure that you deeply needed.

If you did not have that then you were sure you’d explode, and hurt someone, or break something. That was no longer your duty, the fighting that you had spent most of your life giving into was coming to an end, and you were more than fine with that. A civilian life sounded good enough, and something that you could definitely settle for, though, you weren’t sure that Bucky would do the same, you hoped that he would.

That gleam in his eye was far too noticeable every time that he looked at that star striped shield. It had brought him much pain, but it had been there in the corner of his sight everywhere he had went. And now, Sam Wilson, the man that his best friend had entrusted with it, finally accepted the mantle, holding it in his firm grasp, ready to become the next captain to walk the earth, and both you and him knew that he would do far better than Walker could.

He was already a hero, he’d been fighting the Sam foes as Steve for some time, that was enough to know that he was ready. His hesitancy had been understandable, more so after listening to Isiah, though, it was nice to see Sam take his own path on this one. There were pictures of his younger self assembled upon the wooden walls, he was with his sister Sarah. She seemed like a nice woman, a part of you wished that you get to know her better, but she wasn’t a buyer into the whole superhero get advantages agenda, and nor were you.

From what you could tell, Sam had his advantage right here; his family. Sarah was supportive of him, always aiding him necessary, whilst she simultaneously raised to young boys, that looked admirably up to their uncle, and feeding the kids that they went to school with because their parents had no intention to. If you could, you’d buy a replica of her life, her head was above water, although the boat almost wasn’t.

The boat. It was an heirloom, something that you did not have of your own family. Everyone was gone, the only person you had was Bucky, and thinking of him caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, he made you endlessly happy. But neither of you could have the picture perfect life, and that was why the pair of you worked, you were each well aware of the restrictions that taunted you both, and had both been down dark roads on more than one occasion.

Things were turning brighter though, as the sun glared through the old glass, casting luminosity to stroke the high points of your face. A gently creak had your head diverting to the door way, where no other than James Barnes was leant up against, his metal arm pressed to the frame as he adoringly swept his oceanic pools over your form, slowly stepping closer.

“What are you thinking about doll?” He asked you, his tone genuine, as you sighed from his words, rubbing your eyelid as you felt a small itch. You puffed your cheeks, as you placed your hands on the super soldier’s waist, rubbing small and vigilant circles through his grey shirt.

“Too much.” It was an honest answer, everything was rattling around like pins in your mind, sinking in and letting loose to their own will. They could not be organised, they would only tumble about again, until the box was empty, though, for now, you had nowhere else to put them.

“Sarah said we could spend the night.” At his words, you hummed, taking note once more of how generous the woman indeed was. “We get the couch, so you best be on your best behaviour baby girl, nothing dirty goes on inside.” A small smirk crept its way onto his handsome face as you gasped at his spoken intention, lightly hitting the vibranium of his arm.

“Why do you blame me for not keeping it in my pants?” You interrogated him, glaring up at the man with a furrow between your brows. “You’re the one that corners me, a lot like this actually, so that you can get your own way and fuck m- oh, that’s exactly what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” You scoffed, crossing your arms and stepping away due to the man’s hormonal impulses. “Why am in not surprised?” You asked yourself, shaking your head at the behaviour of your partner.

“Hey, I’m doing us both a favour. Sex in someone else’s house is not exactly appreciated, and there’s kids, that i would rather not risk getting caught by.” He moved towards you, grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, as he pulled you closer by his grip. “At least then, there’s a chance I can survive the night, without being woken up by you sucking me off, or riding me.”

He was pushing your buttons, and he far well knew that, almost too well. It was his technique to get you riled up, that way, there’d be no dismissal of his current proposal, though, you continued to wear that adorable frown that he loved so much, and so, he gave your ass another firm squeeze, causing you to gasp against his chest. “Fucking on their dead parents’ boat isn’t exactly respectful either.”

“We’re helping fix it, may as well take our break on board, let loose a little, release all that’s clouding your mind.” He shrugged, knowing that his words were tempting you into complying with his lustrous whim, and so, to put another step in to helping his cause, he stepped back, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over the back of his neck, leaving his muscular torso bare, and free for your eyes to roam.

“That’s not fair.” You whined at him, not stopping yourself as you moved closer, and smoothed your hands down his stomach. “You’re such a tease Barnes, why couldn’t you have just fingered me in the public bathroom and waited until tomorrow?” A groan slipped from your mouth, as you peppered kisses over his warm flesh, tasting the sweat on his skin as your tongue swiped over the ridges of his six pack.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” He watched you roll your eyes, but continue to work your way down to his navel, stroking his v line with your fingertips. “We’ve had sex on a plane, might as well add a boat to the list.” Bucky remarked, groaning as you put your weight down onto your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, as you palmed him through the denim of his jeans.

He could feel his cock stirring beneath the material, wanting more, eager to breach the layers that were keeping your tongue from rotating around him. But he remained still, as you swept your hair out from your face, the noise of your pulling down his zipper audible, as you sent him a naughty grin. The man above you licked his lips, breathing a sigh of relief when you tugged his jeans and boxers down, his erection swiftly bouncing up, the leaking tip pointing rudely at your face.

With a quick hand, you grasped his length, rubbing over his veins as you pumped him, spreading the moisture of his precum over his rigid skin, aiding you in your movements. As you proceeded to jerk him within your grip, your mouth moved forwards, your breath fanning over his balls before your tongue slipped out to stroke them, swiping up the droopy skin, as you suckled one into your mouth, contently moaning from the flavour of his skin.

Your eyes had shut as Bucky opened his own, watching you through a hooded gaze as you happily assisted his genitals, sending him into a crusade of pleasure as you used your well adversed skill set upon him. Your bottom lip ran up his shaft, slowly dragging along his reddened skin, until your reached the tip, your hands fleeing down to fondle with his sack, as your mouth stuffed itself full of his cock.

“Baby girl.” He breathed, his chest feeling tight as he stood there, practically naked aboard your friend’s boat. James gritted his teeth, watching as you effortlessly bobbed your head up and down half of him, lazily grinning as gagging sounds eventually emitted from your throat as you had him down the back of your throat, saliva slipping down your chin as you shook your head from side to side with him choking you with his dick.

Though he worried not for your struggle, not as you moaned against him, your lashes fluttering though your eyes were shut. He reached his vibranium hand down, stroking the side of your face with the cool metal, a high whine whistling it’s way out of your nose. Your spare hand reached up, cupping it against you, as you hollowed your cheeks, steadily breathing your nostrils.

A light frown covered your face as you focused on smoothing your tongue on his underside, causing Bucky to throw back his head, his stomach sternly clenching as he felt his balls twitch; and then, before he could fathom it, he was filling your mouth, cumming down your throat, as he pulled out, the last of his seed falling upon your tongue as he manhandled himself, feeling sensitive as he watched you fumble your tongue around your mouth, swallowing the mix of your spittle and his cum.

“Taste so fucking good.” You spoke, laughing lightly as you stared up and saw his dazed expression. Bucky pulled you up, his hand cupping your ass again, as he backed you up against the dash, your back lightly hitting against the window as he pulled at your shorts, whisking then down your legs, rubbing you through your underwear. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting himself as he located your clit, your arms grabbing at his shoulders to push him down, to which he complied.

His noises echoed through your mouth, as he pressed kissed along the top of your thighs, his fingers surpassing the seams of your panties, swiping at your entrance, until his prodding ceased, and he sunk his middle finger into your pussy, feeling you clench around him instantaneously. His teeth bit into your skin, emitting a squeal out of you as you harshly tugged his hair, making him rut his loose cock against nothing but the air.

“So wet.” He mumbled against your skin, as his vibranium snapped the sides of your underwear, letting the damp material fall to the floor, as he licked circles around your clit with his tongue, pulley airy sounds of pleasure of of your lungs. He slipped in another finger, his nose being pressed against your mound as you tugged him even closer, feeling as though you were almost there. Then you came, his fingers quickly exiting you as his tongue plunged in your entrance, cleaning up all your juices.

“Need you to fuck me Buck, please honey”. The man stood, stroking his hard cock as he teased your entrance. He swiped it through your slit a couple of times, before slapping his head against your clit, making your mewl against his lips, as you licked your essence from around his mouth. “James...” His cocky demeanour returned, as he watched you glance down at his cock, pressing your lips together in desire.

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me on the boat.” He sneered dominantly, gripping your throat with his vibranium fist, giving it a tough squeeze, finding it endlessly hot as needy tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. Your lips pouted as you sputtered to speak, but you were just so hungry for him. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take pity on you doll, aren’t I?”

With that,he wedged his way through your folds, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out, gently releasing your throat to paw at your tits through your shirt. “Move baby, move.” You mumbled, your head feeling dizzy as your nails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that you could place tender and supple kisses across the front of his shoulders.

And so, he began to thrust into you, keeping a grip on your hips as he raised your leg around his waist, driving into you deeper, your head tiredly lulling as you chanted his name in soft and delirious pants. “So damn tight angel.” The soldier muttered, biting down onto your chin as he kissed his way up to your lips, abusing the swollen flesh a little more. The kisses were sloppy and downright needy, his vibranium hand held your chin up so that it would tip in rhythm with his movements, making access to the inside of your mouth easier.

“Buck.” You mumbled against his lips as your eyes rolled, your own hand circling your clit as you jutted against his exceeding administrations, one hand crawling up into his scalp as you let our small screams. You were indefinitely close, and as Bucky swerved his head around your own, moving his lips to nip at your earlobe, you came, coating his cock in your wetness, as he continued to hit his hips against your own.

It wasn’t long until he followed after, your clumsy hands trailing down to roll his balls in your palms being the last thing to push him over the edge. Bucky remained standing between your legs, each of your heads resting over each other’s shoulders as you felt each other, eyes closed, and smelling how the aroma of your sex wafted around you, like a personalised perfume.

“Hell no.” And the peace was broke, as Sam’s voice broke it. He had his hands on his hips as he shifted his gaze away from the two of you, unimpressed by what had happened. “The two of you get a break and you - not on my boat!” He practically screeched like a falcon at the pair of you, his arms flailing about like a bird’s flapping wings.

Although he was maddened, it didn’t settle well with you. You were too far out of it to acknowledge what he must have thought about the on deck dick that you had gotten, you were too lost in Bucky, the feeling of him still inside of you, and the falling of his cum out from beneath you both. “You know what, I’m outta here.” Sam left, quite glad to do so.

“You alright doll face?” Bucky asked as he pulled out, making you wince from the feeling of emptiness. You nodded as he reached for your underwear , leaving them be when he registered he had torn them, and instead opted to picking up just you’d shorts, pulling them onto your legs, redressing himself afterwards.

“I love you Buck.” You smiled tiredly, humming as he pecked your lips a few more times, combing his hands through your sex hair, as he returned the facial expression, seemingly calm. It looked good on him, the pair of you had momentarily forgotten your traumas, and it was bliss.

“Love you too darling.” He pecked your nose, staring lovingly into your eyes as he helped you down, and abled you with support to stand. “Unfortunately I think our breaks over beautiful.” He spoke, his hand upon your waist as the pair of you walked from the scene, going to fetch a bottle of water from Sarah, whom you hoped had not learn of your oversea adventure .

[the-oblivion-archive]

[Log One]

[start recording]

“Hey, so, uh. I don’t know how to start this but Cassandra told me, and I quote, “record a log on this thing every day or I will personally rip out your spleen and shove it up your ass so it can find your passion for thorough scientific documentation” so uh. I don’t know who this is for, I don’t know that anyone will ever hear it, but. Here we go.

My name is Lear. Cadmus Lear, to be exact, but no one but my mother has used my first name since I was about fourteen, so. Just Lear is fine. I’ve been appointed ‘captain’ of our makeshift crew, though I think it’s only because I’m the only one who’s dealing with this whole situation relatively in stride. Cassandra has thrown herself fully into learning how the ecosystem building system works, and everyone else is just. As okay as they can be, I suppose. It’s rough.

If you’re listening to this in the future, which of course you are, I haven’t recorded it yet, I guess I should explain the whole thing. It’s been two weeks. At least, if the ship’s clock and calendar are still correct. I think it runs off old quartz crystal technology, so it should be. I’ll start earlier than that though.

[long pause, then a deep sigh]

I’m a scientist. Or I was. I worked in a lab in the flying city of Librym. In a place called Alexandria. I was part of a team researching a very interesting piece of rock. Someone had found it in their corn field. They said that it fell from the sky, like a shooting star. It looked like amber, but it wasn’t. It was a crystal of some form, containing what appeared to be some sort of genetic material, but none of it matched anything that anyone had seen before. It was completely alien. I‘m not sure if that matters now or if it mattered then, but. Cassandra said to include “everything important”, so that’s what I’m doing.

Either way, that was before. Two weeks ago, I was in the lab with Cassandra and Carya, and the ground just started shaking. There was some sort of explosion, and when we got to a window the sky was just. Filled with fire, and flashing lights. There were explosions all over the city. We ran for one of the life-ships. That was the disaster plan that our higher ups had always told us. They were designed to build self-sustaining ecosystems to feed up to fifty passengers, that were expandable once you could get to some other land. They had the pieces to theoretically rebuild an entire continent. Pretty cool stuff. But I never thought we would actually need them.

The three of us got to the life-ship, where we found Idmon and Endymion. Teucer, Anaxarete, and Periphas arrived shortly after. Then there was another huge quake, and something in the hangar itself exploded. The life-ship was thrown out of the city, spinning uncontrollably. Just the eight of us on it.

[a pause]

The auto-pilot functions, I think, kicked on. The ship stabilized and blasted off, heading god knows where. We were going so fast that the only thing you could see out the windows was a blurry mess of colors. Then there as a flash of light and the whole ship started shaking. I think it fell towards the ground a little bit. Once the light faded away, we were here. Floating in an empty black void.

All the navigation instruments went haywire after that. The computer doesn’t know where we are, and neither do any of us. So, that’s the story, I guess. It’s been two weeks. And we’re no closer to figuring anything out.

We’ve all been… dealing with it differently. I figure that the only thing we can do is keep moving forward, so that’s what I’m focused on. As long as you’re still alive there’s the potential for things to get better, right? That’s where my head is at, anyway. Like I said before, Cassandra has fully thrown herself into figuring out that ecosystem thing. We have plenty of dried food still, months worth, but she wants our food sources up and running as soon as possible. I think part of it is just to avoid, you know. Processing everything. Carya is helping her, I think.

Endymion immediately found a bed and I don’t think he’s moved, He’s just been staring at the wall. Idmon’s been muttering prayers under his breath. I’d never met him before, but I guess he’s religious. Teucer has been spending his time organizing food and materials, taking stock of what the life-ship has. I’ve never worked with him, but I know he’s an engineer. Anaxarete and Periphas have just been. Sitting. Standing. Pacing. Neither of them has said much. Anaxarete is a friend of Endymion’s, and Periphas and I had worked together before.

[sigh]

And that’s everything, and everyone. An empty void and a ship that’s going nowhere. But hey, we’re still alive. I think. And I’m going to keep it that way. If we keep moving forward, things can get better, right? Things will get better. They have to.”

[end of recording]

The Founders Logs

[The following are transcriptions of a series of audio recordings created by founder Cadmus Lear, documenting the time from his arrival into the Aster to the founding of the City of Oblivion and after]

[raineydays411]

My fathers daughter

prologue

Tony Stark x daughter! reader

Summary: By all definitions you were a daddy’s girl. It’s been you and him since your mom left you both. But what happens when your both forced to face your past?

a/n: y’all know i can’t resist a good crossover

If there had to be a face for daddys girl, you’d be the poster child. 

Ever since you came into Tony’s life, you and him have been attached by the hip.

You were with him through everything.

When he became Iron Man, when he joined the avengers, and even during civil war. Even though it hurt you to see your family be torn apart, you could never betray your father. Then again, you have to admit that you were happy that the avengers compromised and were able to get back together. Earning you a new family member in Bucky. You were happy. Happy with the life you have with your dad and avengers. 

Which is why your mother suddenly reappearing and demanding to be in your life kinda of peeved you off. 

Let’s start from the beginning. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started off with a gala. 

Some bougie charity event that rich assholes attend to donate large sums of money, not out of kindness, but only to show just how rich they are. You hated these types of events.  You hated the fake smiles and false interest in your life. All they wanted was to get close to your dad. They even try to set you up with their snobby stuck up kids. You hated it. 

And here you were, trying to find a way to get out of this boring conversation with some snob from Beverly hills. You can see your dad laughing at you from across the room. 

“You know, you look a lot like Mrs. Wayne.” He suddenly says, looking at you.

“Who?” You ask, suddenly paying attention.

“Mrs. Wayne, you know, Bruce Wayne's wife.”

You know who Bruce Wayne was. Your dad absolutely detestes the man. He never really told you why. He just said to never trust a Wayne. You also know that he’s Batman and his army of children are/were Robin. It was pretty obvious and rather easy to figure out. Then again, you were able to hack into the Bat computers main systems. They really need to update their firewalls. 

“Um no I didn’t know that he had a wife to be honest.” You reply, not really interested.

“You can pass as her daughter you know? She is very beautiful. As are you.” He says in a flirty tone. 

You roll your eyes, seeing your father finishing up a conversation and make your move, but then you hear 

“Oh look, there's the Wayne family right there.” 

Causing the attention to turn to the main entrance. There you saw Bruce Wayne. Tall, handsome, and charismatic. He was smiling, waving at the host. Next to him, his oldest son Dick. Another very handsome man, Tall with blue eyes and raven hair. Sending charming smiles to the crowds of women. Then Tim Drake, too focused on his phone to pay attention to the crowds, and finally Damian Wayne. A small boy with a sharp scowl. To his left, you can barely make out the form of his wife and his daughter, Cassandra Cain. You can also see Stephanie Brown chatting excitedly to Mrs. Wayne, who you still couldn’t see.

“Jeez, they brought the whole cavalry.” You mutter, looking at the star struck boy you were talking to.

You roll your eyes. The way people worship this family is strange. They act as if they are royalty or gods. You look at your father, expecting him to be making a sarcastic face or something. But that’s not what you saw. No, you saw a look on his face that you haven’t seen on his face ever. That’s when you walked up to him.

“Daddy...are you okay?” You asked cautiously.  He turned to you, shocked.

“Y/n!” He practically shouts, “ I’m okay, are you okay? We can leave right now if you’re not okay?” 

You frown in confusion, “ Umm yeah, I’m fine...”

“Good, Good. We’re going to leave now, this gala kinda blows. DOn’t you think?”

You can see his eyes dart to the Waynes to you. He looks...panicked. It was weird to you. Usually he keeps his cool during events like these. 

“Um sure..I just need to go to the restroom first” You say, seeing him nod. You walk off, shaking off the concern you have for your father. As you push through the crowds, you can hear them whisper as you passed. Something about Mrs. Wayne. 

You shake your head, “Can’t they talk about anything else??” 

Then you finally find the bathroom. You walk in, expecting it to be empty, only to be faced with Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown. They were chatting near the sinks as you walking into the stall. After doing your business, you walked out to the sink, going to wash your hands, but you saw Stephanie freeze, then nudge Cassandra. They both stared at you as you washed your hands and went to dry them. You give them a side eye, wondering why they were staring at you so hard. 

“Um hi?” You say carefully, the jump not expecting you to speak.

“Oh! Hello Im Stephanie and this is Cass” Stephanie says with a smile. “ You’re Y/n Stark right?”

“Uh yeah...Its nice to meet you dudes” You say quickly, already ready to walk out the restroom. 

“I’m sorry for staring, it’s just that...you look a lot like her mother” She says gesturing to Cassandra. 

You chuckle, “ Uh yeah so I’ve heard...hey I gotta go...”

“Oh right! Sorry heh” Stephanie laughs nervously, “It was great to meet you”

“Yeah” You agree half heartedly, “ You too”

And with that you go to find your father. You pass by the Wayne sons, only to see them take a double take when you pass them. 

“God that family is weird.” You mumble seeing your father talking to Bruce and his wife. He looked distressed and angry. You speed up, wanting to make sure your father doesn’t punch Bruce Wayne the way he looks like he's going to.

“Hey dad...um I’m ready to go.” You says with your back turned on the Waynes.

“Y/n..” Your dad says panic exploding on his face, “ Y/n sweetheart um...”

“Yn?” You hear a woman whisper.  You turn to see Bruce Wayne and...your mother. 

You remember the day she left. It was a sunny day. The kind of days that usually are in good memories and have happy endings. She was supposed to take you to the park so you can meet your dad there. You hardly saw her over the years, just every three months when she would come to the then Stark Tower to visit. But that say...that day was different. She had gotten a call, from who you don’t know, nut it seemed important. Because she left at that very moment and never came back. She never reached out, never called, texted or anything. Just radio silence. Your dad was heart broken.  He had hoped that one day she would move in with you and him, and you could be a family. He loved her with his whole heart, but she just didn’t love you both enough to stay. He was a mess after she left, and you picked up the pieces.

You were nine.

If it wasn’t for Pepper stepping in after witnessing one of his breakdowns, you don’t know what would’ve happened.

You stare at the woman who left you, who broke your fathers heart. Who broke your heart.

“Ms. Wayne.” you say curtly, taking pleasure in the way her face fell, “ Mr. Wayne, it’s lovely to see you again. If you’ll excuse me and my father, it seems like he’s not feeling too well.”

You weren’t lying, Tony looked like he was about to puke. His face was pale and he was kinda sweaty. So you wrapped your arm around him and lead him to the entrance, starting to pull out your phone to call Happy.

“Y/n wait!” Your mother cried out, pulling her arm away from Bruce and placing a hand in your shoulder. You jerked your shoulder out of her grasp.

“ Y/n, I know you’re mad at me” she starts, cringing when she hears you scoff, “ But wait a second. Let me look at you...my petal you’re so big.”

You turn and glare at her, “ Don’t call me that.”

“Oh Y/n, please—“You cut her off again.

“Hey i’m just going along with what you want. This is what you wanted right? No contact with us?”

You can see a crowd start to form around you, and you see the scattered Wayne’s push through it. They look at each other in confusion trying to understand how you seem to know their mother.

“ Of course that’s not what I wanted, oh petal I meant to call I just...” She trailed off

“Couldn’t be bothered?” you say harshly, “ I couldn’t care less. Just leave us alone. That should be easy for you.”

You feel your dad tug on your hand, and you turn to him. Eyes softening when you see the expression on his face.

“ Happys here kiddo.” He says softly. You nod and start to walk away. And you hear your mother protest, but you cut her off with a venomous,

“It was nice seeing you again Mom.”

and then you were gone. This time, leaving your mother behind and her confused husband and children.