#just to pretend they all that. or to lie to themselves and CONVINCE they all that

[moonchild-in-blue]

See, it's hard to take Tyler seriously, cus on one second you're listening to an incredibly emotionally heavy song about his father, and then you open your phone and this is the album cover 🙃

He's just a silly goofy guy 🥹

[cave-monkey]

Monkey King 2009 Episode 3

Them having Stone Monkey (apparently purely on instinct) constantly scratching while being introduced to the troop was pretty cool, since that's a legitimate deescalation behavior in monkeys. Something about how revealing stress acts as a bonding behavior and makes it less likely they'll be attacked. Humans do it too, kind of, when they rub at their hands or shoulders or neck (etc. etc.) when nervous or overwhelmed. ("Empathize with me! I am very stressed!").

Also something-something instinctive behaviors aside Stone Monkey being excited/overwhelmed/maybe a little overstimulated and choosing "ESCALATION!!!" as his response to all of that. He thinks the troop being scared of him is hilarious. He's scratching the fur off his arms but he's also going to get right up in your face anyway. Cautiously join him in admiring his cool new rock? He is going to play-lunge and also scream. Absolutely amazing. The troop has no idea what to do with these mixed signals. This kid is a menace and I love him.

Six Ears even gets in on the scratching behavior occasionally in the background, which might be because Stone Monkey actively terrorizing literally everyone trying to be playful (because he has the social skills of a literal, actual rock) is stressing Six Ears right out or it could be an attempt to deescalate on Stone Monkey's behalf. Monkey version of following in his new friend's wake throwing apologetic grimace-smiles at everyone. Possibly it's both. Point is: They included these behaviors and it's very fun.

You can also tell it worked because in just the journey to the cave you watch the four generals' views on Stone Monkey go from "uncanny valley horror entity lurking in the forest probably to kill us all" to "what a rude little kid >:| Emphasis on RUDE."

And, okay, I admit, I have softened my stance on the four generals. Somewhat. They seem to actually be taking their jobs seriously now. Maybe Episode 1 was a wake-up call and they won't utterly fail to notice an incursion until it's in the heart of their territory again. I don't want to go too crazy, but maybe they'll even be able to even muster a coherent response! Good for them.

Should probably still not be managing children, though.

Speaking of, Six Ears's increasing despair watching the train wreck in motion that was the four generals fumbling hard in giving Stone Monkey his very first etiquette lesson after he finally settled down and seemed willing to hear them out is also very relatable and hilarious. He knows they failed the test. Stone Monkey is definitely never going to listen to them again. They blew it. RIP Flower Fruit Mountain.

Stone Monkey does check in with Six Ears when he decides the generals are useless about explaining though, and that's pretty cute. He trusts his friend :) He also definitely internalizes that thing about having to ask to leave the presence of the king, so at least they managed to teach him some manners. ONE manners. A single manner. (Spoiler: They immediately regret this.)

But hey! This time Six Ears is left entirely to his own devices and still manages to get caught smack in the middle of enemy action. Not the Generals' fault for once! Six Ears just attracts this kind of thing, I guess.

3/3 Six Ears is Damsel-ed, but only 2/3 it's the adults' fault. The tally develops.

[gf2bellamy]

enough — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you don't think you're enough for spencer content warnings: mention of working on a case, feelings of insecurity / not feeling good enough, spencer and reader argue , alot of angst ( pretty much all of it) a/n: currently sick in bed :( hope you guys like this <3

part 2

You knew Spencer Reid had feelings for you. It wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret. In fact, everyone on the team seemed to know—how could they not?

The way his gaze lingered on you just a fraction longer than anyone else, the way his words stumbled over themselves when you caught him off guard, the subtle softness in his voice when he said your name.

Spencer was careful, meticulous in everything he did, but when it came to you, his emotions were a little too obvious. 

There were the small, thoughtful gestures—the extra cup of coffee waiting on your desk when you’d been up late on a case, or the way he always seemed to know exactly when you needed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Then there were the bigger things, like how he always volunteered to partner with you in the field, or how he fiercely defended your theories in meetings, even when they weren't perfect. 

But maybe the most telling sign of all was the way Spencer looked at you.

Like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of your face, committing you to the library of his mind. And every time he looked at you like that, a warmth bloomed in your chest—a warmth you weren’t quite ready to name, but one that you felt more often than you cared to admit. 

Penelope had asked you multiple times about the situation, her curiosity impossible to suppress. “So, when are you and Boy Genius making it official?” she’d tease, wiggling her eyebrows and leaning across your desk.

Each time, you laughed it off or deflected with a joke. “What are you talking about, Pen? Spencer and I are just friends,” you’d insist, even though the words felt more and more like a lie with every passing day. 

Pretending to be oblivious to Spencer’s feelings had once been easy. A flick of the wrist, a casual smile—it had been enough to convince everyone, including yourself, that you were completely unaware. But lately, it was getting harder.

Much harder. 

Because now, every time you caught him staring at you, every time his fingers brushed yours while passing a file, every time he leaned in just a little too close when he explained something in that excited, rambling way of his, you felt it. That same warmth in your chest, that same ache you’d been trying so hard to ignore. 

The truth was, you weren’t just aware of Spencer’s feelings for you.

You also felt the same way. 

Your fingers tapped absently against your desk, a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet bullpen. Your eyes were unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular, as your thoughts wandered far from the case files scattered in front of you. 

Across from your desk, Spencer was watching you. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in concern as he debated whether or not to say something. 

“Are you okay?” His soft voice cut through the quiet, pulling you back to the present. 

“Huh?” You jumped slightly, your hand pausing mid-tap as your head whipped around to face him. Your wide eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you added quickly, your words rushing out. 

Spencer didn’t look convinced. He leaned forward just a little, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk as his gaze searched yours. “You seemed... distracted,” he said carefully. 

You laughed nervously, waving a hand as if to brush off his concern. “Just zoning out. It’s been a long day.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you for a while, his hazel eyes soft but searching, like he could see through the thin veil of your words.

The weight of his gaze made your pulse quicken, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. 

“I’ll be right back,” you blurted suddenly, pushing your chair back. Without waiting for a response, you rushed out of the bullpen, your footsteps echoing down the hallway until you reached the bathroom. 

Inside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and stepped into the nearest stall, closing the door behind you. Sitting down on the closed toilet lid, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d run away like this. You weren’t proud of it, but sometimes it felt easier to escape than to face the thoughts that clawed their way to the surface when Spencer was near. 

People might call you stupid.

Stupid for ignoring the feelings of someone so gentle and sweet.

Stupid for pretending not to notice how much he cared for you, how much he had done for you.

Stupid for not taking the first step when it was obvious to everyone, including you, that Spencer Reid had feelings for you. 

But it wasn’t just Spencer’s feelings, was it? No, the truth was much harder to ignore now: you had feelings for him, too.

And yet, here you were, hiding in a bathroom stall, running away from everything. 

The reason felt silly—childish, even—but it was there, and it was real.

You were scared.

Scared that if you took that step, if you let yourself fall into the warmth of what Spencer was offering, you’d ruin him.

Spencer, who was so sweet and intelligent, so thoughtful and patient. He was everything good in this world, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d taint him with your flaws, your insecurities. 

You didn’t think you were enough for him. 

The thought sat heavy in your chest, and no matter how much you tried to push it down, it always came back.

Spencer deserved someone extraordinary, someone brilliant and perfect—someone who wasn’t you. 

Before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open. 

A familiar, soft voice called out your name.

You quickly straightened up, dabbing at your cheeks with trembling fingers, but it was no use. The tears had already left their mark. 

You opened the stall door cautiously, revealing Penelope standing there in all her vibrant glory. Her floral skirt swirled around her knees, and her cardigan was adorned with her signature pins and patches.

Her warm, concerned eyes locked onto yours the moment the door swung open. 

“There you are,” she said gently, a small smile playing on her lips as she tilted her head. “Spence sent me to check on you. He’s worried.” 

Of course he did. The thought made your chest tighten. 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the obvious evidence of tears. But Penelope wasn’t one to be fooled, especially not by you. 

She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Sweetheart, you’re standing in a bathroom stall looking like you just had a tearful heart-to-heart with yourself, so forgive me if I don’t take ‘I’m fine’ at face value.” 

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky and weak. “It’s just... been a long day.” 

Penelope crossed her arms, giving you that patient, knowing look that only she could manage. “I know there’s more to it than that. Spence wasn’t just worried about you zoning out—he was worried about you. And judging by those red eyes, I’m guessing he’s not wrong for being worried.” 

You sighed, leaning against the stall door for support. “It’s nothing, Pen. Really.” 

Penelope softened, she placed a comforting hand on your arm. “If it’s nothing, why were you crying?” 

For a moment, you considered brushing her off again, but something about her warmth, her openness, made you pause.

Maybe it was because she was Penelope, the team’s heart and soul, or maybe it was because a part of you was tired of holding it all in. 

“It’s... about Spencer,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Penelope’s eyes lit up in understanding, and a soft smile crept across her face. “Oh, honey. Tell me everything.” 

You let out a shaky breath, walking over to the sink and staring at your reflection. The person looking back at you seemed fragile, her emotions etched plainly on her face.

Penelope followed, standing beside you, her vibrant presence grounding you as she waited patiently for you to speak. 

“I have feelings for Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the bathroom’s fluorescent lights. 

Penelope didn’t gasp or exclaim. She simply tilted her head and nodded, her soft smile growing into something more knowing, like she’d been waiting for you to admit it. 

“I figured as much,” she said gently, her tone free of judgment. “But what’s got you hiding out in here instead of doing something about it?” 

You met her eyes in the mirror, hesitating for a moment before answering. “Because I’m scared, Penelope.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink tightly. “I mean, he’s Spencer. He’s brilliant and kind. He deserves someone amazing, someone who can keep up with him. I just—I don’t think I’m enough for him.” 

Penelope frowned, her brows knitting together as she turned to face you fully. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. First of all, I am going to stop you right there, missy. You are more than enough for anyone, especially Spencer Reid. Don’t even try to argue with me on that.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but she held up a finger to silence you. 

“Second,” she continued, her voice firm but still warm, “have you met Spencer? That man practically worships the ground you walk on. Do you know how rare that is? To have someone like Spencer look at you the way he does? Trust me, sweetie, he doesn’t see anyone else but you.” 

You blinked, Penelope’s words hitting you harder than you expected. “But what if I mess it up? What if I ruin everything?” 

“Sweetheart,” Penelope said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “life is messy. Love is messy. But if you keep letting that fear hold you back, you’re going to miss out on something incredible. Spencer wants you. Not someone perfect, not someone else. You.” 

Her words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. For a moment, all you could do was stare at her, overwhelmed by her kindness and sincerity. 

“Thank you, Penelope,” you whispered, your voice soft and earnest. 

She gave you a bright, reassuring smile, squeezing your arm gently. “Don’t stay here too long, okay? Boy Genius is worried about you, and you know how he gets when he’s worried.” 

You managed a small smile, nodding as she opened the bathroom door. “I’ll be out soon.” 

“Good,” she said with a wink, stepping out into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, leaving you alone once again. 

You turned back to the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with the same doubts you’d walked in with. Penelope’s words were honest, comforting, and so full of truth that they made your chest ache. And yet... the doubts didn’t leave. 

They stayed. 

What if Penelope was wrong? What if you tried, and it all came crashing down, leaving your friendship in ruins? 

You pressed your lips together, inhaling a shaky breath. There was a part of you—a small, fragile part—that wanted to believe Penelope.

But the larger, louder part of you couldn’t let go of the fear. 

“Get it together,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the sink tightly. 

You couldn’t stay in this bathroom forever, hiding from the man waiting for you outside.

The man who cared enough to send someone after you when you disappeared.

The man who had always been there, quietly offering you the kind of unconditional support you never thought you deserved. 

And yet, your feet felt like they were cemented to the floor. 

The days that followed felt heavier, even after Penelope’s heartfelt pep talk. Her words lingered in your mind like an echo, but they weren’t enough to silence the whirlwind of emotions.

Everything seemed harder now that you’d acknowledged your feelings—now that you couldn’t hide from the truth. 

Sometimes, it felt like your heart was about to burst with how much love you held for Spencer.

You’d catch yourself staring at him across the bullpen, watching the way his lips moved as he explained something in that fast, excitable way of his, or the way his fingers traced invisible patterns on the edge of a file when he was deep in thought. 

And then there were the moments when you were near him—too near. Your hands would tremble when they brushed his by accident, or your breath would hitch when his cologne lingered in the air between you.

But you didn’t do anything about it. 

You convinced yourself it was for the best, that keeping things the way they were was safer. You couldn’t risk crossing that line and ruining the friendship you’d come to treasure so much. 

Still, there were cracks in your resolve. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up—pretending you didn’t feel what you felt, pretending you didn’t want to close the gap between you and let yourself fall. 

One day, the tension came to a head while you and Spencer were working on the geographic profile to catch an unsub. The bullpen was unusually quiet, the rest of the team out gathering leads.

It was just the two of you, standing side by side in front of the board, the scent of coffee and marker ink filling the air. 

You reached for the same photo pinned to the board—a shot of a potential target area—and your fingers brushed his.

It was barely a touch, but it sent a jolt up your arm, and you immediately pulled back as if burned. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. You avoided his gaze, letting him take the picture as you stepped back. Not just one step—several, putting unnecessary distance between the two of you. 

Spencer hesitated, holding the picture in his hand as his eyes flicked to you. His brows furrowed slightly, concern shadowing his expression as he noticed how much space you’d suddenly created between you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and careful, like he was afraid of startling you. 

Your throat tightened. “I’m fine,” you said, the words automatic and unconvincing. 

Spencer wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his gaze searching yours in that way that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

“You’ve been... distant,” he said, his tone gentle. “Not just today, but for a while now.” 

You froze, your heartbeat quickening. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, even though the words felt hollow in your mouth. 

He stepped closer, closing some of the space you’d put between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty. “If I did, I—I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be around me.” 

Your chest tightened painfully at the vulnerability in his voice. The idea that he thought he had done something wrong, that he might blame himself for the distance you’d created, made your stomach twist with guilt. 

“No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head. "It's just work has been getting to me.”

You turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the map pinned to the board. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Spencer’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he finally turned back to his own work. 

He let it go—for now. 

Later that evening, you were back in your hotel room, sprawled on the bed with the TV remote in hand. The case was successfully closed, the unsub in custody, but the team had decided to stay one more night before flying home.

You flipped aimlessly through the channels, barely registering the images flashing on the screen. Nothing held your attention for more than a few seconds, and the quiet hum of the TV did little to drown out your thoughts. 

With a loud yawn, you tossed the remote aside, letting it land on the bed. You leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.  

Then came a knock at your door. 

Slowly, you got up, smoothing down your clothes as you walked to the door. 

When you opened it, your breath caught. 

Spencer stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination. He was still in his dress shirt and slacks, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been pacing or thinking too much, as he often did.

His hazel eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of hesitation before he finally spoke. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice gentle but steady. 

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?” 

“I—I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice laced with hesitation. He shifted his weight nervously, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. “Can I come in?” 

You stared at him, your heart racing as you tried to decipher the look in his eyes. Finally, you nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to prepare yourself for whatever he wanted to talk about.

Turning back around, you walked a few steps toward him, stopping just a short distance away. You were close enough to notice the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the tension in his posture as he stood there, clearly working through whatever thoughts were racing in his mind. 

You found yourself fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your fingers twisting and untwisting the fabric as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “And I know I’ve been overthinking it, probably more than I should. But I—I couldn’t keep waiting.” 

Your fingers stilled, your breath catching as his words hung in the air. 

“I’ve noticed you pulling away,” he continued, his brows furrowing slightly. “And I’ve been trying to tell myself that maybe I was imagining it, but... I don’t think I am.” He paused, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure I didn't do something wrong? Because if I did, I’ll fix it—I want to fix it.” 

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, guilt and affection warring within you. “No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He looked relieved for a moment, but the tension didn’t fully leave his face. “Then what is it? Because I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

His honesty was disarming, his vulnerability leaving you with nowhere to hide. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, the words caught in your throat. 

“It’s... complicated,” you finally managed, your voice barely audible. 

Silence stretched out between you, thick and heavy. Spencer stood still, watching you intently, as if trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His gaze flicked to your hands, noticing how they still fidgeted nervously with your clothes. 

And then he spoke. 

“I’m in love with you,” he said, the words falling from his lips so suddenly and so earnestly that they cut through the air like a blade. 

Your hands stilled immediately, your breath hitching as you raised your head to meet his eyes. The room seemed to shrink around you, everything else fading into the background as his words echoed in your ears. 

You hadn’t expected him to say it. Not like that. Not so bluntly, with no preamble or hesitation. And now, faced with the weight of his confession, you found yourself frozen, unsure of what to do or say. 

Spencer’s eyes darted nervously, meeting yours and then flicking away before returning.

He was waiting—for your answer, your reaction, anything. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, your mind racing too fast to form a coherent response. 

The silence stretched on, and you saw something shift in his expression. Disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice tight, the hurt evident as he took a small step back. “I shouldn’t have—” 

“Stop,” you said, shaking your head, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and uncertain as he looked at you. 

“Don’t apologize,” you said softly, your voice trembling but resolute. You took a shaky breath.

You weren’t sure what to say to him, honestly. It was like your heart was trying to escape from your chest, but the words just wouldn’t come out. 

You looked at Spencer, his hair falling into his face just the way it always did when he was anxious or lost in thought. You had this overwhelming urge to reach out, to gently push his hair back behind his ear, but you didn’t.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at him, feeling more unsure than ever. 

"Spence, look, I—" you started, your voice faltering as you tried to gather your thoughts. 

His eyes were fixed on yours, waiting. He was so patient, so willing, and it made your chest tighten even more. You tried again, your words tumbling out as you fought to explain. 

“I didn’t want to mess things up with you. I’ve been scared that if I told you how I feel, it would ruin everything. Because... you deserve someone better than me, Spencer. You deserve someone who can give you the world, who can keep up with you... not someone like me.”

You caught yourself, blinking rapidly as the words tumbled out of you, not sure if you were even making sense anymore.

But it was like you couldn’t stop.

“I’ll ruin you, Spencer. I’ll drag you into my mess, and you’ll wake up one day and realize you could’ve had someone better. Someone who doesn’t second-guess every little thing or put up walls because they’re too scared to let anyone in.”

“That’s not how I see you,” Spencer said, his voice soft as he took a step closer to you. “You’re not a mess. You’re not some burden I’d have to carry. You’re—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, shaking your head as tears pricked at your eyes. “You don’t get it. You think I’m this... this version of me that you’ve built up in your head, but I’m not that person. I’m not perfect. I’m not enough.”

“Stop saying that!” His voice rose slightly, the frustration finally breaking through. You looked at him, startled, as he ran a hand through his hair. “You keep telling me what I should feel, what I deserve, like you get to decide that for me. But you don’t. I know what I want, and it’s you.”

“Spencer—”

“No, let me finish,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t care about perfect, okay? I don’t care about whatever doubts you have about yourself, because none of that changes the fact that I love you. I love you for you, not some idealized version. And if you think for one second that I’m going to stand here and let you push me away because of some fear that you’re not ‘enough,’ then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

His words hit you like a wave, but instead of feeling comforted, you felt overwhelmed. The emotions swirling between you both—the love, the fear, the frustration—felt like too much all at once.

“You’re not listening to me,” you said, your voice rising. “You think this is just me being insecure, but it’s not. This is me being realistic. You deserve someone who doesn’t bring you down, someone who doesn’t doubt themselves every time they look in the mirror.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You’re the one bringing yourself down, not me. You’re the one who thinks you’re not good enough, but that’s not the truth. It’s your fear talking, not reality.”

“And maybe my fear is right,” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Maybe it’s telling me what I already know—that you’re too good for me, and I can’t be what you need.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. “You think you’re protecting me by pushing me away, but you’re not. You’re just hurting both of us,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like this—like I’m not alone. Like I’m more than just... me. And I’m not going to let you stand there and tell me you’re not enough.”

The room felt suffocating, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

But still, the doubt clung to you, thick and unrelenting. “Spencer, I just... I can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the frustration in his eyes giving way to something softer—something sad. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with defeat. “But I can’t force you to believe me.”

For a moment, he just stood there, silent and still, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he finally murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet hurt that made your chest ache.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. You felt paralyzed, the fear and doubt swirling inside you.

Spencer looked back up at you, his hazel eyes searching yours one last time, as if hoping to find something—anything—that might give him a reason to stay.

When he didn’t, a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

And then he turned, walking toward the door with a heaviness in his steps that you’d never seen before.

Your heart twisted as you watched him reach for the handle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to stop him, to say something, to fix this.

But the words refused to come.

Spencer paused for a fraction of a second as he opened the door, his back to you. It felt like time stood still. Then he stepped out, quietly closing the door behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place was deafening.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the closed door, your chest tight and your head spinning. The room felt unbearably empty without him.

And yet, you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Instead, you sank onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free.

You didn’t know what hurt more—the fear that you’d pushed him away for good or the possibility that you’d been wrong about everything.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Look Behind You

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, semi-linear story telling, enemies to lovers

Summary: You've made a mistake. You've been reckless and fallen in love with Bucky. There's only one way to deal with this.

Make a list.

Author's Note: This is one of my favorites, I think. Thriving in the semi-linear story telling, feelings, and list making. Gotta love a good list. Enjoy!

Word Count: 11.9k

The pen in your hands feels more like a weapon. The last line of defense against the unthinkable. 

The only thing holding your sanity, dignity, and life by a single thread, set to snap if you’re not careful.

Nobody will bother you in this coffee shop. Not even Bucky will look for you here. You’re in public. You’re somewhere obvious and simple, and that’s the whole point. Sam and Bucky will lose themselves down dark allies and in hidden corners of the city before they think to check an emotionally significant landmark in downtown Manhattan. They won’t believe you’d be that stupid, make it that easy for them. They’ll think that—because you’re dodging calls, because you were gone when Bucky woke up and you didn’t meet with Sam before lunch��you don’t want to be found.

And you don’t.

So they’re not going to find you. 

There’s a lingering fear that a search team might be assembled, and the city may be barricaded in until you’re found, but you don’t think Sam will abuse his power like that.

Bucky might try to convince him to.

You’re about fifty percent sure Sam won’t cave.

It’s a bridge you’ll burn when you reach it. When they do—eventually—find you. When you—hopefully—have your answer, and you have to look Bucky in the eyes and keep finding a way to live with yourself.

If this goes as you hope, that will be quite easy. You’ll lie through your teeth and say you lost your phone—it’s right next to you, the SIM card removed and battery purposefully dead, but they never need to know that—and thought that Sam and Bucky would be able to find you if they needed you. They’ll look embarrassed and make a silent vow to each other that you’ll pretend not to see—swearing that they’ll never tell you how they almost called the coast guard in—and then everything will go back to normal.

If it goes the way you’re afraid of, that will be more complicated. You’re not entertaining that possibility with things like plans or strategies, because you simply won’t allow it to happen. This will work. You have the pen, the paper, and at least eight hours before Sam and Bucky grow a brain cell and figure out where you are.

Deep breath. The coffee in front of you is sweeter than you’d usually want it, almost sickly, but it can be a motivation. The coffee shop is crowded, and the tables are blue. You can smell the decorative roses on the windows. You can hear the music in your earbuds. The pen is heavy in your hands, but all that means is it’s real. And this is going to work.

List of Reasons to Hate Bucky-

You pause, and scratch out Bucky. It’s too intimate. You’re setting yourself up for failure. 

List of Reasons to Hate James Barnes.

You have reason one locked and loaded. You’ve been rehearsing the whole list for a week—since the revelation that can’t be spoken of, because that will make it real—and you know half of your pre-planned reasons will drift into nothing as you go through the list, but at least you’ll have one. 

It’s better than none of them.

You’re a little worried a hundred won’t do the job.

You have to try anyway.

1. He stares.

——————

You don’t know how you got here. Sitting across from Captain America, kicking your feet slightly and humming to yourself as he and his very angry looking sidekick glare at you.

It seems like a contest, trying to figure out who will break and speak first.

It won’t be you.

Captain America is out of his suit, and, logically, you know his wings won’t just spring out of his body. They’re mechanical, not biological. Part of you is still wondering—should you move suddenly and startle him—if he’ll squak and take off like a real bird. 

He won’t, and you don’t think either of these men will find that as funny as you will. The Cap seems intently focused on trying to puff out his chest in his chair—like an odd sort of intimidation ritual or mating dance, done more on instinct than logic—and his sidekick is looking at you as if you’re the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen.

You’ve gotten that look before. It doesn’t shake you on his face any more than it does anyone else, but there is something… different. Most people will glare with that revolted look at what you’ve done, and for what expression, and it won’t sink deeper than your skin, because they don’t understand. They don’t know what the shadows and colder nights feel like, they don’t know how long you’ve been broken and alone, they don’t know that—whatever loathing for you has wormed its way into their heart—they don’t hate you. They hate what you’ve done, and they really don’t fucking understand.

This guy looks like he understands you perfectly, and it’s viler to him than anything in the world. Like he knows exactly who you are, like every marred and twisted organ is visible to his unwavering stare, and it’s the worst thing he’s even seen.

You’d laugh, if it didn’t cause an odd sting in your heart. Because you know who Bucky Barnes is. You know that any blood on your hands is mirrored on his, and if he really knows who you are, he’ll think better than to turn the violent glint behind his eyes into action. 

Especially because you know he won’t hurt you. He can’t, but you don’t think he’ll even try. He’s cured. He’s free. He doesn’t hurt people anymore, and you’re technically a person.

You’re also starting to be incredibly certain that this is some sort of staring competition. There’s no other reason for the silence to be stretching on this pointlessly long. It’s a little amusing, how they seem to have started a game they’ll never win, but it doesn’t change what’s happening. You’re handcuffed to a chair in an unknown location, Captain America and the Ex-Winter Solider are trying to break you with only very angry expressions, and you could escape in a second but you’re bored, and you don’t care about winning, but you want them to lose.

And they do.

Because Captain America breaks first, and smile pulls at your lips that you don’t bother to hide.

“You know why you’re here?”

You shrug, keeping your voice bored and amused. “Should I?”

He blinks at that, looking over his shoulder at Barnes, and letting out a long breath as his companion just keeps glaring at you. “Buck-“

“Don’t say my name, dumbass-“

“She already knows who we are-“

“She hasn’t been in damn public for a decade, we don’t know what she knows-“

“Man, c’mon, Fisk has TVs.” Captain America rolls his eyes, and turns back to you. “You know who we are?”

“I don’t think so?” You look between them with your best, perfectly innocent and confused expression. “Should I?”

Barnes narrows his eyes, scanning over you with an unblinking fury that’s almost scary. Not quite, but almost.

“You know who we are.”

“I don’t think I do-“

Barnes scoffs. “Don’t lie-“

Captain America shakes his head, cutting Barnes off with a firm glare. “I dunno, man, you’re the one who said-“

“I know what I said, but- You’re really falling for that?” Barnes gestures to you with a scowl, and you give him a sweet smile in return. “She’s clearly lying, Sam-“

Sam rolls his eyes. “Who’s sayin’ names now, Bucky-“

You clear your throat, and they both look back to you with almost twin, venomous glowers.

“What.” Sam snaps, and you let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Do I have to stay tied to the chair while you two fight? Or can I go home?”

“Home?” Barnes gives you a pointed look. “You gonna head right back to Fisk, doll?”

You don’t answer, just shrugging and letting your smile widen, even as the thought of willingly running home to fucking Fisk makes bile rise in your throat.

Barnes holds your gaze with a glare. You don’t think you’ve seen him blink once. It might be the main thing keeping you in this chair.

You want to see what they have to say, and you’d really like to see if Barnes can blink, or if it will make his circuits fry and heart go into an arrest.

You get the former first, when Sam runs a hand over his face, leans forward in his chair, and mutters your name. Your real name.

He knows your name. That’s interesting.

“Look, we-“ He glances at Barnes—still glaring at you—and lets out a long breath. “We know who you are.”

“Oh?” You look between them will well-practiced, faux innocence. “Do you?”

“Fisk’s pet.” Barnes grunts, and Sam sighs again. He seems to do that a lot.

“I- Coulda phrased it better, but yeah. You’re his hit… woman.” Sam’s voice drops as he continues, watching you carefully. “Look, we got an opportunity for you. Help us bring down Fisk, you get a full par-“

“Okay.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t done-“

“I don’t care.” You shrug. “I’m in. Can you let me out now?”

“Uh-“

“That’s it?” Barnes cuts Sam off with a snap, his tone full of a disgust that’s a little dramatic. “You’re just- You’re gonna flip like that? No questions, no loyalty? Out of fuckin’ self-preservation?”

You snort, not bothering to sit up as you hold his gaze. “Of course it’s out of self-preservation. Would you rather I hold my moral high-ground and keep working for the evil crime lord? Would that be better for you? Cause I can flip back, you just need to say the word and I’ll go tell Fisk that Captain America tried to cut a deal with me-“

“Hey, no.” Sam holds up his hand, letting out a long, slow breath as he glares at Barnes. “C’mon, man, you know we get one shot at this, stop antagonizing her-“

“She’s antagonizing me.” Barnes mutters, and you scoff. 

“You’re not the one cuffed to a chair, dipshit-“

“You-“ Barnes’ jaw clenches, and his hands curl at his side. Maybe he’ll punch you. That feels like it’ll help, somehow. “Sam, this cannot be our only option. She,” he gestures to you, and you wink at him. It doesn’t help. “Is not the only person in the whole damn city that works for Fisk. We’ll find another-“

“I’m the only person he trusts that will flip.” You hum. “Everyone else in his inner circle believes in the cause, or something. They love him, worship the ground he walks on. I’m the Stockholm puppy, they’ll never assume I flipped, and they’ll tell me whatever I ask because they don’t think I’d have this,” you give a vague wave of your hand in Sam and Bucky’s direction. “In me. I’m not just your only option. I’m your best option.”

There’s a long silence as they stare at you— incredibly uncuffed from the chair—and before Barnes can lunge at you with what might have been snarl, Sam stands up, shoves him away, and they exchange low, angry words.

You settle for examining your nails as you wait, and Barnes’ glare pushes right under skin and sticks to it. You don’t know how you know, but there’s a very certain feeling that for the rest of your life you’re going to feel a buzzing, electric heat under your skin that’s entirely made of James Barnes, glaring at you. 

You really don’t think he can blink. 

But you’ll have plenty of time to find out, because when they return it’s with the news that they’ve come to an agreement—more likely Barnes lost an argument, but you don’t really care—that you’re in.

Barnes won’t stop staring at you. And you could leave, if you wanted.

But you’re interested in seeing how this plays out. And Barnes may be rearranging every nerve point and organ in your body with only his attention, but that isn’t nearly as important as getting away from Fisk. 

So you stare right back. 

——————

Reason two is a little harder. You’d had it lined up as well, but it hurts to even think.

You have to. If you’re going to get through this, you have to write down all the reason, even if you’d punch anyone else square in the jaw for saying them.

Bucky doesn’t deserve this. You need to pretend he does.

For your own sanity, you need to pretend he does.

2. He can be an asshole.

You don’t make it three second before something rattles in your body, and you add- 

But so can you.

——————

“You know,” Barnes drawls behind you, and it’s amazing how bad he can be at shutting up. This is supposed to be a stealth mission. He hasn’t stop talking to you since Sam put you two on a team and then fucked off to go fly around the warehouse. “The spider kid’s told us all about you, doll-“

“Parker?” You hum, and Barnes blinks. 

There it is.

“How’d you- No-“

“I know Spider-man’s Peter Parker.” You give Barnes an overly sweet smile, and you’ve been their double agent for a month of back-alley meetings and careful exchanges in noisy rooms, but it hasn’t seemed to stop getting under his skin. “I’ve known for like, five years.”

Barnes shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe you. Like you just somehow guessed. “But Fisk doesn’t-“

“I didn’t tell Fisk.”

You turn back to the path ahead of you, and you can still feel Barnes’ glower.

“You think you’re fuckin’ smart, kid-“

“Yes, I do.” You throw him another smile over your shoulder, and his glare deepens. “What did Peter tell you about me?”

“That you’re kind of a bitch.” Barnes grunts, and you roll your eyes.

“He’s just still mad I gave him a concussion.” You mutter. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t mean to give him a fucking concussion-“ 

“I didn’t know how strong he’d be. It was new, I thought I’d just be breaking his nose-“

Barnes grabs your arm, yanking you back without warning and covering your mouth with a gloved hand, muffling your yelp.

“Be more careful.” He grunts in your ear. “Almost walked right into the open, you’ll get yourself shot.”

If you lean a little further back, your skin will touch his. Maybe he’d be stronger than Parker. Maybe you could hit hard enough to knock a new personality into him.

Because for the past week, Barnes has been a fucking dick. You understand not trusting you. It’s a reasonable conclusion to reach. 

But he doesn’t listen. He shoots down all your intel and acts both like you’re a weak little child, and an atomic bomb set to go off any second. You’re neither. You want Fisk dead more than anyone, and you’re in complete control. If you weren’t, you would’ve killed him days ago, and never even fucking blinked.

It’s a testament to that control, that you shove yourself away from him without tapping into Parker’s strength. You could’ve sent him flying out the window, if you wanted. But you’re being diplomatic, and you’re trying to do the goddamn mission, so you don’t. 

“Don’t grab me.” You snap, and Barnes scowls.

“I was helping you-“

“Did I ask you to?”

“No.” He narrows his eyes, taking a firm step forward until you’re almost nose to nose. “But if you die, Sam will yell at me. So be more damn careful.”

The staring contest lasts another minute before Sam’s voice crackles in both your ears, and you have to get back to work. By the time they’re fighting some of Fisk’s men—you’ve been, fucking stupidly, sidelined so as not to blow your cover—Barnes has called you incompetent in ten more ways. You’re too loud. Too smug for someone who’s not doing anything. You’re slowing them down, and he’s stuck babysitting you for your shitty intel—shitty intel that got them here, but he seems to be selectively ignoring that—and you’re too willing to kill people and run into fights with no powers.

He’s used that one a lot, after you’d convinced Fisk to give you a vacation and started to crash with Sam. Barnes has muttered countless times that he can’t believe you’re the woman everyone in New York is afraid of. 

“Who says I have no powers,” you’d snapped after the third low comment, sprawled out on Sam’s couch and watching TV, and Barnes had rolled his eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready to prove you got some, doll, I’m ready.” He’d raised his brows in a silent challenge, holding your glare. “Until then, get off my couch.”

“It’s Sam’s couch. And I’m watching TV.”

“All you fucking do is watch TV, doll, can’t be good for you-“

“Aw,” you’d shot him another sickly-sweet smile. “The old man is worried about my screen time-“

“You’re hogging it.” He’d grunted, ignoring your teasing, and you’d flipped him off.

“Sam doesn’t have any good books, and I’m not allowed to have a phone. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

You’d won the argument. Barnes had circled back to you being a waste of space—and you were, but he didn’t know that—and not actually having any powers, so in your eyes, that meant you won.

Because you do have powers. You’ve been saving it for a good moment. Just to prove your point, you’ll use them in a way that blows his stupid fucking mind, and really makes him feel like a dumbass.

That moment comes when one of Fisk’s men is aiming a gun right at his back, he’s turning a little too slow, and Sam is all the way on the other side of the room.

You’re on the ceiling. 

You drop down with the dramatic, fancy landing you’ve been practicing since you got skin-to-skin contact with Parker, and punch the grunt backward into the wall. 

There’s a sickening crack sound from the impact, and it rattles over your ribs and skull. You memorize his face, and add it to your tally. Your graveyard. Another piece of you that will never get to be whole or clean. 

When you turn back to Barnes, he’s staring at you, a look of borderline amusing confusion on his face.

“You-“ He glances up to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “You just fucking killed that guy.”

Your teeth almost snap in your mouth, and you feel a little bit of bile in your throat.

“Obviously.” You mutter, flexing your fist as you let Parker’s powers go dormant once more. “And it saved your life. You’re welcome.”

Barnes narrows his eyes. “I didn’t say thank you-“

“You should work on that, then.” You snap, storming past him as Sam wraps up the last grunt. “It’s rude.”

——————

Your coffee is finally finished, but it’s more bitter than normal on your tongue.

You think you might just miss Bucky, and it’s having a physical effect on your body. 

You need to keep going.

3. He’s bad at using his words.

——————

You jump out of your seat when the book slams down in front of you. 

“What the fuck-“

“Go read.” Barnes grunts, dropping down at your side. “My turn with the TV.”

You gape at him, not bothering to hide the slight amusement in your voice. “Your turn- Are you fucking five-“

“No. Read.”

“I-“

“Read.”

You scowl, and whack him on the arm with the book. “Stop interrupting me, Barnes-“

“Stop calling me Barnes,” he snaps your name in a mocking tone, catching your book before it can land on his arm once more, shoving it fully into your hands. “Go read.”

“I-“ You swallow, watching him wearily, hugging the book to your chest without thought. “What?”

His jaw ticks slightly. “Read-“

“No, why don’t you want me to call you Barnes.”

He’s silent for a long second, staring at the black TV screen with an unreadable expression.

“You call Sam his name.” He finally mutters, something bitter in his voice. “And the spider kid Peter. We’re supposed to be a fucking team. Use my name.”

You narrow your eyes. “You never thanked me for saving your life. Teammates thank each other.”

“That’s your thanks, genius.” He taps the book, still not fully looking at you. “Read it.”

He won that conversation. You don’t have a good response to that, so Bucky won. The asshole.

He buys you five more books in the next two weeks. One for every successful mission. And when you end up with a large gash on your leg, he half shoves you down onto the couch and kneels at your feet, patching it up without a word.

You don’t like the silence. It’s too heavy around your throat.

Only half a second later—like he can hear the stutter in your every breath—Bucky breaks it.

“You didn’t need to jump in front of me.”

“You were going to get shot, dummy.” You snap, crossing your arms and leaning back on the couch. “I did you a favor. Say thank you.”

He doesn’t. He won’t. But you know you’ll get another new book tomorrow, and that’s enough.

“Didn’t know you could get hurt.” He still won’t look up from your leg. “Thought I saw you get shot last week and walk it off.”

“I was ready for that.” You mutter, wincing as Bucky presses the rubbing alcohol to your leg. “This- fuck- I got caught off guard. Won’t happen again.”

He grunts, frowning at your leg. “You’re… selectively invulnerable.”

“If I chose right, yeah.”

That gets him to look at you. There’s the usual confusion clouding his eyes, along with… something else. Something deeper and vaster than the ocean, that’s almost jarring to see. Not frightening. Just different. Strange.

“What the fuck are you?”

His tone isn’t hateful. There’s a strange kind of light in it. Like awe. 

Not awe. 

But like it.

“I’m-“ You swallow, and you haven’t ever really explained it. Once Fisk made you, you just were. Once he figured out what you could do, it was all you did. Nobody asked. They never had to.

Bucky bows his head again, glaring at your leg as he speaks. “You don’t gotta tell me-“

“Shut up. I’m a mimic.”

He looks back up with raised brows, and you take a deep breath before you continue. 

“Fisk created me. Partnered with some crazy scientists, saved me out of a home, and made me into his little pet hero. I can mimic anyone’s DNA, if I touch them skin to skin. It’s just- I only use it on superheroes. Otherwise it’s not really useful.”

Bucky glances down at his gloved hands with a small frown, then back to you. “You stick to the ceiling a lot.”

You nod, and shrug. “I’ve touched Parker, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s how I know who he is. I beat him in a fight, unmasked him, and he was-“ You swallow, a knot tightening and grinding in your stomach, and Bucky finishes for you.

“Just a kid.”

“Just a kid.” You echo. “Couldn’t kill him. Never want to kill any of them. But there’s-“

“Not a choice.” He mutters, and the strange thing in his eyes seems clearer. “Bite down on this.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

Bucky shoves the glove from his flesh hand into your mouth, and starts the first stitch.

The next day, there’s a phone and a book waiting for you in the kitchen.

——————

It takes too long to come up with the next reason. You get lost in thoughts of how you’ve read that same book a dozen times, and you’d caught Bucky reading your annotations with adorable concentration only a few weeks ago.

He always spends more time reading your thoughts than the actual story.

And it had hit you then, too. You can’t think about that, because it’s making this impossible. You can’t think about how Bucky had fallen asleep reading your annotations and looked adorable, or how the phone he gave you is the same one on the table next you right now. How the case on it is the one you bought as he hung over your shoulder, muttering how phone cases were stupid.

You’d made him show you his phone, after he’d said that. The screen had been cracked and shattered, and it had taken a month to get him to buy another. 

That can be a list point. You’re back on your game.

You almost write stubborn, but you substitute it for something stronger at the last second.

4. He can be controlling

You stare at it for a long moment, because something is off. Bucky can be controlling. He can man-handle you and order you around, his voice low and smooth and the intensity in his eyes a little dizzying-

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath. You messed up again.

Because you’re right.

But, fuck, it turns you on.

——————

“You need to stop fucking doing this,” Bucky mutters your name, his metal arm holding you in place as he pressed another round of rubbing alcohol over your gut. “One day you’re not gonna get lucky.”

You wince, but give him a weak smile. “I got shot, Buck, I wouldn’t call that lucky-“

“You got shot.” He hisses, scowling up at you. “Because you were fucking reckless.”

“I saved you-“

“That is not your job, kid-“

“Then stop almost getting shot!”

“I-“ Bucky lets out a slow breath from between his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “No. That’s my job. You’re not even supposed to be in the field-“

“But I am.” You snap. “And I’m not just going to let you get hurt-“

“You’re not letting me do anything.” He mutters, setting down the bottle as he moves back to the medkit. “You’re done in the field.”

You gape at him, the words too slow to sink it. Bucky said them too casually. He said them like they were his call to make.

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

“You’re not going out there again.” He grunts. His metal hand is still on your leg. “We’re almost done anyway. You’re best for intel.”

“Int-“ You cut yourself off with a scoff, glaring down at him. “You are not my boss, James-“

“No. I’m not.” His jaw ticks slightly. He still won’t meet your eyes. “But if I see you in the field again, I’m handcuffing you to your bed.”

He says that so easily, and a heat you have to ignore pools in your stomach. 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” You hiss, leaning down to try and drag his attention fully to your glare. “I am not going to just sit at home-“

“Yeah.” He grunts, still not looking up. “You are.”

“I told you, you are not in charge of me-“

He snorts. “If I was in charge of you, doll, you’d be on full fucking lockdown.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean-“

“Don’t worry about it-“

“James Barnes. Fucking look at me.”

He tenses, and drag his eyes to yours as if the action pains him. “What.”

“I am going to keep working.” You hiss. “Because it’s my job. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously I have a fucking problem with it. And I’m deadly serious,” he grunts your name, holding your gaze. “You try and go on another mission, you’re getting cuffed.”

“We’re so fucking close, you asshole, you don’t get to bench me now-“

“That exactly why I’m benching you-“

“Because we’re close? What, you worried I’m gonna flee the moment we wrap this up?”

If you were furious with Bucky, you’d be worried he was going to break his jaw. “No.”

“So it’s not because you don’t trust me?” You sneer, and he shoots you of a look practical shock.

“Of course I fucking trust you-“

“Then why Bucky?! You can’t just fucking bench me and not tell me why! This is my fight too, and if you think fucking handcuffs are going hold me-“

“I won’t cuff you if you listen-“

“I won’t listen if you don’t speak fucking clearly-“

“It’s- fuck- It’s because Fisk is going to know it’s you soon!” He roars, and you freeze. You’ve heard him yell before, but not like this. There’s something hot behind it. Something almost pained. “You know what he’ll do when he’s figures out where you went off to?! What you’ve been doing, that you’ve been working with Me and Sam?!”

“I-“

“I’m not gonna be the one they’re aiming at anymore, doll. And they’re gonna be shooting to kill. And what if I’m not fast enough?!” he squeezes your leg, his lips curling as his eyes dart down to the wound ripping open your stomach. “What if they’re shooting you, and you’re not ready, and I’m too fucking slow?!” 

“Bucky-“

“I’ll fucking lose you.” He hisses, and you’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m not fucking losing you. I only just goddamn got you, and you are not allowed to bail on me because you’re reckless and stupid.”

He finishes with a long, ragged breath, and you blink at him. Your skin is hot, mouth dry, and it’s as if you’ve been wandering in the desert for a million years. 

You haven’t been, though. 

But nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. With that fervorish awe, and unyielding fury like a tidal wave. Your hands feel clean. For the first time—maybe in years, maybe in your life—you don’t feel any small amounts of blood or grime under your fingernails. It’s that ocean, you think. The one trapped inside of Bucky, that’s slowly been flooding your senses over the past few months. A tide rising with every traded joke and shared book, every mission where he’d trusted you more and more, every story you’d told each other about the heavier, tainted parts of your shadows. 

You move to touch his face without thinking, and his skin is soft. The stubble of his beard is almost grounding—a small, rough reminder that he’s changed since you met him, even if the only obvious part of that is the length of his beard—and he’s looking at you like he’s afraid. Parted lips and blown out eyes as his hand catches your against his face, holding it there as he stares at you with that same fucking awe.

“I’m not losing you.” He repeats the word like they’re a prayer. An oath. “I’m not fucking losing you.”

——————

You need to take a ten-minute break. 

He hadn’t kissed you then. Fucking Sam had interrupted, because you’d been closer to the end than you thought you were. 

Fisk had fallen the next week. He’d never know it was you until he was sitting in a cell, and you spoke to him through the bars.

That had been a… long and confusing day. Bucky had been waiting the entire time. He’d almost killed you the moment you walked out of the cell.

6. He’s bad at reading situations

——————

Your eyes sting.

You don’t know why you’d cried. Fisk had made your life hell. He’d ruined it, and you’d won, and you’d still cried for him.

“You were like a daughter to me,” he’d hummed your name, nothing but sheer fucking disappointment in his eyes. Like you’d failed him. Like he was more hurt for you than angred at your betrayal. “You know, I always loved you for exactly what you were. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You’d only swallowed, any sharp words dying in your throat as Fisk continued.

“Do you think the Winter Soldier will like the reminder? Of who he was before?” Fisk had shaken his head, and sighed as if he’d been mourning you. You’d almost thrown up on the tile floors. “No, not as you are. And you don’t change, my girl. You’re not meant for… soft things. You could’ve ruled the world and now… You’ll be nothing. Alone.”

You’d found the words to cut back, somehow, but you don’t remember them. You only remember the knot in your stomach and bile in your throat. 

You hope you’d held the tears until you were hunched over the toilet. You’d only just managed the vomit.

And you hadn’t reacted, when Bucky had come up behind you. You want to think it was because you were off your game.

It was probably just because it was Bucky.

He’d held your hair from your face. He’d rubbed your back with the metal hand, and it had eased your breathing too fast. And when you’d finally sat up, he’d pulled you into his chest like you were something delicate.

Fisk’s words are too loud in your head. Your voice, when you finally speak, is too soft.

“This is the women’s room, Buck.” You mumble, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

“’S fine.” He shrugs, the movement shifting you slightly against him, settling you more comfortably in his hold. “You’re here. This is where I’ll be until someone moves me.”

You hum, pressing your face to his shoulder, as if you can’t fucking help it. “Miss me that much?”

He grunts, and you could swear you feel him nod. “Needed to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, and when you lean back, he’s staring again. 

You think he’s going to rip you apart. At least then, maybe, he’ll keep some of you in his pocket. A little bit, to always be held like this.

“Bucky-“

“Go on a date with me.”

——————

Number seven is easy. Number seven flows right off of six, because you’d said yes like you were only breathing—even as all the air in the world became too thin, and you almost passed out from the branding focus of Bucky’s gaze—and Bucky had grinned like he’d never seen the sun before, and now it was shining just for him.

It had been cute.

Too many parts of Bucky could be cute.

7. He can be unbelievably sweet at the worst possible times.

——————

You’re going to strangle him. 

The date was perfect. Horribly perfect. Impossibly perfect. Fairy tale, romance movie, only-exists for valentine’s day propaganda perfect.

Bucky bought you flowers. A big bouquet of yellow roses, because he knows how much you both hate red. You went to a fancy restaurant, and walked in the park for five hours just holding hands like idiots, until he was spinning you around and swaying you in his arms, and you were giggling.

You don’t giggle. You didn’t even know you could make that sound. 

But Bucky had guided you through a romantic, smooth dance—his body warm around yours, nothing to see you in the dark but his bright eyes and the slowly clouding night sky—and you’d giggled. He’d smelled like pine aftershave, a deep, slightly spicy cologne, and something earthier that was just Bucky, and you’d giggled.

You’d been vulnerable. In public, in the dark, in the open. But Bucky had been there, and there had been a secure feeling over your skin like the sky could split open with fire and hail, and you’d be alright. Bucky was there, so you’d always be alright.

And you’d giggled.

It was dangerous. It was dangerous when he’d kissed your cheek after handing you the flowers, standing in your doorway as if you didn’t fucking live together. It was dangerous when he held your car door open, and when he helped you into the seat at the restaurant. When he took your hand like touching you was the most natural thing in the world, and started to dance as if that had been what he’d been planning to do the whole time.

Given the small smirk on his lips when the first giggle had escaped you, it might have been. 

But the most dangerous thing had been when it had started to rain, and he’d picked you up. Hauled you into his arms without a grunt and run you into an all-night coffee shop, keeping his body folded over yours as if you’d melt into a puddle if he didn’t shield you from the world.

You’d found a little table, ordered some drinks, and lost track of time.

He was so handsome, with messy, wet hair and eyes bluer than the rain could ever hope to be. He was warmer than the heater of the coffee shop. 

You knew he’d taste better than the small scone he’d bought you, too.

And then again, like he could read your fucking mind, he’d shaken his head.

“We’re not doing that tonight,” he’d drawled your name, grinning at you from across the table, and you’d blinked at him.

“I-“

“We will.” He’d shrugged. “Trust me on that, I’ve- Shit- We will. But not tonight.”

You blinked at him, shaking your head slowly. “Bucky-“

“We’re not fucking, doll.”

And now you were here. About to kill him.

“I never said we were-“

“Didn’t have to.” He shoots you a wink, bumping your knee with his under the table. “Saw it all over your face, baby.”

“You-“ You swallow, and he can’t fucking do that. It’s not fair. He can’t say no sex tonight and then wink and call you baby. That’s not fair. “I- Why?”

Your words are almost a whine, and Bucky’s grin widens. It’s too adorable, too gleeful and affectionate, and his knuckles are brushing against your hand and he smells so good-

“I want that to be its own thing. This is our first date. We’re doing number two because this was fun and we,” he gestures between your bodies, watching you carefully. “Work. Not cause I fuck you until you can’t walk.”

He finishes with a shrug, and even though he’s still grinning—he knows exactly what those last words did you to, the asshole—there’s something firmer in his voice that tells you he’s being serious. 

That’s annoying. And sweet. So fucking sweet.

So you let it go.

“Aw.” You give him a teasing smile, pressing your thighs together to relieve just a little bit of your need from his attention. “You think we work?”

“Yeah. I do.” He’s staring at you again. You might have started something you can’t finish. “Do you?”

You swallow, and lying feels pointless. You’re trapped. He’s handsome and amazing and he’s not going to fuck you, but he promised he would later, and you’re trapped. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, and you don’t know when you started holding his hand again. You don’t really care to let go. “I do.”

——————

This isn’t working anymore.

All you can think about is how that might have been the moment. The one where something sparked and grew and razed through your body, reshaping your organs and tissue to all mold a little better for Bucky. He’d said I do like it was the easiest thing in the world. Less of an answer to a question and more of a statement.

There had been a finality to it. Like that was all he’d ever have to know again. You were all he’d ever have to know.

He’d made promises and kept them. You’d remained warm every time it had stormed, and through the following winter, and it was because that had been the moment and this strategy isn’t fucking working.

Bucky had told you later, and now that later is all you can think about. Bucky is all you can think about, and every single thing you cast to mar the picture of him in your head just makes it stronger. Makes every memory sharper, every thought of Bucky in your head more beautiful.

8. He’s perfect. It’s impossible.

——————

You don’t know exactly how you got here. There were flowers involved, and a dark theatre, and Bucky had whispered something low in your ear that made you gape at him in the dark, and then he’d kept his hand on your thigh the rest of the night, and the whole world had become unbearable hot.

It’s only a haze now. A big, warm haze that’s cooled by one metal hand on your hip as you burn and burn and burn, and Bucky hasn’t even done anything yet. But he’s been teasing you. Keeping you pinned cruelly under his body for what feels like hours, kissing and sucking over your neck and slotting his knee between your thighs, letting you grind against him and pull at his hair until you were whining for more, you need more-

“Think you can take more, baby?” He murmurs against your lips, and you don’t know if he’s doing the anticipating thing again, or just teasing you a little more. “You even know what you want?”

He uses your responding moan to push his tongue down your throat, kissing you heavy and long and deep. 

And Bucky’s kissed you before. A lot. There had been one, world-making kiss that had grown into an addiction, becoming kisses in the corner of every room and against the wall of every hallway, into the cushions of the couch until Sam groaned and walked away—promising to never come over for movie night again—and right up to every edge, but never further.

Bucky seems to be under the impression that he needs to be a gentleman. That there needs to be a right moment to stop pulling away with heavy, shallow breaths, swollen lips, and flushed faces. That he needs written permission to go further.

You’d given him that permission this morning. You’d slid him a small paper over the counter, and when he’d read it, he’d raised his brows at you in amusement.

“This says fuck me.”

“Yep.” You’d hummed, holding his gaze as you’d taken a large bite of your banana.

It had been a warfare strategy. It had seemed to work then—his eyes had darkened, nostrils flaring and fist closing around the paper as he stared at you—but you know it’s worked now.

Because this kiss is different. It’s another, newer tidal wave that’s all thirst. Desire.

Need.

Bucky’s holding himself by a tether. You can feel it when you bite his lower lip, he groans down your throat, and his hips jerk forward. 

“You’re- Shit-“ Bucky grunts as you suck a small, dark mark on his jaw. “You gotta be sure, doll, I can’t-“

“I’m sure.” You whisper, leaning back to hold his gaze. He looks almost nervous, and it makes your brow furrow slightly. “Buck, are you-“

He crashes his mouth back down to yours, his metal hand playing with the hem of your skirt. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” He mutters, pulling back to scan over you once more. “I’m- If we’re doing this, I’ve gotta be- I need to-“

“I know.”

He blinks at you. “You do? How- Sam.”

You giggle slightly at Bucky’s violent glower—you’ve been doing that a frightening amount lately—and raise a hand to trace over his jaw.

“He says he- uh- Heard you. Once. Months ago. And it’s okay.”

He shakes his head, still watching you with that caution. “I- It doesn’t have to be, doll, I know that your past isn’t all sunshine and daises and bein’ in control either-“

“I- I’ve had to do most everything for myself. For survival.” You whisper, tracing your thumb over his cheek. “I’ve never had- I trust you. And with what Sam mentioned-“

“Gonna fuckin’ kill him-“

“I don’t think it’s as dramatic as you think.” You finish, ignoring Bucky’s muttered threat.

His jaw ticks slightly, his words suddenly so low you can barely hear them. “If it’s too much, you gotta tell me-“

“I can take it.”

Bucky sighs your name, and you shove his chest. Not hard. Enough to move him. Jolt him. Make him look at you with wide, shocked eyes.

“You-“

“I can take it, Buck.” You grin at him, raising your brows pointedly. “I’ve got you.”

His eyes widen as he understands—you’ve got him, his strength and durability mirrored in your body—and there’s a slight shift in the air. It’s hot. Everything is suddenly so hot under Bucky’s attention, expect for the cold, metal hand, trailing under your skirt and cupping you over right over your aching pussy.

“Fuck, you’re wet, doll.” The awe has creeped from Bucky’s eyes to his voice. You can only grind against his fingers teasing over your slit, and moan when a metal thumb starts to rub firm, rough circles over your clit. “And no panties on? All fuckin’ night, just waitin’ for me?”

“Yes,” you moan, our hips jolting when he pinches your clit lightly, a high whine leaving your throat. “Bucky-“

“That’s my name.” He mutters, resting those two fingers right against your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you’re already so wet, I wonder what’ll happen when I do this?”

With that last word, Bucky slams the metal fingers into your cunt, and starts to finger fuck you like it’s a mission. It’s so fast. Metal whirring in your ear as the pace becomes impossible and mind-numbing, hitting you so fucking deep, almost massaging and taunting at the sensitive spot, and it’s only just started but you’re already going to explode-

“Bucky-“ You moan out his name, trying to somehow meet every thrust of his fingers with your hips, but only managing to grind your clit against his wrist and sending your brain into a dizzying blur of pleasure. “God, I- Close, Bucky, so close-“

“Hold it.” He grunts, not letting up pace, and you almost whimper at the idea. “Need you to hold it for me, baby, can you do that?”

You can’t. 

You nod anyway, because Bucky’s still here, still holding you and touching you and looking at you, so you have to try. For Bucky, you need to try.

“Good girl.” He mutters, and you clench around him with a squeak. “Oh, you like that? Like me talkin’, tellin’ you how good your doing-“

“Oh- Fuck-“ You gasp, your back arching off the bed as he somehow hits deeper. “Please, I- God-“

He hums, dropping his weight slightly to keep you pinned to the bed. “Say my name, doll.”

“Buck-“

“No.” His voice is slightly softer, and he leans down to hover his lips right over yours. “Other one.”

“I-“ You take shallow breathes, each one rounded with another moan as you search Bucky’s face for the answer, and his fingers never slow their movements. “Please-“

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got it-“

“James!” You half scream it, writhing under him in desperation for release, and start to repeat it like a prayer as his eyes shine in approval, and his cock twitches against your thigh. “James- James please, I- I need it- Need you-“

He swallows your words with another deep kiss, squeezing your hip with his free hand as he mutters against your lips. 

“There you go, babydoll.” He smirks at your whimper, his eyes trained on yours as you give him another, pleading look and whisper of his name. “Cum for me.”

The sound that leaves you is undignified, needy and loud and made of slurred curses and shouts of James. But you can see the stars, and feel them bursting through your body, and it’s all just good.

When you come down, Bucky’s brushing your hair from your eyes, looking down at you with that same wide awe everywhere over his handsome features.

“Was that good?”

You hum, still panting heavily, and he raises his brows. 

“More?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.

“Already so fucked out you can’t speak? Haven’t even pulled out my cock yet-“

You moan into his mouth at just the word. “Bucky, please-“

“Please what?” He pulls back entirely, and chuckles when you slam your hand into his chest with a glare.

“Hey-“

“You gotta tell me what you want, babydoll, and I’ll get it for you. But,” he raises his brows, catching your hand when you try to shove him once more and pinning it over your head. “I’m not a mind reader. Tell me.”

You think that’s a lie. You think he can read your mind, and he’s just being mean.

But God, it’s so fucking hot. His shirt is gone—you don’t know when that happened, but you’re not complaining—and he’s looking at you like you’re art, laid out for him to see and touch and have, so you’ll play along. If it will make him finally fuck you, you’ll do whatever he asks.

“I want your cock.” You whisper, holding his gaze. “Want you to fuck me, and I’m clean and on the pill, so I want you to cum inside of me, then leave it there. Wanna feel you tomorrow, James, please.”,

Bucky’s throat bobs slightly, his voice becomes barely a growl.

“Jesus Christ.”

He seems to be done talking after that.

Your hand stay pinned over your head as he rips off your shirt, then his own boxers. There’s a half-grumble of buying you another bra tomorrow, but it’s all you get before he’s ripping that off as well.

When he lines himself up at your entrance, he pauses, giving you one last chance to shove him away. 

You tangle your hand in his hair and shove his lips to yours without hesitation, moaning his name into his mouth, and it’s enough.

Bucky slams himself into you with one thrust, diving his mouth to suck and lick at your nipples as you gasp, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you.

It’s perfect. Big and thick and full, you feel so full, and you’re going to fly out of your skin if he keeps flicking his tongue over your nipple like, throbbing inside of you but not moving-

He can definitely read your mind. Before you can even moan a plea, Bucky starts to drill into you without warning, and any noise turn into more of those loud, desperate pleas. 

It rough. Bed creaking and skin slapping, and he keeps tossing you around like no angle is deep enough, flipping you over to fuck you from behind so his balls are slapping against your clit and he’s kissing up your spine, before he’s hauling you up to his chest, wrapping his arm around your stomach to hold you still as he drills up into your cunt,  and biting and marking along your throat and jaw. You throw your head back on his shoulder, and he captures your lips in a long, searing kiss, rolling a nipple between his fingers. 

Then you’re back on your stomach, with his weight completely covering you and his grunts right in your ear, sending shivers up your spine. 

He pauses only for a second there, thrusts slowing as he grabs at your hips, and before you can ask him if he’s okay, if it’s too much or—worse—not enough, you’re moving again.

Bucky rolls over, tossing you up onto his lap so you’re grinding down onto his cock, and this is it. You can see it in his hooded, satisfied expression as he watches you bounce above you, his flesh hand wrapping around your throat the metal moves to your clit, rubbing small, furious circles as he groans your name.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your every word choked as he pounds up into your fluttering, aching pussy. “I- James-“

He grunts, pressing harder as his dick hits that deep, sensitive spot inside of you. “Come on, babydoll, gotta gimme one more-“

This orgasm washes over you like a wave. Deep, easy pleasure that makes everything glow, lingering in your body long after Bucky gives one last, jagged thrust up into your pussy, cumming with a roar of your name.

You both stare at each other for a long second as Bucky releases your throat, his fingers tracing over the marks left by his grip with a furrowed brow, and you smile at him. 

His release is dripping down your thighs as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.  

It’s somehow not enough, and still more than you could ever ask for.

And your smile is a little cock drunk and there’s light bubble up your throat, but you don’t care.

So you giggle. Airy and blissful as Bucky rolls your bodies over so he’s on top once more, and you bury your face in his shoulder. 

He rises over you on his forearm, raising his brows as you smile up at him. “Somethin’ funny?”

You nod, your giggles almost pathetic. You don’t really mind. “Told you I could take it.”

He sighs, but the grin on his face matches yours.

Wide. Stupid.

Happy.

“Yeah.” Bucky mutters, tracing slow fingers only your cheekbone, and the awe seems to be a permanent addition to his voice. “You did.”

——————

When you get back to your table with ice water, people are staring at you. Whispering.

It’s not in your head. You know the difference between paranoia and caution, and this is the latter.

You scan over for an easy target, and land on a skittish looking man with large arms and a gym bag. When you stop at his table, he looks like he’s going to pass out.

“What’s your name.” You keep your voice cool and even, and he swallows.

“Mike.”

“Awesome. Can I please have your phone, Mike?”

He nods, unlocks it before passing it to your hands, and you give him a sweet smile before you scan over his screen, and let out a long sigh.

Sam abused his power. You’ve been declared a missing enhanced. The city hasn’t been barricaded, but everyone in New York knows to be looking for you, and expect Captain America upon response.

You pass Mike his phone back with another grimacing smile, and stalk back to your table and notebook.

9. He can be really fucking dramatic.

——————

You don’t know how Bucky puts up with you. He’s clean. Neat. Does all his dishes and folds his laundry, vacuums the floors and straightens every picture when he fucks you a little too hard against the wall.

You’re… not.

Taking care of yourself has never been important. Never been allowed. Fisk had men who cleaned up after you, because your priority was walk around and be feared. Be the untouchable princess.

Untouchable princesses don’t clean up. Once, at the beginning, you’d tried to help the crew after a particularly messy job.

Fisk had been furious. You’d gotten blood on his favorite toy. 

You’d stopped trying to clean up after that, 

But Bucky never gets angry about it. He’ll wipe your face when you get sauce on your cheek, change your sheets—even though you haven’t slept in your own bed for months—every week, and do your laundry, all while never asking for anything in return. 

This is another night where you don’t understand him. He made your favorite food, even though he had the long day. He’s not meeting your eyes again, but you’ve learned that he only does that when he cares. When there are things inside of him he can’t work out how to say, so he’ll keep his gaze averted like he’s trying to shield himself from being seen.

He isn’t aware he does that. You only know because you know him. Because he sits across from you like this every night, and wakes up next to you every single morning, and presses his brow to yours—keeping his eyes closed, but his hands on your face delicate—every single day. He’s with you all the time, even when he’s across the city, so you know him and you-

“Move in with me.”

You blink at him in the low light of your shitty dining room. It’s all plastic table and fold-out chairs, because neither of you are good at having nice things and keeping them.

He might be the nicest thing you’ve ever had.

You don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about.

“What?”

“I- We should move in.” He pokes his plate, frowning at it like he can will it to understand, and explain to you properly. “Together. You and me.”

“Buck, we already live together-“

“In a shit apartment Sam found us.” He grumbles. “In two separate bedrooms. With plastic furniture and a dead plant.”

You sigh. “I told you I’m not good at plants when you got it. I wanted a cat, but-“

“Our lease doesn’t allow it.” Bucky shoots you a pointed look, leaning further over the table. “If we moved in together, I’d get you that cat. I’d get you whatever you wanted.”

“Bucky-“

“Fresh start.” He grunts your name, and you swallow. This is a little stronger than the awe gaze. This is borderline hope, and it’s so rare on his handsome face, and he has you folding for him in a second, but he keeps going anyway. “You and me. We’ll get a nicer couch without any blood on it, and eat off plates that aren’t paper, and- We can get the cat, or two cats- fuck, twenty cats-“

A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Twenty is a lot, darling-“

“Then one. One is good.” He has the solemn, focused gaze and tone he uses when he’s planning a mission. He’d stood up and crossed his arms. This is serious. “No more plants. I can- Sam will help me build all he furniture, I’ll get you a desktop, and I can have the smaller one, cause you always get annoyed when I break it-“

“It’s called a laptop.” You offer, keeping your voice softer than you’ve ever been capable of with anyone else. “And I don’t get annoyed-“

“Yes, you do. ’S fine, I deserve it-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That’s not the point, doll-“

“It’s important to me.” You snap, and that gets him to stop. “You’re important to me, and I don’t get annoyed. It’s not your fault your bags are always getting smashed-“

He scowls. “I’m the one who smashes them.”

“Because other people are fucking idiots, and you’re good at your job. You don’t deserve me being annoyed, and I’m not, because you’re-“ You swallow, words you don’t fully understand yet getting caught on the edge of your tongue. “You’re important to me, Buck. You’re a good man. You deserve good things.”

He blinks at you, and the hope is almost a tangible, touchable thing on his face. “Move in with me.”

“You already asked me that-“

“Please.” He mutters, and suddenly he’s on his knees before you, his arms around your waist as he stares up at you. “Wherever you want. It’ll be ours, and I’ll keep it clean if you make it beautiful.”

“Bucky-“

“You- fuck-“ He drops his brow to your lap, and you’re trying to tell him yes, but he seems to be trapped in his own head. All you can do is run your fingers through his hair and let him ride it out. “You make everything so beautiful, you just- You- Please. I’ll never ask ya’ for anything again. Move in with me.”

“Okay.”

He blinks up at you with wide eyes. “I- That’s it? Just like that?”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and it’s hurting your cheeks, but it’s the best pain you’ve ever felt. “You gonna let me up now?”

He nods slowly, but pauses before he stands, and throws you over his shoulder without warning.

“Bucky-“

“C’mon,” He start to move towards his bedroom, ignoring your squirming. “You’re- Got plans for you, babydoll.”

“We have all night, you dramatic asshole-“

“You love it.” He mutters with a squeeze of your thigh, and you have to stop pounding on his back to moan. “And if it were up to me, we’d never stop doin’ this. Never gonna waste one fucking second with you. Ever.”

——————

He’ll be here soon. Someone will have had the balls to report where you were, Bucky will burst through the doors, and you’ll have to know that this didn’t work. That you probably drove him insane and beat your heart to sinew, only to come out of this knowing that you failed. 

You have your answer, and it’s the one that’s terrifying. The floor could open into a trench, and the sky could catch fire, but that would be easier.

This is new. This is dangerous and frightening and new, and there’s nothing you can do about it, because you failed. There are no paths forward that you know how to follow, no corners of the world you can hide where you wouldn’t find yourself crawling back to Bucky.

And he’d meet you halfway, because he’d be looking for you, and then he’d pull you into his arms you’d be safe.

Safe and cared for and clean, and awfully, greatly in love.

10. You love him, and that’s not fair.

——————

He sleeps peacefully now. At your side, on the memory foam mattress you made him pick out, wrapped around you like he’s trying to pull you into his body. The sheets are tangled and smell a little like sweat and cum, but nobody seems to mind. Even Alpine has settled at the foot of the bed, on Bucky’s side, because she likes him better. 

Of course she likes him better. You picked her because she has the exact same blue eyes as he does, and you feed her, but she likes him more because he’s Bucky.

And this suits him, far more than you think it could ever suit you. 

Because this is what he would’ve been. If Bucky had never fallen off that train, he’d have simply been this. 

Happy. 

Peaceful in the soft, golden-white light of the morning, holding a perfect, faceless woman. She’d clean up after him, and make him food that didn’t taste like ash. He’d never have the nightmares that still sometimes rock him now, but he’d have worse nights—he’d still been a solider, still fought a war—and she’d only give him comfort. Never demand it in return, nights later when she woke up screaming. 

And she’d have less opinions, and never make him worried because she kept getting shot, and she’d giggle all the time. Not just when he pried it out of her with dancing and fucking. 

She would’ve been easy. She wouldn’t have made him read with her, and she would’ve let him get twenty cats. 

You hate her more than anything.

But it would’ve been what Bucky deserves. Has always deserved.

The exact same one you don’t.

You never would’ve been here. Fisk found you in the dirt, and you hadn’t been a lovely, blooming beam of sunlight before he turned you into a weapon. Bucky had earned all his sneers and snarks and scowls.

You’re just like this. 

And you somehow have him, in a way you can’t lose. Won’t lose. You’d do anything for Bucky, you’d kill and maim and scratch and scream and rip yourself to fucking pieces just for him, before stitching yourself back together with your heartstrings, because they’d still be beating in a sound like his name, because you-

No. 

Oh no. 

That can’t be right. You don’t- you’ve never had that. That’s too good. 

You don’t deserve that.

You’ll break it.

——————

You wait outside for him. Bouncing on your feet as people shoot you odd looks in passing. You expect sirens. Being turned over and checked from every angle, because this had been a really stupid thing to do when you were you. A problem. An asset until you flipped. An enemy so easily, and an insufferable ally to have.

Bucky still puts up with you. But you think he knows you’d never flip on him. He trusts that the same instinct that made you run from Fisk is the one that will always send you back to him.

It’s been nine hours, and you miss him like you’re drowning. Like you can see the sun, right above the surface, but you can’t remember how to go up.

You can only drift, and wait for blaring red lights that will carry you home.

They never come. And when you feel a tap on your shoulder you don’t flinch, because you know that tap anywhere. The pressure and shape of the finger, the exact placement near the cartilage, always leaving a slight brand of his touch.

“What’re you doing, baby.” Bucky mutters, and you let out a long breath, turning to give him a weak smile.

He’s staring again.

You love it when he does that.

“Hi,” You whisper, and he drops his brow to yours for a long second, right before pulling you right into his chest without a second of hesitation.

You’d thought he’d be angrier. You’re a little sick of being wrong.

“Why-“ He takes a heavy breath, squeezing you a little tighter. “You wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“I turned it off.” You mumble. You don’t think you can stand to lie to him like this. You’ve already done enough. “I- Can we go inside, please?”

Bucky leans back with a tight frown, scanning over you once more. “Did something-“

“I’m okay.” You duck your head back into his chest, and you understand why he never meets your eyes in moments like this. It’s far easier. “I promise. I just, this will be easier if we sit down, please.”

You can feel him tense against your body, but he guides you inside regardless. Right back to the table you’d been at before, even if he doesn’t know that.

People might be staring. 

You don’t really care. You don’t have the energy for it. Everything has to go into this. Into telling him before it’s too late, and you either lose him or, worse, he stays. He keeps tolerating you, not knowing that you’d grow a forest on the moon if he asked—just to hide somewhere safe and quiet, together—and turn the sun into something portable for his back pocket, just so he’d never have to fear ice again.

Bucky says your name slowly, glancing around the shop. “Is this where we had our first-“

“Yeah.” You fumble with your bag, your hands already shaking slightly, and Bucky notices.

Of course he does.

Perfect fucking asshole.

“Are you sure you’re okay, cause I can make Sam call 911 again-“

“Don’t make Sam call 911.” The paper is crumpled, and ripped at the corners. It will have to do. “I’m okay. I- I’m going to be okay.”

That last one is mostly for yourself—no matter how fast Bucky leaves, no matter how much your heart screams, you’ll be okay—but he still hears it, and his frown deepens.

He grunts your name, leaning forward in his seat, and you shake your head.

“Just- take this.“ You slide the paper across the table, watching sleek, black fingers rest on the edge, but not tug it further. “Please.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but he listens. You look up just in time to see him scanning over your words, and the lump in your throat might choke you. 

At least it will be over quicker. 

“What is-“ He cuts himself off, and you can’t look away. It’s worse than a car crash. It’s a missile, hurdled straight for your head as you’re rooted in place, bracing for the impact but knowing it will tear you apart all the same. 

You know the moment he reaches the last point. His eyes widen, and flick up to you in disbelief. 

He reads it three more times before he sets down the paper, and maybe the lump in your throat is your heart. Maybe it’s trying to beat out of your body and run in the gutters, before it can be broken and shattered and-

“You-“ Bucky places the paper flat on the table, and points to that like. “Is that- You mean it?”

You nod weakly, still starting at his finger on the paper—it might be one of the last part of him you get to see, and you’re trying to memorize it—and Bucky clears his throat. 

“Can you look at me?”

It takes a second. Ragged, slow breaths and Bucky’s knee, bumping yours under the table. 

But you do.

And he’s still so beautiful. 

You can see the awe in his eyes. It shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t- not now-

“I love you, too.” He says, and it’s more powerful than the missile. It’s an atomic bomb. “You’re- It’s the only thing I’ve really known, since I got back. You’re the only thing I’ve known-“

The world is starting to sting and blur. Your heart is trying to claw out of your throat. “Bucky-“

He shakes his head, pushing on. “Listen to me, doll, for once in your damn life. I love you. No one but me talking, telling no one but you, I love you. I have been to fucking hell and back, I’d do it all again, every damn time, if there was even a chance it would get me here.”

“That’s- That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Course it does.” He shrugs. “I’m not the me that loves you if I don’t fall off that train and end up in the future.”

“It’s not the future-“

“It’s the future to me-“

“James, we are not having this argument again. It’s not-“

“Is to me.”

There’s that rare, small grin he saves only for you. This is cruel. 

“You- I’m not worth hell.” You whisper, and you’re holding his hand. You don’t know when that happened. You’re not strong enough to pull away.

“Yeah, you are.” 

“Bucky, I’m being-“

“I know you’re being serious, doll. So am I. And I know I’m,” he taps the paper, giving you a pointed look. “Bad at using my words-“

You swallow. “I’m sorry, I-“

"You’re not wrong.” He mutters, still all but trapping his gaze on yours. “But I got words for this, baby. I love you. Hell and back.”

“Bucky, you don’t-“ 

“What, love you?” He raises his brows. “You somehow miss that part of my shitty ass speech-“

“It wasn’t shitty-“

“Kinda shitty. Didn’t seem to get through to you.”

“I-“

“Just- Listen.” He leans forward, still holding your gaze. “Would you do it again?”

“Do-“

“Would you walk through your hell, Fisk and the scientist, Parker and that asshole with the horns that made you blind for a week, Sam and me and all the court trials, if you thought we’d end up back here, at this horrible fucking coffee shop, one more time?”

“Yes.” 

It’s not a question. You’d do everything, every time, the exact same way, if it meant you’d maybe get Bucky one more time.

And that’s mirrored on his face. Smug, quiet satisfaction as he grins at you, and shrugs.

“There it is.”

You return his smile because it’s easy. You keep holding his hand because he’s not letting go, so you’ll never even bother to try. 

You echo his words because he’s right. Maybe the only right thing in the whole universe, right across the table, touching you, and all yours.

“There it is.”

End Note: Love throwing in a bunch of tiny easter eggs for purely my own entertainment. Also love throwing a little plot relevant smut in there, as a treat.

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[avocado-writing]

don’t look at me, men deserve to feel pretty. based off this pic. minors dni.

he feels pretty stupid.

if the someone had approached him, say, fifteen years ago with this idea, he’d have absolutely told them to go and fuck themselves. the shield of his masculine bravado would have prevented it - an impassable barrier. cute girls wear stuff like this, after all, not big guys like him.

but…

he’s older now. mellowed. when Wade pitches an idea for something kinky he’ll try and pretend not to be interested, but when you ask him, too? when the pair of you gang up on him, two pairs of pleading eyes and soft, sensual, suggestive hands?

ah, fuck. he’s weak. he finds he’d do just about anything to make you two happy. you both would for him, after all.

at the moment he’s just laying there, wearing nothing but pink lace around his cock. the two of you are staring, and he’s pretty sure Wade is actively salivating. your eyes are just wide and wanton.

he shifts.

“can one of you fuckin’ speak? feel like I’m on display here…”

“that’s kinda the idea, peanut,” breathes Wade, too enraptured at the sight for his usual quips. damn. he must be doing something right, then, Logan guesses, if it shuts the merc up maybe he should do this more.

“they’re comfortable, I wear them all the time,” Wade had said while trying to convince him, and as proof had hooked a thumb under the waistband of his sweatpants to reveal clinging chantilly at his hip. “plus they fit so nice under the suit. can’t imagine ever going back, not when my ass looks so damn good in pink. isn’t that right pookie?”

“that’s right,” you’d hummed, dropping a kiss on Wade’s skin over the lace. Logan remembers the way Wade had let out a juddering sigh at that. you’d left it with a simple, “you don’t have to, Lo. but it’d drive us both kinda crazy.”

you’d been right.

“Logan, you’re so pretty,” you sigh, finally closing the gap, crawling up the bed slow and seductive. he feels the mattress dip as Wade mirrors your movements so that the two of you can hook a thigh over either one of his legs. ‘pretty’. once he’d take that as an insult, a joke… but he knows you mean it as the highest compliment.

maybe he doesn’t mind so much.

“fuckin’ better than anything hanging in any shitty art gallery. and speaking of hung…” Wade presses a kiss to Logan’s cock. his lips over the fabric give just a ghost of warmth, a little tease of what’s to come, and Logan feels himself begin to harden. when you reach down to run your tongue across the elastic and up to that vein which pops out on his abdomen he leaks a little.

you and Wade are delighted.

”you’re gonna ruin these…” you sigh, faux-annoyed, obviously thrilled.

“see? I knew you could be kinky,” Wade claims.

Logan huffs.

“shut up, or I’ll take these off and gag you with ‘em.”

Wade lights up.

“promise?”

you chuckle and go back to kissing him.

“lie back, Lo, we’ve got you.”

he does, and you do.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

I assure you, an AI didn’t write a terrible “George Carlin” routine

There are only TWO MORE DAYS left in the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

On Hallowe'en 1974, Ronald Clark O'Bryan murdered his son with poisoned candy. He needed the insurance money, and he knew that Halloween poisonings were rampant, so he figured he'd get away with it. He was wrong:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Clark_O%27Bryan

The stories of Hallowe'en poisonings were just that – stories. No one was poisoning kids on Hallowe'en – except this monstrous murderer, who mistook rampant scare stories for truth and assumed (incorrectly) that his murder would blend in with the crowd.

Last week, the dudes behind the "comedy" podcast Dudesy released a "George Carlin" comedy special that they claimed had been created, holus bolus, by an AI trained on the comedian's routines. This was a lie. After the Carlin estate sued, the dudes admitted that they had written the (remarkably unfunny) "comedy" special:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/01/george-carlins-heirs-sue-comedy-podcast-over-ai-generated-impression/

As I've written, we're nowhere near the point where an AI can do your job, but we're well past the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

AI systems can do some remarkable party tricks, but there's a huge difference between producing a plausible sentence and a good one. After the initial rush of astonishment, the stench of botshit becomes unmistakable:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

Some of this botshit comes from people who are sold a bill of goods: they're convinced that they can make a George Carlin special without any human intervention and when the bot fails, they manufacture their own botshit, assuming they must be bad at prompting the AI.

This is an old technology story: I had a friend who was contracted to livestream a Canadian awards show in the earliest days of the web. They booked in multiple ISDN lines from Bell Canada and set up an impressive Mbone encoding station on the wings of the stage. Only one problem: the ISDNs flaked (this was a common problem with ISDNs!). There was no way to livecast the show.

Nevertheless, my friend's boss's ordered him to go on pretending to livestream the show. They made a big deal of it, with all kinds of cool visualizers showing the progress of this futuristic marvel, which the cameras frequently lingered on, accompanied by overheated narration from the show's hosts.

The weirdest part? The next day, my friend – and many others – heard from satisfied viewers who boasted about how amazing it had been to watch this show on their computers, rather than their TVs. Remember: there had been no stream. These people had just assumed that the problem was on their end – that they had failed to correctly install and configure the multiple browser plugins required. Not wanting to admit their technical incompetence, they instead boasted about how great the show had been. It was the Emperor's New Livestream.

Perhaps that's what happened to the Dudesy bros. But there's another possibility: maybe they were captured by their own imaginations. In "Genesis," an essay in the 2007 collection The Creationists, EL Doctorow (no relation) describes how the ancient Babylonians were so poleaxed by the strange wonder of the story they made up about the origin of the universe that they assumed that it must be true. They themselves weren't nearly imaginative enough to have come up with this super-cool tale, so God must have put it in their minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/29/gedankenexperimentwahn/#high-on-your-own-supply

That seems to have been what happened to the Air Force colonel who falsely claimed that a "rogue AI-powered drone" had spontaneously evolved the strategy of killing its operator as a way of clearing the obstacle to its main objective, which was killing the enemy:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/04/ayyyyyy-eyeeeee/

This never happened. It was – in the chagrined colonel's words – a "thought experiment." In other words, this guy – who is the USAF's Chief of AI Test and Operations – was so excited about his own made up story that he forgot it wasn't true and told a whole conference-room full of people that it had actually happened.

Maybe that's what happened with the George Carlinbot 3000: the Dudesy dudes fell in love with their own vision for a fully automated luxury Carlinbot and forgot that they had made it up, so they just cheated, assuming they would eventually be able to make a fully operational Battle Carlinbot.

That's basically the Theranos story: a teenaged "entrepreneur" was convinced that she was just about to produce a seemingly impossible, revolutionary diagnostic machine, so she faked its results, abetted by investors, customers and others who wanted to believe:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theranos

The thing about stories of AI miracles is that they are peddled by both AI's boosters and its critics. For boosters, the value of these tall tales is obvious: if normies can be convinced that AI is capable of performing miracles, they'll invest in it. They'll even integrate it into their product offerings and then quietly hire legions of humans to pick up the botshit it leaves behind. These abettors can be relied upon to keep the defects in these products a secret, because they'll assume that they've committed an operator error. After all, everyone knows that AI can do anything, so if it's not performing for them, the problem must exist between the keyboard and the chair.

But this would only take AI so far. It's one thing to hear implausible stories of AI's triumph from the people invested in it – but what about when AI's critics repeat those stories? If your boss thinks an AI can do your job, and AI critics are all running around with their hair on fire, shouting about the coming AI jobpocalypse, then maybe the AI really can do your job?

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

There's a name for this kind of criticism: "criti-hype," coined by Lee Vinsel, who points to many reasons for its persistence, including the fact that it constitutes an "academic business-model":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

That's four reasons for AI hype:

to win investors and customers;

to cover customers' and users' embarrassment when the AI doesn't perform;

AI dreamers so high on their own supply that they can't tell truth from fantasy;

A business-model for doomsayers who form an unholy alliance with AI companies by parroting their silliest hype in warning form.

But there's a fifth motivation for criti-hype: to simplify otherwise tedious and complex situations. As Jamie Zawinski writes, this is the motivation behind the obvious lie that the "autonomous cars" on the streets of San Francisco have no driver:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/driverless-cars-always-have-a-driver/

GM's Cruise division was forced to shutter its SF operations after one of its "self-driving" cars dragged an injured pedestrian for 20 feet:

https://www.wired.com/story/cruise-robotaxi-self-driving-permit-revoked-california/

One of the widely discussed revelations in the wake of the incident was that Cruise employed 1.5 skilled technical remote overseers for every one of its "self-driving" cars. In other words, they had replaced a single low-waged cab driver with 1.5 higher-paid remote operators.

As Zawinski writes, SFPD is well aware that there's a human being (or more than one human being) responsible for every one of these cars – someone who is formally at fault when the cars injure people or damage property. Nevertheless, SFPD and SFMTA maintain that these cars can't be cited for moving violations because "no one is driving them."

But figuring out who which person is responsible for a moving violation is "complicated and annoying to deal with," so the fiction persists.

(Zawinski notes that even when these people are held responsible, they're a "moral crumple zone" for the company that decided to enroll whole cities in nonconsensual murderbot experiments.)

Automation hype has always involved hidden humans. The most famous of these was the "mechanical Turk" hoax: a supposed chess-playing robot that was just a puppet operated by a concealed human operator wedged awkwardly into its carapace.

This pattern repeats itself through the ages. Thomas Jefferson "replaced his slaves" with dumbwaiters – but of course, dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, they hide slaves:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

The modern Mechanical Turk – a division of Amazon that employs low-waged "clickworkers," many of them overseas – modernizes the dumbwaiter by hiding low-waged workforces behind a veneer of automation. The MTurk is an abstract "cloud" of human intelligence (the tasks MTurks perform are called "HITs," which stands for "Human Intelligence Tasks").

This is such a truism that techies in India joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians." Or, to use Jathan Sadowski's wonderful term: "Potemkin AI":

https://reallifemag.com/potemkin-ai/

This Potemkin AI is everywhere you look. When Tesla unveiled its humanoid robot Optimus, they made a big flashy show of it, promising a $20,000 automaton was just on the horizon. They failed to mention that Optimus was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Likewise with the famous demo of a "full self-driving" Tesla, which turned out to be a canned fake:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

The most shocking and terrifying and enraging AI demos keep turning out to be "Just A Guy" (in Molly White's excellent parlance):

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1751670561606971895

And yet, we keep falling for it. It's no wonder, really: criti-hype rewards so many different people in so many different ways that it truly offers something for everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Ross Breadmore (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/rossbreadmore/5169298162/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2. OO3.

summary | you struggle with your feelings for minho, knowing he's in a relationship with stella. after an intense conversation about your kiss, you decide to distance yourself, despite the undeniable connection between you two

warnings | emotional distress, relationship complications, heartbreak, mentions of kissing

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The way back to the cabin felt endless. You wrapped the towel around your body so tightly that your fingers hurt, trying to keep your breathing steady. Min Ho's kiss still burned on your lips, like an impossible-to-ignore burn.

When you entered the room where you were sleeping with Yuri and Juliana, they were both fast asleep. You climbed under the blankets, but sleep didn’t come. Only the memory of Min Ho, his intense gaze, his voice whispering words that should never have been said.

"What about what I feel? Or what you feel?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. None of that mattered. It couldn’t matter.

...

The first rays of light filtered through the windows when you finally decided to get up. You went downstairs to the kitchen and found your friends already gathered. Yuri and Juliana were serving themselves coffee, Q and Dae were discussing a board game, and Stella was hugging Min Ho, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked at her phone.

Your stomach twisted.

"Look who decided to show up!" Yuri exclaimed with a smile. "We almost let you sleep, but Min Ho insisted we wake you up."

Your eyes quickly went to him, and you found him staring at you intently. He didn’t say anything, but there was something unsettling in his expression.

"Thanks for the gesture," you responded, pretending indifference as you grabbed a cup of coffee.

You tried to stay occupied during breakfast, participating in the conversation as little as possible. However, every time you looked up, you found Min Ho watching you, even when Stella was talking to him.

And then, Stella spoke.

"Since the snowstorm has passed, we could take a walk to the lake," she suggested excitedly. "It’s not too cold, and the view must be incredible with all the snow piled up."

"Sounds like a great idea," Q said, stretching.

"Hope you all have good shoes," Dae joked. "I don’t want to be the one carrying anyone if they slip."

"You say that as if you won’t be the first one to fall," Juliana retorted with a smile.

Amidst laughter, the group prepared to leave.

You tried to convince yourself that it was just a walk. There was nothing wrong with that.

Except Min Ho was there. Except every time Stella held his hand, your chest tightened.

The path was beautiful, surrounded by snow-covered trees. The cold air helped clear your mind a little, but not enough.

Min Ho walked ahead, alongside Stella. She was animatedly talking about something on her phone, while he simply nodded, not too interested.

"He’s looking at you again," Yuri whispered beside you.

"What?"

"Min Ho. He hasn’t stopped looking at you since we left the cabin."

You quickly shook your head. "That’s your imagination."

"Uh-huh." Yuri gave you a look of *don’t lie to me*. "Something happened last night in the hot tub, right?"

You almost choked on the air. "No! Why would you say that?"

"Because I know you. And because he looks at you like you’ve killed his dog and at the same time like he wants to kiss you again."

"Yuri," you warned, feeling your cheeks burn.

"I won’t say anything," she promised with a mischievous grin. "But you have to tell me later."

Before you could respond, Min Ho stopped and announced:

"I’m going to look for more firewood for the bonfire tonight."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stella asked.

"No, stay here. It won’t take long."

Your heart stopped for a second.

"I’ll... take a walk," you said to Yuri and Juliana, quickly walking away before anyone could ask questions.

You followed the path Min Ho had taken, the sound of snow crunching under your boots. You found him a few minutes later, picking up some fallen branches.

When he saw you, he dropped the firewood and crossed his arms.

"I knew you’d come."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t think you’re that important."

Min Ho let out a low laugh, but his gaze was serious.

"Are you going to keep pretending nothing happened?"

You took a breath. "I don’t want to talk about it."

"Well, I do."

His tone was different. It wasn’t the usual arrogance, nor his playful tone. It was deeper. More real.

"You kissed me last night," he said firmly.

You clenched your jaw. "It was a mistake."

"It wasn’t."

"Yes, it was," you insisted, your chest burning.

Min Ho took a step toward you. "Tell me you didn’t feel anything."

"Min Ho…"

"Say it."

You clenched your fists. You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him that because it would be a lie.

"You have a girlfriend," you reminded him.

"I know."

"Then this is over."

He took a deep breath. "I’m going to break up with Stella."

Your eyes widened with surprise and fear.

"You can’t do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn’t deserve that," you said, your voice trembling. "I don’t want to be the reason for that."

Min Ho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You’re not."

"Of course I am," you insisted. "If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be thinking about this."

Min Ho shook his head. "No. This was happening before. Stella is amazing, but she’s not…"

He stopped, but you understood what he didn’t say.

"She’s not you."

Your chest ached.

"Min Ho, don’t do this. Don’t complicate things more than they already are."

"And what do you want me to do? Stay with her just because it’s the right thing?"

"Yes," you said, even though every part of you screamed no.

He stood in silence, watching you.

"Leave me alone, Min Ho."

The words came out before you could stop them.

Min Ho blinked, as if you had slapped him.

"Is that what you want?"

You nodded, your heart breaking in your chest.

He pressed his lips together, then nodded stiffly.

"I understand," he murmured.

He picked up the firewood and started walking back to the cabin without looking back.

You stood there, with the snow gently falling around you, feeling like you had just lost something you would never have again.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[callsignpxnguin]

Whisky and Dreams

A John Price x fem!Reader fanfiction, inspired by a prompt by @dante-mightdie Click here for the AO3 version. Summary: John Price notices a young woman alone at the bar. Naturally, he’s intrigued.

Part One

The dim half-light fell on your face as you sat, silent and stone-faced, in the corner of the bar. The glass of wine you had previously been sipping on now sat forgotten in front of you, stagnant and cold, as you stared blankly into space. Around you, laughter and chatter erupted, drunken cries of delight mixing with cheers and off-tune singing as people writhed and enjoyed themselves around you, but you blocked it all out.

You had never been more miserable or lonely in your life.

And your ‘friends’ (or, rather, college acquaintances), the ones who had convinced you to join them in the first place, apparently couldn’t care less. You scoffed quietly. Why should they? For hot, confident twenty-somethings, it wasn’t like they had any shortage of suitors. And it wasn’t their problem if one member of the group hadn’t said one word all night, let alone join in with the mingling.

‘Why don’t you stay with the bags, then?’ The nicest girl — which wasn’t saying much — had told you when you all first arrived, a sympathetic, pitying sort of expression on her pretty face as she noticed your hesitance to join the fun. Even with an undertone that would’ve typically irked you, you didn’t have it in yourself to argue, and you had since resigned yourself to the idea that it was the best you were going to get and that you should be grateful for it.

A sharp, shaky sigh left your lips, as you finally glanced down and checked your phone for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. 12:34. Pretending to be in your own world was a challenging task when self-consciousness and anxiety seeped into your mind with every pair of eyes that fell on you. It had only been a couple minutes since you last checked, and the thought only made you more stressed.

Deep, rowdy cheers erupted from somewhere behind you, and even though you had been trying to stay inconspicuous and keep out of the way of what was going on, they were so loud that you couldn’t help but turn your head to the source of the commotion.

You didn’t know why you bothered. It was just a drinking game — about ten men, sturdily build and wearing various military uniforms were playing a game of beer pong in a booth, and a man with a spiked Mohawk and gleaming eyes had just won. A crowd of women surrounded them, about half of them girls you had came here with, and they were all cheering like maniacs. Military men were always popular, here, you recalled, with the bar being so close to a few known bases. It helped that they were all pretty attractive, in their own ways.

Out of pure curiosity and a need to do something instead of just sitting there miserably, you allowed your gaze to travel over the group. Playing with, and having presently lost to, the Mohawk man was a young-ish Black guy who looked entirely wasted. On a large table behind them sat the rest. However, a man clad in skull balaclava at the head instantly made you uncomfortable, and you quickly averted your eyes to the other end.

Wrong move.

Immediately your gaze locked with the gentleman that sat on the opposite side of the table. His irises were a comforting shade of blue, framed with lashes you would die for, and you registered how he seemed distinctly older and calmer than the rest of them. Whilst the other men were acting like hysterics, the only thing that illustrated his amusement was how one corner of his mouth was twitched up in amusement, thick moustache quirking. He nursed a whisky in one large hand, and the other rested on his knee.

You weren’t even going to try and lie to yourself. He was absolutely too old for you, absolutely out of your league, and absolutely your type.

His head cocked to the side ever so slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Even so, your unconscious admiration of the man instantly screeched to a halt as it happened, your neck snapping back over your shoulder, as you felt a flush come over your cheeks.

Fuck.

It was just your luck, wasn’t it? The one time you were genuinely interested in a man, and it was at a shitty bar with friends you didn’t even know the names whilst of having the worst time of your life.

“Just my luck…” You repeated sullenly, once again bringing your phone back out and preparing for another two hours of anxious scrolling.

Until a tap on your shoulder made you freeze.

“Fancy a refill, love?”

A heavy figure settled down on the stool beside you, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. Somehow you knew instinctively, like it was already a reflex for your body to recognise this man whose existence you had been aware of for less than five minutes.

A sharp inhale. “I’m… sorry?” You choked. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. You couldn’t even dare to look up. Maybe he wasn’t even talking to you.

“A refill. More alcohol. A little boost. Don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look awfully thrilled right now.” His voice was deep, his British accent not overwhelming but pleasing to the ears.

You hesitated. “I’m… I’m okay, thank you.” Your eyes remained fixed on the table in front of you. Fuck…

The heat of his body shifted. He was looking directly at you, now, you could feel it — feel how his eyes roamed your body, zeroed in on your face, analysed you and truly noticed you. It made you shiver slightly. “You sure?”

“…I’m sure…” A lie.

You wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the kind of person who knew how to respond to this kind of interaction, but you weren’t, and it was killing you to turn down the only person in the bar who you wanted to talk to.

Basically… you didn’t know what to do. You quickly concluded after he remained silent for a few moments that he must have been joking — and if he wasn’t, then he’d undoubtedly go to find someone else to chat up after your quick rejection. Wouldn’t that do wonders for your already-pitiful self-confidence?

It seemed you had predicted correctly. Just then, he stood up, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye as he left your side made his way over to the bartender — just as one of your friends sidled up to him, a drunken expression of flirtatious delight on her face.

You couldn’t keep your heart from dropping, and your forehead to slam onto the table in front of you with a defeated groan as he left. It was stupid to get jealous when you had rejected his offer, you knew that, but… your chance. Your one chance.

God, did you hate yourself.

Letting your eyes linger on the man even after his departure didn’t help. Your friend had nuzzled up to his side like she was some sort of cat, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes and biting her lip, and you could tell that she was showering him with compliments from the way he nodded every few seconds with a polite smile. The only thing that made you feel better was that he didn’t seem to be reciprocating the interaction quite as eagerly as she was, but that very well may have just been your jealous imagination trying to calm yourself down.

A bartender approached him, and a few minutes later, the man was handed with another glass of whisky and a red wine. You fixated on the way your friend eyed the second drink delightedly.

To both of your surprise, however, the man took the two drinks from the counter, stood up…

And completely ignored your friend, who looked a little dismayed but quickly busied herself with another man nearby. He walked right back to sit down next to you again and slid the wine across the counter.

The gesture was clear. For you.

“I know you said you didn’t want it, but just in case,” the man rumbled. He seemed almost amused with your obvious inner panic. This time you met his gaze, eyes wide.

“I…” Was he serious? Were you actually getting a second chance at this? “I… Thank you.” You swallowed, so nervous that your throat felt like sandpaper, and you winced at the feeling.

The man chuckled. “No problem, love. Figured you may have just been shy. If you really want me to leave, I will, but somehow, I get the idea that that isn’t the case.” He gave you a crooked smile before taking a long sip of his whiskey, the warm amber liquid sloshing around in the glass appealingly.

You didn’t know how to reply to that, drenched in fear.

For some reason, at that, his smile widened. “What’s your name?” He asked suddenly, after setting his cup down with a soft clink.

You told him quietly, voice shaking.

“Hmm. I like that. I’m John. John Price.” He held out a calloused hand, and you were immediately aware of how big and sturdy it seemed, “Nice to meet you.”

After a moment of stunned silence, you took it, the warmth and thinly veiled strength that enveloped your palm sending small shivers down your spine — and for the first time that evening, you offered him a small smile of your own. “You too.” Even if this was some sort of sick joke, wasn’t it nice to pretend? And that was the worst-case scenario. Which meant there was a good chance he was being genuine. You didn’t want to raise your hopes all too high, though.

“Thanks again,” you said awkwardly, nodding to the glass in front of you and taking a small sip appreciatively. The wine slid down your throat, the alcohol boost immediately putting a happy fuzz in your mind.

“As I said, no problem at all.” John nursed his whisky, and your eyes flicked to how the muscles in his arm strained with the movement. “Having fun?”

You couldn’t help but scoff softly. “Does it look it it?”

John’s blue eyes twinkled. “Good point. What is it that’s got you so down, then? If it’s some bastard, I wouldn’t mind dealing with him for you outside.”

A small laugh of disbelief left your lips. “Oh. Good to know. But… no. It isn’t some bastard, though for some reason I kind of wish it were, because then at least I’d have something to blame.” You paused. “I don’t even really know what the problem is myself, to be honest. Just this place in general. I would’ve gone home a while ago, but my friends want to stay a bit longer and I think I’m the DD.” You stared at your wine. “That ship may have already sailed, though.” Great. Now, instead of being unable to form words, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. The magic of alcohol was a true wonder.

You were relived to find that John didn’t seem perturbed by the sudden spluttered paragraph. In fact, he seemed quite pleased, by the way the corners of those gorgeous eyes wrinkled kindly as he listened. “Don’t seem like very good friends, if they leave you alone like that and don’t even bother check on you.”

“They’re not even my friends. They’re just— I don’t know, acquaintances.” You paused, frowning, as a flush gradually spread across your cheeks as more alcohol flooded your system. “I don’t know a lot of things, apparently.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” John commented, raspy voice ever so slightly softer than it had been before.

“Agree to disagree,” you sighed.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence — and the realisation surprised you, because a few minutes ago the thought would have seemed crazy.

You began to speculate about him as the silence lengthened, both of you sipping your drinks quietly as chaos continued to rage around. How old was he? What did he do for a living? What was his relationship with the other men?

Why did he approach you?

“You work in the military, right?” You suddenly blurted out, unable to keep the endless swarm of questions contained in your fuzzy brain.

He nodded with yet another smile, before gesturing to the men behind you. “Correct. Captain John Price, at your service. I’m in charge of most of of these lot. The rest are strays, but I brought them along because it’s been quite a tough time for them all and they deserved a bit of a break.”

You blinked. “That’s… nice of you.”

The captain huffed a laugh. “Well, as I said, they can all be pricks, but they’re the most hardworking and loyal pricks I know. Here, let me show you. That one there…” He pointed directly at the man with the Mohawk who had first caught your attention, who was now lounging with an arm over the man who had lost’s shoulder and watching another match of beer pong. “Scotsman we call Soap. Troublemaker and demolitions expert.” John’s finger moved to the man who had lost. “Gaz. Ex-SAS. Skilled like hell, but has a hell of a temper.” Finally, his finger settled on the man with the skull balaclava who had instantly made you uncomfortable. You shivered just setting eyes on him again. “And that’s Ghost. All I’ll say is, not a man you want to mess with.” He didn’t need to tell you twice.

Maybe if you hadn’t been as drunk as you were, you would’ve been a little freaked out, but at present, you didn’t really care. You had to take a second to absorb the new information in, before musing, “I have to say, those are some odd names.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate me giving out their real names to a stranger, pretty as she may be.”

Any form of response died in your throat, as a burst of heat spread through your body and raised goosebumps along your arms at his words. God, he was so attractive, and so sweet, and so attentive, and he smelled so good — like smoke and pinewood — that you just wanted to wrap yourself around him and bury your head in his chest and—

“You alright there, sweetheart?”

“I— huh?” You inhaled sharply as John brought you out of your momentary compliment-induced stupor. ‘Oh, yeah. Fine. Just fine. Amazing, actually.”

“That so?”

 You nodded earnestly, preparing to explain just how amazing you really were, when the movement caused you to lose you balance, and you swayed dangerously on your stool.

You squeaked, just as a large, warm palm spread across your shoulder and kept you in place. “You… are drunk,” John said carefully, his hand remaining on your shoulder for a second too long before he removed it. Not that you were complaining.

“Pretty drunk, yeah,” you agreed weakly, heart faltering at the mini heart attack you had just given yourself. You were definitely a lightweight.

“I’d say even more so than that, love. You sure you don’t want to start heading home?”

“But… my friends. I’m the DD…”

Price scoffed affectionately. “Don’t mean to assume, but you don’t seem too close with your friends, and you’re going to get pulled over the second you try to drive like this. Look, you want me to give you a ride home or something?”

“I…” You hesitated. It probably wasn’t a good idea to give a stranger your address — especially a military captain who couldn’t even tell you the names of his comrades — but you were just about out of money for the night and he was so attractive. “Would you?”

“‘Course. Promise not to murder you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added, with a small quirk of his lips.

“…Reassuring.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Good to hear. Well, if you’re ready to go now… then c’mon, love, let’s get you home.”

Word Count: 2671

Stay tuned for the part two, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[dotomuses]

morbidial (fatui x abyss!reader) child neglect, mention of death, violence

00 — remember me.

it’s not that you don’t remember, it’s just that there’s a lot you don’t. it’s painful, to reach out into whatever clear corners were left in your mind to find any trace of you and not those of a creature from the abyss. whether it’s some spell of subserviency, some sick side-affect of the void, or your own mind, you just can’t remember.

but you do, don't you? you choose to forget. you can try to convince yourself that it’s to keep the abyss from having any more leverage on you, but that’s a lie. you don’t want to remember because you still mourn, you keep mourning a life you never had.

of course you remember a soft hand swiping over your face, to wash dirt and grime off of you when they first found you. you remember the same hand pushing you away when you cried, because snezhnaya does not believe in tears.

you remember her too. you remember your mother. you remember her gentle laughter and her close-eyed smile, you remember her scornful glances and the way her hands tensed at loud children. you remember her disappearing for months for work and returning with the nice men and their big guns.

you remember your siblings welcoming her back, the elder girls and boys clapping and bowing, while the younger ones sprang and beamed at her. you remember wanting to do the same, but feeling lightheaded and ill when you saw her. weariness, you learned later, was what you felt.

you once wanted, so bad, to be a part of the big family you lived with. barely eight, with big, hopeful eyes, clinging to the coat of the man who brought you there, staring up at the big colosseum of a house and the many children running around there.

you had once been so ecstatic to start this different life, after the troubling one you had so far, seeing all the children laugh and run around. but you were a hare among rabbits and a dog among wolves. your life so far had made you too harsh for the innocence of a normal childhood and too weak for one of hardships. you tried to blend in, but it was hopeless. did you try too hard, or not try hard enough?

trying to join in on games was easy at first, everyone was excited at the prospect of a new playmate, a new sibling. but when you recoiled too harshly at being touched and caught in a game of tag, they pulled away, awkward. you liked to draw too, but showing others your pictures made you shy and embarrassed, but the children thought of you as egoistical. small things, very, very small things, made you too odd to be around. 

the other children would find your unblinking stare unsettling, and your stillness unnerving. it wasn’t that the house of the hearth didn’t have its own black sheep, but let us not pretend you were a lamb. an ugly duckling, who wasn’t a swan chick in the wrong nest, but a loon out of water.

eventually, your oddity just became you. you didn’t understand why nobody at all talked to you. the children in your years swerved around you, not wanting to attach themselves to a weed like yourself, and influenced by their elders, the new children avoided you like a plague.

it was… unbearable. your situation is so pitiable and morose that you fell into a mood too sombre for a little youth. isolation and loneliness sent you into a dark place, and the fragile hope that rested in your bones was shattered with every rejection you received. a little child, depraved of the stimulating feeling of joy and the company of your only community. a little child, taken from one poor family to another. a bird first held under the water, and then taken away to be held under sand.

nobody saw you. nobody at all. not your absent mother, not the caretaking mistresses, not your “siblings”, nobody. you had managed to get through it for the first year, but your peace had cracked quickly after. loneliness had irreparably, irreversibly, permanently been changed into a different person. at some point in your childhood, you became violent, scratching at anyone who came too close, and sneering at just about anyone with cutting words. you had hoped your outbursts of anger would have made you more noticeable, and the scolding of others made you beam with satisfaction. 

only until of course, the scoldings thinned out, and the house left you be, hoping to satiate you with silence and alone-time. you could have laughed at the irony of it if you didn’t feel so ridden with despair, your ears perpetually ringing from the quiet, your efforts truly were useless weren’t they?

your only method of releasing any pent up energy and dismay was the training your mother insisted every child in the house must participate in. beating at dummies with a stupid wooden club to hopefully beat away at your steadily growing morosity as well. 

your… vigor, if you could call it that, finally got you noticed. by one person, an old lady who patrolled the corridors, playing the role of a “captain” for all the children who trained.

she alone patted at your scars, giving you the simple opportunity of being more. more than your siblings. your depravity allowed you to cling onto any such praise, lighting a bit of a darker competitive streak in you, a blaze of fury stifling down anybody else who even tried to overtake you.

your “captain” prodded at the monster you were becoming, encouraging scuffles rather than reprimanding you for them. she didn’t defend you when the mistresses shrieked over your teeth biting into a girl’s arm, or your foot to a boy’s jaw, letting you snarl back at them yourself.

she created a small young beast, wrapping the thread of your broken heart and fragile soul around her wrinkled fingers, letting you rely on a person you thought truly valued you. perhaps she truly did. you chose to ignore, to forget the bite in her voice when you couldn’t perform well, pushing with more determination to make her proud of you again. you chose to remember her wired hands pulling at your face, joyful of your violent drive and cold sophistication.

your wooden club was replaced by a sword in a month, and your opponents went from dummies to the nice men with big guns who agreed to the lady’s offer to spar with you. you’d always stop at a blade to their throats, a victory, or a breathless lean against your weapon, a failure.

you, for once, felt complete. worthy. useful. even more so when your opponent grumbled congratulations, surely you were allowed a little smugness at fighting grown men and winning.

your mentor passed shortly after you came of age. you mourned for two months and a half, grieving the one person who gave you a glance that lasted longer than a second. the familiarity of your life fell and faded quickly, your spars less frequent and your days more empty.

you didn’t feel upset. she had been ailing for a while, and her death must have brought her peace. peace that you would cherish for her, in the place of her withering corpse. you were old enough to contribute to what she and the house had trained you and your siblings so long for, the mother government of snezhnaya, a nation you’d never even gotten close to visiting. 

your years there, however few, got you a strange reputation. right from the very start of your soldiership you were avoided by those under the knave, your mother, and the others caught along quickly. your team of weaker gunmen and hammer-wielding men were assigned to you simply so you could keep them alive long enough to fulfill their own duties. you found it nearly disgusting, the lack of their ability and their belief in their own contribution to the motherland. what did they think they were contributing to, sitting around while you hunted food and intruders alike? useless folk. all of them.

you tuned it out, your irritation, as you have and would many times over. your goals did not sit still like your comrades, but changed by the will of your leaders. did you consider them worthy enough to listen to? maybe not, but the sense of security you got in following orders, anchoring yourself in a community, gave you life.

then came the abyss, with her gentle hands, whisking your alice liddell self away into a wonderland, and you found security in being powerful.

dear, (name), how does it feel to hate enough to floor cities to the ground? to feel angry enough to swipe your claws at any man remotely brave enough to approach you? to be stealthy enough to evade your weak life in the overworld for centuries, and strong enough to keep yourself from dwelling over it? you have become one of the many gems from the abyssal cave. 

beautiful thing, do hope that the prince and his people do not bore themselves out at musing over you.

your peace comes in fragments, make them whole. at least, live trying. your stillness becomes that of a lynx, and your unblinking eyes that of a snake. your harshness is the beak of a loon. your claws are sharp and your canines sharper. they adore you more than anyone else ever has. 

value it, value them.

don't forget.

interaction appreciated !

ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ i will probably continue the sagau series as well, but i'm a little demotivated to finish it. i am planning to turn this into a series, please do share ideas and thoughts >< it does help in keeping that drive to write a bit.

[kyeomkuppie]

Rooftop.

Pairing: Wonwoo x gn!reader

Genre: I honestly don't know but let's just say crack and a pinch of angst

Warnings: Wonwoo thinks reader is about to commit suicide

Synopsis: You were just trying to get a better look at the sky, but someone misunderstood and tried to save you.

You valued your peace of mind and the best way (in your opinion) to clear your mind was to look at the stars. At the edge of a rooftop.

Yeah, not the smartest idea but who cares!

Technically, anyone was bound to see a random person standing at a rooftop, misunderstand the situation, then call for help. Something you didn't exactly take into account.

And bingo as you had guessed, not only did someone see you, someone was at the same rooftop thinking you were about to jump, and you being at the edge didn't exactly help either.

Out of nowhere, you felt yourself being pulled backwards. Your back was now against the chest of a random stranger, and to make matters worse, on top of him.

"Uh, excuse me?" You were baffled and you didn't really know how to explain without him thinking you were lying "Can you let me go, please?"

No answer.

Oh shit. Is he dead? I don't think I'm that heavy though. You were thinking of the endless possibilities of you being charged for involuntary manslaughter. Great.

You finally feel the person who you thought you murdered move. "Are you okay? Why did you pull me like that? You could've been hurt!" You turned around only to be left awestruck. At least he was handsome.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his breathing was heavy, yeah it isn't the time for flirting. "How could you treat your life like it's something to be toyed with! You can't simply choose to end it because things are getting rough." His tone was stern and angry— but wait.

What? Your mind short-circuited for second. He thought you were doing what!

"What about your loved ones and the people who would blame themselves for your death? At least think about all those variables before treating your life like-"

"Excuse me?! I was just standing like a normal person, looking at the damn sky. I wasn't toying with my life, I was enjoying it!" You were starting to get riled up as well, couldn't he at least wait to hear what you had to say about yourself— and wait, what does he even have to do with it?!

"You shouldn't lie about things like this! If you need help, say it."

There's was no convincing this man. "Listen here stranger, if I needed help I would in fact ask for it. But can't a person watch the fucking sky in peace." You huffed "Why are you even making a big deal out of it? It's not like we know each other."

You pushed his hands which were gripping you away. "At least try to understand, I mean it's not the smartest thing to do, to stand at the edge of a rooftop I mean, but I assure I wasn't trying to do anything you were thinking of."

You had an idea! Not the smartest either but good enough "Want to grab a meal?" If he didn't say yes, you'd bury yourself alive, but you wouldn't have to see him again. If he said yes, you'd resolve that misunderstanding and you could go your separate ways.

He suddenly realized that his body was so tense and his body was still on the ground.

You gulped as he proceeded to get up. His features became more clear. His face had a soft expression but his eyes were sharp, so was his jaw. Yeah, you were right, he was one handsome fellow.

He was weirded out by your spontaneous personality. One moment you were all angry, and the next you were asking him to grab dinner? Yeah, not normal.

"Fine. I'll pretend that I believe you, and we'll go grab dinner. But for the love of god go stargaze anywhere but at the edge. I had the ambulance ready." He scratched his neck.

"Okay Mr. Overdramatic." You laughed, it was a peculiar day, not the peaceful kind you usually preferred, but definitely a day to remember.

"Wonwoo."

"Hm?" You tilted your head in confusion.

"If we're going out for a meal, you might as well know my name." He shrugged.

Yeah, he had split personalities, you were sure of it.

"[name]." You extended your hand "It was nice meeting you here— wait what were you doing up here?!" Your eyes widenened.

"I was stargazing."

"Yeah, no shit. I'll pretend that I believe you." You mimicked him from earlier.

Inspired by that one scene in true beauty.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[enigmaticxbee]

Tropes & More - Fic Recs

All the tropey-goodness!

Body-Swap:

Underneath Your Skin by crescentmoon222 - Dreamland AU, NSFW

What if Feels Like for a Girl by @mldrgrl - Dreamland AU, NSFW

Dreamland III by @admiralty-xfd - Dreamland sequel

Flea Market Economy by Punk

I’ll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours by Tv_Saved_The_Teenage_Girl

Masters of Time by @sisterspooky1013 - time travel to 1960s Masters of Sex, NSFW

Times Colliding by onlytheinevitable- time travel 1998/2018 body swap, NSFW, WIP

Cubed by Louise Marin - Scully wakes up as an alternate version of herself, NSFW.

Parallel by @sisterspooky1013 - Scully wakes up as an alternate version of herself, NSFW.

Fake-Dating:

Never by Allison Kinney - Undercover, NSFW

Diversion by @sisterspooky1013 - Stakeout, NSFW

Just Another Dinner Party by @somekindofseizure - Undercover at a swingers party during Arcadia

Amish Country by Lolabeegood - Undercover with the Amish, NSFW

We’re Married Now by @skinfull - Undercover in a cult, NSFW

Hallowed by onlytheinevitable - Undercover in a cult, NSFW

More Than a Feeling by @sisterspooky1013 - Undercover at a carnival, NSFW

Undercover Swing by 2momsmakearight - Undercover at a sex party, NSFW

It’s Just Pretend by @storybycorey - Undercover in a motel, fake sex turning into real sex, NSFW

The Marriage Spectacular by @cecilysass - Lost FBI agents. Stormy weather. A marriage retreat in a mountainside inn with one room available.

The Newlywed Game by onlytheinevitable - While going out for dinner, Scully runs into an ex and Mulder valliantly pretends to be her husband. However, that little lie traps them into having to play the Newlywed Game in front of a bunch of strangers and they have to navigate admitting feelings they haven't even admitted to themselves.

Baseball Metaphors by @leiascully - Scully runs into an ex and they pretend to be dating, NSFW

Just Go With It by @skinfull - Mulder runs into old high school classmates and they pretend to be married, NSFW

The Annapolis Grant by @slippinmickeys - AU, Scully pays Mulder to play the role of her boyfriend, NSFW

Wedding/FBI Ball Date:

Plus One by @alienqueequeg - Mulder convinces Scully to let him be her plus one at an old friend's wedding, NSFW

Hardball by Missy Pennington - Scully gets a sexy red dress to wear to the FBI ball when she finds out Phoebe Green will be attending

Five Ballrooms by @admiralty-xfd - Five Christmas parties. Five separate POVs.

The Twelve Tropes of Christmas by @mangokiwitropicalswirl - Christmas ball and all the tropes

Holidays:

far away and to the west by @audries - Thanksgiving with the Gunmen

at the close of the day by @audries - Thanksgiving on the road

Fairies, Skip Hence by @slippinmickeys - Christmas at the Scullys, NSFW

Shades of Winter by @piecesofscully - Christmas at the Scullys, NSFW

Marshmallow World by @agoodwoman - Christmas 1998, set Season 6, our beloved agents are working under AD Kersh. Mulder and Scully get into the holiday spirit. NSFW

Regular People by @chimerical1975 - Thwarted Christmas plans, impulsive decisions, and unexpected visitors make two extraordinary FBI agents into regular people. NSFW

Chicken Dinner by @cecilysass - Dinner at Mrs. Scully’s. Mulder overhears Maggie speaking to her friends about her daughter’s relationship with her partner. What he hears floors him.

Gingersnap by @cecilysass - Holiday baking, NSFW

if the fates allow by @all-these-ghosts - Christmas with Mulder and Scully, 1993-2016

Birthdays by @syntax6 - seasons 1 through 7

One Bed (see Faking Dating above too):

Let’s Play a Game by @danasculllie - Motel room Truth or Dare, NSFW

Truth or Dare by Adrienne - Mulder and Scully have a wicked game of Truth or Dare while sharing that hotel room in Rain King. NSFW

Twenty-Questions and a Winter Storm by @danascully77 - NSFW

Designated Mulder by onlytheinevitable - Mulder had always wanted to see what Scully would be like drunk, but he didn't anticipate it would finally happen on the one night they had to share a bed. NSFW

Sexy Snowed-In by @peacenik0 - Mulder and Scully are snowed-in together, will they find a way to escape their boredom? NSFW

Hot and Sticky by Megan Reilly - One hotel room, two FBI Agents...and it's a hell of a hot night besides. NSFW

One room. One bed. by spooky66 - NSFW

Free Merlot at the Cool View Motor Court by @sarie-fairy - post The Rain King, NSFW

Turn that damned thing off by @sunflowerseedsandscience - The Rain King missing scene.

Time Enough At Last by bayloriffic - The Rain King missing scene.

Conversation in the Dark by Cass - The Rain King missing scene.

Stop Me by Gina Rain - post The Rain King, NSFW

Unbidden by @phillippadgettwrites - NSFW

Bunkmates by @leiascully - There's only one hotel room, and it's got a special surprise.

Expense Report by 13th_blackbird - The Bureau conducts an audit, and Scully considers the costs.

Scully/Other:

Universal Invariants by @syntax6 - set over the course of a canon-parallel version of season 1 and early season 2 where Scully’s boyfriend Ethan who was cut from the pilot sticks around. NSFW

Early On by @sunflowerseedsandscience - Mulder and Scully are drawn to each other from the start but Scully is still with Ethan. NSFW

Homicidal Tendencies by Swikstr - Casefile crossover that pairs Scully with the detective from Homicide: Life on the Street. NSFW

You He Did Not Fail by extraordinarily_ordinary - After Scully leaves the X-Files for a position in LA a case brings them back together. Starts Scully/Other but ultimately MSR. NSFW

Original Sin by @syntax6 - post FTF Scully moves to Utah. Scully/Other but great MSR. NSFW

Arizona Highways by Fialka - Visions of Melissa lead Our Heroes on a case confirming the existence of a series of Emilys. But does Melissa really have a message, or is it all in Scully’s head? Scully/Other but ultimately MSR. NSFW

No Regrets by MystPhile - During Arcadia Scully reconnects with Detective John Kresge. Ultimately MSR but not until the very end. NSFW

Promises to Keep by Prufrock’s Love - post Requiem Scully/Skinner, I really struggled with this one, but still an interesting read. NSFW

Heart’s Desire by @malibusunset - post Two Fathers/One Son Scully reconnects with an old boyfriend during a case. My favorite Scully/Other fic - ends in MSR, but it’s probably the only fic where I’ve thought that Mulder might be the wrong choice. NSFW

La Lacuna by @aloysiavirgata - Scully explores her feelings after Milagro while investigating a murder. Scully/Other but ultimately MSR. NSFW

Mulder/Other:

The Waters of Babylon by @aloysiavirgata - As they prepare to become Rob and Laura Petrie, Mulder thinks back on his life and the paths not taken.

Seventeen by @scapegrace74-blog - Explores how Mulder's sexual relationships shaped (and mis-shaped) him as a man. Each chapter represents a different partner. Mulder/Other, ultimately MSR, NSFW

Triptych by @iconicscullyoutfits - married to Diana AU, ultimately MSR

To Love Somebody by Tess and Jacquie LaVa - In the midst of attempting to have a normal romance, Mulder's escalating feelings for Scully, and her deteriorating health due to her advancing cancer, make it impossible for him to commit... Mulder/Other but ultimately MSR. NSFW

The Guts by @wtfmulder - How would Scully react if Mulder dropped an open condom wrapper in front of her? MSR but dealing with Diana.

Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys by Prufrock’s Love - post series, Mulder/Other and MSR, NSFW

One for the Road by @phillippadgettwrites - post breakup, Mulder has a girlfriend but mostly MSR, NSFW

Pregnancy/Baby/Family:

The Family G-Man by Neoxphile and FelineFemme - A double tragedy strikes Mulder the week before Christmas of 2003. What if he could go back and change things, save the son one lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them safe? NSFW

Five Years and a Lifetime by @monikafilefan @slippinmickeys - One night stand AU. Five years later, Scully and Mulder work at the same pediatric hospital, and Scully's four year old daughter bears a striking resemblance to the picture of a dark haired girl that sits on Mulder's desk... NSFW

In the Best Interest of the Child by @mldrgrl - AU When tragedy strikes, Mulder is forced to take guardianship of his young niece, but the matter is complicated by the arrival of a sister-in-law he's never met.

The Way Things Are by Sukie Tawdry - One night and their whole lives were changed forever. Season 1 AU. NSFW

Right Hand Return by humphreywrites - Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

All That Is Dark and Bright by @malibusunset - Emily lives AU. NSFW

Five Years and One Night by Shalimar - Scully leaves the X-Files post-Emily but gets drawn back in when Mulder discovers Emily wasn’t the only child created. NSFW

Intimacy Deux by Mojo - The one in five billion happens. NSFW

40 Weeks by @malibusunset - What if the IVF attempt in Per Manum had been successful? NSFW

A Boy and His Fox by 6hoursgirl - What happens when two FBI agents have a platonic relationship based on trust and mutual respect...and an exchange of genetic material. NSFW

The 13th Sign and 7 Days in May by Prufrock’s Love - Post-Deadalive. Mulder saw no reason for life, death, sex, Armageddon, or emotional dysfunction to stand in the way of true love.

Hurricane Season by rah and beduini - Post-Existence week at the beach with the Scully family and baby Wim. NSFW

Terra Firma series by @malibusunset - Post-Existence domestic family drama, a classic comfort read for me. NSFW

Misc:

Partners With Benefits by onlytheinevitable - Friends with benefits, NSFW

Truncated by Lysandra31 - Scully and Mulder find themselves in a tight spot. Spooning ensues.

You Send Me by @spooky-nerd - Portals keep popping up around Mulder. It's rather inconvenient until he realizes it's possible the universe is trying to tell him something.

[youremyheaven]

Moon Dominance & Manipulation pt 2

TW: murder, rape, genocide, violence, assault, death etc etc

Here's part 1

In part 1, I spoke about the manipulative nature of Moon dominant people, in this post I will be exploring it further and providing more examples.

I think its interesting that the Moon dominant nakshatras, namely, Rohini, Hasta & Shravana are Manushya gana (Rohini) and Deva gana (Hasta & Shravana). It is very telling because even though these natives say and do terrible things, they enjoy squeaky-clean reputations and people usually perceive them as angels. If they were Rakshasa gana people would see through their bs more quickly.

Ariana Grande- Hasta Moon conjunct Jupiter

Ariana has said and done numerous problematic things over the years, from cheating scandals, blackfishing, donutgate, being extremely rude and arrogant, changing races every few years, to cringe ass over-sexualised lyrics, to being a homewrecker, Ariana is super duper messy YET she enjoys public and media support and is seen as America's sweetheart. Other people have lost their careers for less but Ari gets away with absolutely everything. She publicly admitted that Pete was her rebound guy (she was engaged to him) which is such a shitty thing to do to someone?? Like imagine if the genders were reversed lol

Ariana is a solid example of always seeming like the innocent person even though she's the messy one. Even with her latest album, its pretty obvious who cheated on who but she's been subtle enough with her music to make it seem like her ex cheated on her (she made him sign an NDA upon divorce which in itself is SOOO sketchy like what is she afraid of him revealing????) to imply things like that when you've put the other person in a position where they literally cannot speak for themselves is peak Moon dominant manipulation. She then posted a half assed story on IG asking fans to stop attacking "people in her life",,, its so apparent that she incited the whole thing in a super calculated manner and once she got what she wanted, she tries to pretend to be the good guy whose fans did all the terrible stuff🙄

Selena Gomez, Pushya Stellium, Mercury in Ashlesha atmakaraka (they both lie in Cancer which is Moon ruled)

I wouldn't have included rashi rulership but Selena is an exception. She's the queen of playing the victim and is second only to Meghan Markle. Selena sets her fans on different hate trains every other week. She's very wary of showing support to social causes. She worked with Woody Allen. She treated her best friend & kidney donor like shit, was a terrible gf to Justin Bieber, treated Demi like shit during a really tough period of Demi's life, can't sing at all yet, produced a whole TV show (13RW) that is extremely triggering for people with mental health issues and was advised by MANY to change things but she just didn't??? honestly, if you watch her documentary you can see how she's the most self-absorbed narcissistic person, every single thing has to be about her all the time.

Despite all this, Selena is almost universally loved.

Amy Dunne from Gone Girl is THE best example of a Moon-dominant person and the extent to which they'll go to ruin your life. Amy Dunne was played by Rosamund Pike who has Shravana Sun conjunct Mars

Amy had such a squeaky clean image that it was impossible to convince anybody that she was the sociopath who tried to fake her own death.

Leonardo DiCaprio- Hasta Moon

Leo is a creepy middle aged man who only dates women under 25, lives for the yacht life and spends his free time partying and doing drugs, all of which is fine but these are things that other Hollywood men come under fire for ALL the time, yet Leo is pretty much everyone's favourite, he's the environmentalist humanitarian even tho he's private jetting to his private island to party with models, even tho he's received flak in the last couple of years for dating women much younger than him, its still more of a running gag than anything serious. He hasn't suffered because of it in any way. His reputation is still intact.

John Lennon- Hasta Sun, Shravana Moon

John was a wife beating, child beating, abusive to multiple women, made fun of people with disabilities, pretended to be an anti establishment hippie even though he accepted an MBE from the Queen of England (he returned it years later in protest) and yet he is remembered as a counterculture icon and one of the most talented musicians ever. He was a violent abusive man who preached peace. Although he was a philanderer himself, he was obsessively jealous and possessive towards the women he became involved with. Lennon was an extremely wealthy man who lived a rich lifestyle, but he said that we should "imagine" a world with no possessions or greed. In short, he was a hypocrite. Yet he is still remembered fondly unlike sooo many other figures in history.

Amal Clooney, Shravana Sun conjunct Venus

speaking of hypocrisy, here's Mrs Clooney, the human rights lawyer who wears $34,000 worth of clothes while championing the poor. She attends gala and balls wearing clothes worth thousands of dollars to "raise money for charity" whilst being married to a man who has a net worth of $500 million. Like I'm sure he could just write a cheque?? The Clooneys throw a lot of charity balls/dinners/parties etc as well and its so funny to me because its obvious they're doing it to keep a certain image before the media, whilst also getting all glammed up and having fun, without doing anything tangible to actually help anybody. imagine your job is to represent refugees, unfairly imprisoned heads of state and advise the UN and you also split time between 5 different mansions all over USA and Europe in private jets lol yet Amal enjoys a good reputation for being a girlboss

Gwyneth Paltrow- Rohini Moon

Lady Goop is a nepo baby and has a net worth of $200 million yet she feels the need to make money off of people by selling bullshit wellness products like $55 sex oils, $400 meditation mats, mouth tape, vibrators, theraguns, vitamins, health supplements and god knows what else?? She's one of the many westerners who sell commercial spiritual nonsense to the masses but coming from someone as rich as she is?? like maa'm?? she promotes so much alternate medicine bullshit on her podcast as well, there is obviously real actually helpful alternate herbal treatments/medicine etc etc BUT that's not her focus she talks about getting rectal ozone therapy (not kidding) and shoving garlic in her ears to clear her chakras and spreads misinformation. there are plenty of people in america who can't access health care, imagine how you're endangering them by suggesting that rose quartz and mouth tapes and candles will cure you. She promotes a eating disordered diet as a "healthy one". all in all, she's sketchy but people just make fun of her and don't see her as someone manipulating innocent people into buying super expensive "alternate medicine" from Goop.

Helena Blavatsky- Hasta Moon & Venus

Helena is the co-founder of the Theosophical Society and was an international leader figure in the Theosophical community. She basically helped promote eastern spirituality and philosophy in the West except that she's lied about pretty much her whole life, so its hard to confirm literally anything about her. She died in 1891 so at the time when she was alive there was no way for others to prove whether or not she was lying, they just had to take her word for it. She lied about training with sages in Tibet and lied about her mystical experiences, plagiarised ancient eastern texts to write about her "spiritual discoveries" etc There's plenty of proof that she was nothing but a charlatan yet I find it interesting how she still has a devoted following and even in her lifetime enjoyed a good reputation as a mystic medium lmao

Ranbir Kapoor, Hasta Sun & Mercury, Shravana Moon & Rohini Rising

Ranbir gets a lot of hate as of late but for the most part he has enjoyed a really good reputation despite being a shitty person.

Jeane Dixon- Rohini rising

She was a psychic and astrologer who predicted the JFK assassination.

John Allen Paulos, a mathematician at Temple University, explored the tendency of Dixon and her fans to promote her few correct predictions while ignoring the larger number of incorrect predictions, naming this habit "the Jeane Dixon effect."

Many of Dixon's predictions proved erroneous, such as her claims that a dispute over the islands of Quemoy and Matsu would trigger the start of World War III in 1958, that American labor leader Walter Reuther would run for president of the United States in the 1964 presidential election, that the second child of Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau and his young wife Margaret would be a girl (it was a boy), and that the Soviets would be the first to put men on the Moon. (excerpt from her wiki)

basically she had no real powers but managed to convince others she did, her clients included Ronald and Nancy Reagan lol

Jordan Peterson, Hasta Moon , Rohini Mercury & Shravana Ketu

He is a good example of the worst type of Moon dominant man. He has said among other things:

That class conflict is a natural and eternal struggle for existence that no political or economic revolution could ameliorate. The individual must develop an aggressive, alpha-male attitude in order to climb the social ladder. Peterson is kind of obsessed with power (all Moon dominants are lol) acc to him only a strong will, exercising itself against a contingent and meaningless world — and against the weak — can one ever hope to flourish.

Jordan Peterson endorses the idea that some men are purposely denied sex by women and that conventionally attractive men are 'taking all the sex' from other 'deserving' men. As a result, he suggests that by assigning women to men and pressuring them to 'settle' and have sex with isolated men, they wouldn't be so "angry at God" and commit acts of mass violence and murder. This, as well as criticizing birth control and saying that women would be happier if they just "allow themselves to be transformed by nature into mothers," is dangerous rhetoric that reinforces patriarchal violence against women.

He's a manipulative asshole who propagates his sexist harmful chauvinistic views as pseudoscience or psychology ew

Freud- Rohini Moon, Hasta Mars

i couldn't make a post about Moon dominance and manipulation without mentioning the godfather of promoting his fucked up worldviews as science, Mr Sigmund Freud aka the most successful Moon manipulator who has caused permanent lasting damage to society

Sigmund believed that homosexuality in men is neurotic but not particularly problematic. Lesbianism, however, he considered a gateway to mental illness.

This (according to Sigmund) is because only men have moral sense. We all evolve from apes, so no human is born with it. But boys acquire morality through the castration complex—the fear that their fathers will emasculate them for their misbehavior.

Having nothing obvious to neuter, girls and women are essentially amoral, lying and conniving to get what they want. Girls must be guided through civilized life by a father, and a woman by a husband. And because they choose not to marry, lesbians remain loose cannons, fundamentally untrustworthy and unstable.

His daughter Anna was his closest intellectual and emotional companion. Yet she was a lesbian.

Freud taught that lesbianism is always the fault of the father and is curable by psychoanalysis.

Freud cautioned followers that analysis is an erotic relationship. Analyst and patient together must scrutinize the amorous feelings that flow between them. This being the case, by rules he asked his followers to honor, Freud could not attempt to cure his own daughter’s lesbianism.

 he also overgeneralized a lot of his “findings” such as the oedipus complex to apply to all people, which was harmful in the early stages of the formation of psychology. today most of his theories are disproven and widely considered problematic. Freud was obsessed with sex and made everything about sex (Moon men are sex addicts and every Moon man I've mentioned so far has a weird relationship with women)

he is credited with being the first psychologist to actually listen to women's problems but when he did listen to them, and many of them told them of their SA experiences, he changed the narrative to "women want to screw their daddies so they have these dreams/fantasies of sexual encounters in childhood" (the Electra/Oedipus Complex) to sell his books. He LIED basically, he manipulated the truth into something disgusting.

Freud is credited with making psychology a legitimate field and for it gaining attention worldwide but he literally manipulated, lie, overgeneralised and in general spewed a lot of toxic nonsense in order to get attention, like Gwyneth with Goop or Helena with Theosophy.

Sobhita Dhulipala- Rohini stellium

Sobhita like most others bought a brand new face for herself yet masquerades under the "im not like other girls, i read" nonsense, she talks about acting, art and self love like she's some committed thespian when girlie cannot act to save her life. she says she does not work out just cleans her house and does chores to stay fit :) bc she's not like other shallow actresses, she does her own chores :) compared to most other people on this list she's harmless but I find her super pick me and pretentious

Moon dominant people are very good at picking up on lies, and understanding human behaviour because they're liars themselves lol, it takes one to know one.

Azealia Banks- Rohini Sun

she's truly unhinged af and a very vile person but some of the people she's called out are also terrible people and tbh her insults are so poetic lmfao

dont get me wrong i think she's a terrible person but there is some truth to some of the things she says which is what i meant by how Moon dominant people understand human behaviour. also Moon dominant people are HATERS dont expect them to say anything nice about anyone lol

I had a friend who would deliberately compliment every other girl we were friends with (Rita is sooo pretty, Lily is so stunning etc etc) but would never say ANYTHING nice about me EVER and when others complimented me she'd act like she didn't hear it or something lmao (it was wild) and one day I straight up asked how come you never say anything nice to me and she said "oh I didn't know you needed compliments from me, I thought you got enough validation from others, I didn't know you were desperate for more" 😭😭😭😭LIKE GIRL WHATTT, honestly making these posts and exposing the dark nasty side of Moon dominant people is helping me heal from all the toxic abuse I endured at the hands of this shitty girl and some others ughhhh that's the reason why these posts have more personal anecdotes than any other post i've made lol

Oprah Winfrey, Shravana Sun & Venus

Her show was pure exploitation of peoples problems and also gave a platform to the equally exploitative Dr. Oz, the king of fake science, and Dr, Phil, the king of fake psychology.

It's a well known fact that she's friends with Harvey Weinstein & Jeffery Epstein despite being a "supporter" of the Me Too movement. Not to mention, she gave a platform to the phony Michael Jackson accusers from Leaving Neverland (do the research, they're liars) while turning a blind eye to the actual sexual predators of Hollywood, like Weinstein.

Her style of journalism seems to favour the shock value of a breaking news scandal rather than actually seeking the truth.

Several celebrities have come forward to talk about how poorly they were treated on the show. Oprah loves to relish in the misery of other ppl and ALWAYS makes others deeply uncomfortable with the straightup rude and hurtful questions she asks them.

Ellen DeGeneres, Shravana Sun & Venus

the fact that two of the most sociopathic TV hosts to ever grace television has identical placements is so telling. Ellen has been exposed in the last couple of years for being a terrible person to work with and treating her guests like shit. What I find even more interesting is the fact that the person who sort of initially exposed Ellen for being a manipulative liar is Dakota Johnson who has Hasta Sun & Mars, when I tell you that Moon dominant people deeply understand human behaviour and the psychology behind people acting the way they do, this is what I mean, it takes a Moon dominant to understand the manipulation of another one.

Kristen Bell, Hasta Moon

she probably has one of the most toxic marriages ever and yet speaks of it so glowingly and always talks about "how much work" it is to stay married like girl💀💀maybe exit the marriage then?? she has such a sweetheart image but she has admitted that she gives her children non-alcoholic beer, locks them in their room at night, makes them shower with her to "save water", talks to them about their father's addiction and their sex life??

"We make funny videos but we also go to couple's therapy because we disagree on 99.9 percent of issues," she said at the time. "There are days when I'm completely sick of him, and there are days when he is completely sick of me. But we've chosen to love one another and to be a team. We've learned how to communicate and argue in a really healthy, respectful way."- Kristen said this about her marriage like girlie nothing about it sounds healthy, if its this much work then it probably isn't love lol

Kate Winslet, Hasta Sun, Moon & Rising

Winslet has worked with predators like Woody Allen, Harvey Weinstein & Roman Polanski and after Me Too, she shifted her narrative as public opinion regarding these men, whose crimes and accusations have been well documented for decades, has thoroughly shifted to the point where associating with them is no longer good for her and would like to join the right side of history. She & Leo have partied on Jeffrey Epstein's private island as well and she's one the many signatories who signed a petition to free Roman Polanski ewww

This is one example of how image conscious Moon dominant people are, she has no moral compass and had no issue working with all these predators for decades but once it became apparent that she wouldn't benefit from associating with them anymore she's suddenly all "omg terrible men i wish id known better" lol what a liar

She also played a sociopathic Nazi in the movie The Reader

Josephine Baker, Rohini Sun

Josephine Baker was a dancer known for her banana skirt dancing. Later in life, she adopted 12 children from different ethnicities and spent the rest of her life raising them. She is remembered as an icon and for her activism but her children have come out to describe how abusive she was to them.

During her participation in the civil rights movement, Baker began to adopt children, forming a family which she often referred to as "The Rainbow Tribe". Baker wanted to prove that "children of different ethnicities and religions could still be brothers." She often took the children with her cross-country, and when they were at Château des Milandes, she arranged tours so visitors could walk the grounds and see how natural and happy the children were in "The Rainbow Tribe". Her estate featured hotels, a farm, rides, and the children singing and dancing for the audience. She charged an admission fee to visitors who entered and partook in the activities, which included watching the children play.

She created dramatic backstories for them, picking them with clear intent in mind: at one point, she wanted and planned to adopt a Jewish baby, but she settled for a French one. She also raised them in different religions in order to further her model for the world, taking two children from Algeria and raising one child as a Muslim and raising the other child as a Catholic. One member of the Tribe, Jean-Claude Baker, said: "She wanted a doll".

Baker forced Jarry to leave the château and live with his adoptive father, Jo Bouillon, in Argentina, at the age of 15, after discovering that he was gay. Moïse died of cancer in 1999, and Noël was diagnosed with schizophrenia and is in a psychiatric hospital as of 2009. Jean-Claude Baker, the unofficial addition to the Rainbow Tribe, committed suicide in 2015, aged 71.

Angelina Jolie, Rohini Sun

Jolie was clearly inspired by Josephine Baker. she adopted children from different ethnicities and even bought a Chateau in France to raise them in (just like Baker did). For many years Jolie received a lot of flak for her unconventional parenting, like frequently travelling, homeschooling all her kids and not giving them a bedtime or any kind of stable daily routine. I can't comment on it too much because there's not that much about their personal life on the internet but what I do find very interesting is how Jolie has always used the paparazzi to push a certain image and stay relevant. We know that paps only come when you call them, even Beyonce never gets papped, so its very much possible to live a lowkey life. Angelina gets papped absolutely all the time for the last 20yrs, it was especially bizarre because it was obvious that she was trying to shed the "homewrecker image" by always being photographed with her kids doing mom things and its a bit problematic to think that she's using her children as pap fodder to push an agenda. Again, I think Brad is an abusive person but he often spoke back in the day about his desire to keep the children out of the public eye but Angie had to shed her weird punk goth who kissed her brother and was addicted to bad men and drugs image so she tried to present herself as the kind humanitarian and loving mother, I'm not saying that she isn't those things, except that girlie will make sure the paps are around to photograph her doing these things like she called the paps to her daughter's first day of college bro likeeee

Here's a very old article about how smart she is at crafting her image. Again this is not in and of itself a bad thing but it's kind of bizarre to realise how image conscious people can be and how something that seems so "real" and "natural" is actually a well calculated move on their part.

Angelina also played the sociopath Lisa Rowe in the movie Girl, Interrupted. people often associate this character with her Revati Moon but i assure you this is all on her Rohini Sun

Russell Peters - Hasta Sun

Russell is really good at studying people, accents, mannerisms etc which is what makes him a really good comedian but he's also fckn rude and disgusting from time to time.

Honestly Moon dominant men always spew the most vile shit, they talk about people especially women in THE most disgusting way. actual psychopaths ew especially the cocky self assured way in which they say all this bullshit???

Errol Morris- Shravana Sun

he is a documentary filmmaker whose work focuses on the epistemology of the subject, he's obsessed with human nature and trying to understand why people do what they do, all of his docus focus on vvv unusual people, death row prisoners, defence secretary instrumental in the vietnam war, insurance frauds, a man who designs death machines, pet cemeteries etc Morris focuses on people who are questionable to say the least, he tries to humanize people perceived as evil or bad (Moon dominant af lol bc who else would be interested in the motives of bad ppl??)

This preoccupation with human nature is deeply tied to the nature of Lunar people. They have a need to understand "motivations" and what drives people to do what they do. There is an innate tendency to pathologize or pick apart behaviour. This isn't inherently a bad thing but it is something I have noticed among Lunar people.

James Randi- Rohini rising

He was a magician and skeptic who spent his life exposing other people and their paranormal and pseudoscientific claims.

Moon dominant people are skeptical of everything and the least likely to believe in anything, they're always looking for the truth because they deeply understand human ugliness and believe everybody else is like that (they see themselves reflected in others, which is to say that if they're capable of it, then so must others).

Roman Polanski- Hasta Rising

pedophile and child rapist Polanski has directed movies like Rosemary's Baby, Chinatown, The Palace, The Pianist etc,, all of his movies have heavy elements of deceit, lies, manipulation etc all of his characters are looking for the truth.

Claire had mentioned in her video about wealth as to how Rohini (Venus is domiciled in Taurus) (Moon exalts in Rohini) creates contentment and this leads to stagnation because dissatisfaction is what creates growth. If someone is content where they are they decay. I think this can be broadly applied to all 3 Moon naks because they have no other motives, nothing to dry them so they start rotting on the inside and doing terrible, horrible, evil things. Venus and Moon embodies the ugliness of humanity.

Josef Mengele- Hasta Moon

He was a Nazi doctor who conducted abhorrent and deadly medical experiments on the prisoners at Auschwitz and administered the gas to gas chambers. He was nicknamed "Angel of Death"

Lenin- Shravana Moon

if you're familiar with the history of the soviet union you will know that Lenin wasnt exactly a sweetheart

Heinrich Himmler-Hasta Sun, Shravana Rising and Ketu in Rohini

he was a prominent Nazi leader who is "credited" with "designing the Holocaust"

Edward Teller- Rohini Moon

This is the guy who betrayed Oppenheimer and is called "the father of the hydrogen bomb". he later expressed guilt over his involvement in the dropping of atom bombs over hiroshima and nagasaki

Henry Kissinger - Rohini Sun & mercury

he was a warmongering asshole who i hope is rotting in hell. he's one of the worst human beings to have ever existed due to the sheer scale and capacity of crimes he enabled and the millions of people who died as a result. i have extensively talked about how Moon dominant people lack empathy, they literally do not care about others, they are selfish to the point where its actually disgusting and pathetic and this guy is one of the worst examples

During the 1968 presidential election he was in the Johnson administration but wanted to get in good with Nixon. So he leaked information about peace talks with North Vietnam to Nixon. They then went on to use this information to sabotage the peace talks and in turn the election.

He committed treason to extend the Vietnam War, ultimately by seven years. That alone makes him a rare breed of terrible. But it’s also damning because it shows how he ultimately believe in anything other than that he deserves to be close to power. He was willing to play games with millions of human lives over a job. And he would have been in the Humphrey administration if Nixon lost, so it was just a job he wanted more. He didn’t care about fighting communism, the rule of law, patriotism, anything. His death toll alone puts him on a short list of the worst people to ever live, but most of the people on there did what they did for an ideology.

He’s also been described as “the Forrest Gump of war crimes.” He just shows up for no good reason in the history of so many atrocities. Often he ordered them, but he also installed dictators who would carry out genocides. There’s worse people in history, but none who have been involved in so many separate crimes.

just read anything about this vile shitty man and you will understand the kind of cruelty and apathy Moon dominant people are capable of.

moon dominant people are "good" with political & military strategy because they dont care about anybody's well being except their own lol

one time i spoke to a Moon dominant guy and he said that there's no such thing as altruism or selflessness and that everybody behaves in their self interest, i found that very cynical and disturbing and he said even people who do charity or appear to be kind are only doing it because they want others to see them that way and that really says more about the nature of Moon dominant people than anything else. he also said he loved attention of any kind and would do anything to trigger people just so they'd react and give him attention lol basically he admitted to having sociopathic tendencies. He was Rohini Moon. imagine being so morally bankrupt and soulless that you cant believe there's goodness in this world or that people are good with no agenda lol I feel bad for people who have to live life being that bitter, imagine rotting on the inside like that

Herman Kahn- Hasta Moon

He was a military strategist and developed the nuclear strategy of USA during the cold war. which is to say his entire job revolved around manipulation. He is quoted as saying:

"At the minimum, an adequate deterrent for the United States must provide an objective basis for a Soviet calculation that would persuade them that, no matter how skillful or ingenious they were, an attack on the United States would lead to a very high risk if not certainty of large-scale destruction to Soviet civil society and military forces." 💀💀💀(avg moon dominant man be like)

In Kahn’s book, the Doomsday Machine is an example of the sort of deterrent that appeals to the military mind but that is dangerously destabilizing. Since nations are not suicidal, its only use is to threaten.

ok thats it for now besties whewww

i am not claiming that all moon dominant people are terrible people so if you have these placements dont take it to heart. i do however think that the dark side of the moon dominant native is truly terrifying. all i wanted to do was shed light on that.

[iheartbrink]

it will rain — chap. 1

 ⠀ ── ⠀ pair: pastors daughter!stewie x oc

 ⠀ ── ⠀ warnings: extremely heavy religious talk, religious guilt, talks of conversion camp, all the things, this is wordy and too long.

 ⠀ ── ⠀ a/n: my brain is fried from writing this.. not proofread whatsoever.

Breanna knew what she was doing was wrong. Every fiber of her being screamed it. She knew that by crossing this line, she was damning herself. Damning herself not just in the eyes of her parents, her church, or her peers, but in the eyes of God. The teachings she’d grown up with were clear: girls like her were not meant to love girls like Madison. They were meant to confess these urges and purge themselves of these sinful desires. Yet, here she was, on the precipice of something that could never be undone.

She knew, with bone-deep certainty, that if her mother—let alone her father—ever found out about what she was doing, she would be sent away. There would be no forgiveness, no understanding, only punishment. Maybe she’d be shipped off to one of those camps. Or perhaps they’d try to “pray the gay away” during one of the church’s all-night revival sessions. Either way, Breanna wouldn’t be allowed to stay.

She would be sent away.

Sent away from the one person who had ever truly seen her. Sent away from the only person who made her feel as though she wasn’t walking through life with a mask on, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Sent away from her first love, her real love. The one she’d never expected, and yet couldn’t deny.

But what if she wasn’t sent away? What if her secret remained? Could she live with it, knowing it defied everything she had been taught? What would it mean for her, and Madison, if they managed to keep this under wraps? Would the love they shared be worth the risk of eternal damnation?

 ⠀ ── ⠀

Rosewood, California, wasn’t exactly a place for people like Breanna. Not for a queer girl growing up under the suffocating expectations of the church. Certainly not for the daughter of Pastor Stewart, who led Rosewood Catholic Church with an iron grip on morality. In this small town, Breanna was not just Breanna Stewart. She was the Breanna Stewart—church princess, moral compass for others, and the girl who seemingly had it all figured out.

But no one knew about the unrest raging beneath her exterior. Not her father, her mother, or even Lucas—the boy she was supposed to be in love with.

Lucas was a nice enough guy, she supposed, but Breanna couldn’t help the gnawing emptiness she felt whenever he kissed her. There was no spark, no fire, only an odd sense of obligation. She tried to convince herself that this was just how things were meant to be. That she should feel lucky to have a good guy like Lucas, but deep down she knew it was a lie.

Because whenever she looked at her best friend, Madison, her heart surged in a way it never did for Lucas. The way Madison laughed, the way her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, the way she smiled at Breanna like she was the most important person in the world—those things ignited something within her she could not deny.

Breanna had convinced herself for so long that she wasn’t gay. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. After all, being gay was a sin, and Breanna Stewart didn’t sin. At least, she wasn’t supposed to. But the feelings she had for Madison were impossible to ignore. She could push them down, try to hide them away, but they always resurfaced, stronger each time.

And tonight, they were about to come to a head.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

Breanna knew that coming to this party was a terrible idea. She knew the moment she stepped through the door that she should’ve turned around and gone home.

She had told herself she would stay for an hour, just long enough to show her face and then leave before anything went too far. But somehow, she found herself drawn into a circle of friends playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, a game she had heard about but never dared to play. Not with Madison sitting right next to her, her best friend, her not-so-secret crush.

Now, she was about to enter that dark, claustrophobic closet with Madison. Seven minutes. Alone. With the one person, she had forbidden herself from ever thinking about this way. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stood up to go inside, the air in the room feeling thick and oppressive.

“This is a bad idea,” Breanna thought, over and over again. But her feet kept moving, carrying her forward. She told herself it was just a game, just an innocent little game. She could kiss Madison, prove to herself that it wasn’t all that. Prove to herself that this was nothing more than a phase.

“Kiss her once, show yourself how horrible it is. Then you’ll never crave it again,” Breanna whispered under her breath as they stepped inside the cramped space together.

But the moment Madison’s arm brushed against hers, doubt crept in. The warmth of her skin sent a shiver down Breanna’s spine. The familiar scent of Madison’s perfume filled the small closet, making it hard to breathe.

What if this wasn’t as bad of an idea as she had convinced herself? What if kissing Madison wasn’t a mistake, but rather, the thing she had been denying herself for so long? What if, instead of pushing her further away, this kiss brought them closer together?

She swallowed hard, torn between the pull of desire and the fear of losing everything she had built with Madison.

“Just a quick kiss,” Breanna murmured, the words barely a whisper, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. Madison’s eyes widened in surprise, searching Breanna’s face for any sign of uncertainty.

“Are you sure?” Madison asked, her voice soft but filled with concern, her breath warm against Breanna’s cheek.

Breanna nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yeah. Just this once.”

Madison hesitated for a moment, and then leaned in. Their lips met softly at first, a gentle touch that sent a shockwave through Breanna’s entire body. Her breath hitched, and for a second, she thought about pulling away. But something deeper took over, and before she knew it, the kiss deepened.

Time seemed to stop. There was no party, no game, no world outside of this kiss. There was only Madison. And as their lips moved together, slow and tentative at first, then more confident, Breanna felt something ignite within her that she hadn’t known was there.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Breanna knew in that instant that this wasn’t just a moment of weakness. This wasn’t a mistake to be buried and forgotten. This was the beginning of something far bigger, something she could no longer ignore.

It wasn’t a sin. It was love. And love, no matter what they said, couldn’t be wrong. Could it?

[hughiecampbelle]

Cagey (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 2,121

Listening To: Julianna by Zoe Stroupe

Trigger Warnings: sa/sa mention

A/N: Me writing about my issues again 😅 I'm so grateful to be home, but it's also really complicated, and my step dad just makes things hard. He's been really stressed out about his job, which makes him angry, and he's been taking it out on everyone like it's our fault. I told my Nana what he's said/done to me, but she said to just get through it to help my mum. I know that's what I'm supposed to do, but there wasn't even a second of understanding, yknow? It was hard opening up in the first place and now it feels like it's all my fault. I didn't deserve it though. I didn't. My family always talks about what he's done to my mum or my brother, and I know it's impossibly selfish, but I wonder what I did to make it seem to them like I deserved what he's done. Writing has been really hard lately and I'm just a big crybaby mess lol. Thank you for being patient my loves and just being there for me in general. 💓💘🩷💝💗💖💕

You weren’t always a bad dog. 

An unlikeable thing. All teeth and spit, gums and gore. They say you like the taste of blood, but they are wrong. They say it to make themselves feel better, to sleep better, to name you a monster. Weaned on fury and shame, you never had a chance. You gnaw at your wounds as a reminder of this, red pooling between your incisors. Constantly forgetting, little pup, believing what’s happened will not repeat itself. Surely, this will be the last time, you think, you convince yourself. They have proven this a lie so many times, but you choose to forget. Forgive. Pretend as if your scars have faded when they are gaping, screaming mouths across your skin. They are hungry and so are you. You bare your teeth in hopes that, one day, someone will see through the facade. See through the violence, the aggression. You fear (quietly – this want, as all wants are, are unspeakable) that no one will. You growl and stare and pant. No one is allowed to get close. The naive, the arrogant, place their fingertips in front of your lips. They believe themselves different. They have put their faith and trust into an animal that does not act rationally. In your eyes, they are all him. They are all hostile, explosive men who punish you for being born a rotten dog. Men who laugh when you cry. Men who make you believe you have done something wrong when all you have done is defend yourself, your blood. You don’t want to do this, you never have, but they must pay as you have. It’s the only justice you know how to serve. So, you open wide, tasting them. They think they have won. They think you have unlearned to be feral. And just as they begin to gloat, and just as they begin to grin, that is when you bite. That is when you sink your teeth into their fleshy, soft forearms and chew them to ribbons. To bits. That is when you give them a taste of their own medicine. And they will beat you, and they will berate you, and that is when you will go back to the familiar, your solitude, and curl into yourself and wait for the men to come again. For now, you are safe. For now, the danger has passed. 

They have not learned their lesson and neither have you. 

You are still a bad dog. Older now, your fur pale, your eyes tired, though (foolishly) just as forgiving. Just as forgetful. Someone, though, has finally seen right through you. Past your mouth, your sharpness, to your humility. Humanity. Your nakedness. He does not unlike you. He does not unlove you. You are not a pet or a plaything, but something beyond words. It’s the cynic in you, to seek like mindedness. To seek ruin. To be seen like that, like this – just as you are – is too much. Sometimes, you wish to bite and gnaw and scare him off. Bark and see if he backs away. Test the limits. You wish to be thrown back in that cage, to be screamed at, just to know he is like them. There is order in men like them, there is a sense of security in their cycles. Brace for impact. They all loved the way you flinched. But he does not. He has yet to do so. He has yet to flee. Instead, he sits. He waits. He cleans the wounds you have torn open in seeking the feeling of home. He offers what he can, unsure of how to put it in a language you can understand. Your mother tongue is violence. He does not reciprocate. He asks you questions, but does not expect answers. He never minds filling in the silences, the gaps, the cavities where your response should be. He is there through the messiness. He listens, patiently, starved for information. He watches you in awe. Here is someone wild, untamed, undomesticated. Here is someone who has no problem turning on others if it means keeping themselves in tact. And yet, you are still capable of love. You are still capable of caring. Slowly, you relearn. You wake each morning different than the day before. It's a long, painful process. Realizing how wrong it all was, how young you really were when it happened. It leaves you wondering what you might have turned out like if things were different, if they hadn't done what they did, taught you what they did. That it was your fault. That you were asking for it. You were a dog, but before that, before everything, you were just a little kid. A child. 

The thought will drive you mad, but you cannot help but wonder. 

 You drink too much, in need of help getting home. The room falls on its axis. The cracking, broken feeling in the middle of your chest has grown numb. Your thoughts, wasp-like, have settled into a deep sleep. Those drives are long and full of tears. They slip down your face easily, effortlessly, as if you were made to do it. You can’t hold them back. There’s no stopping them. Memories, flashbacks, they meld and mix, playing before your eyes. You talk yourself down. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. You ball your fists and suck in air. And in between breaths, and in-between gasps, small pieces of the story come out. You weren't born bad. Rotten, perhaps, but not bad. And certainly not a dog. There was a kindness to you, a self-sacrificing manner that let you lay in the road and wait to be struck, happy, eager to be killed so that others may survive. Those things happened, and you let him. Those things happened, and you didn’t say a word, afraid. Keep the peace, she told you. You thought that’s what you were doing. You hoped you were saving her from the truth, from reality, that you were his prey. His chew toy. And then, tired of the shame, you said something. But that still didn’t change anything. You became worse. Began growing claws and fur. Began sleeping in a cage. More men came after that, before them boys. They named you cagey, refusing to see the root of the issue. It's all my fault, you think, you feel, you say in desperate moments like this. It's all my fault. The sentence plays on loop. Thoughts. Thoughts of failure, of dread, of terrible things happening because you deserve them, because you exist. The first time it happened, he was startled. Shocked. Scared, even. In front of them you are quiet, and calm. You smiled and laughed when you were supposed to. You never let on. You listened, offering advice, a shoulder to cry on, expecting nothing in return. You have put that other side of you in a muzzle. Locked it away and threw away the key. At least, that’s what you thought. This is the real you, though. Drunk and crying, angry and feeling bad for getting angry. Your sharp edges have come out. Struggling to breathe. Grieving everything. Every loss, every touch, every word. Every last bit of you. 

Now he waits, he offers what comforts he can afford, he grabs your hand without ever taking his eyes off the road. The story is broken, fragile and frail, like the spine of a beloved book. The flimsy foundation paints a story of a man, a woman, and a child. A family of sorts. An unhappy one full of secrets, and blame, and anger. Not just bursts or sparks, but a fury only the sun could mimic. Somewhere between the beginning and now, you were created. Monstrous, you think, but he doesn’t see it that way. You used to be barefoot and wild hair. Unruly, but not feral. Wild. You don't know where that person went, but you miss them. You miss them every day. Unafraid. Now, when someone raises their voice, their hand, panic sets in. It picks up the beat of your heart. Pounding, thrashing, banging its head against the wall. You fear it will stop completely. It sends tingles down your arms and hands. They’re going numb. They’re detaching from you. Your stomach churns and flips, practicing her acrobatics. The middle of your chest has cracked open, a gaping wound where something crucial is missing. You can dig, and claw, but you will never find what it is you’re looking for. You clutch at the emptiness, grasping at nothing, hyperventilating, like the wounded dog you were made to be. Crybaby, you think. You vocalized this once, only once, because the despair and guilt in his expression was too much to face. You keep it to yourself. 

He squeezes your hand. He promises just a few more minutes (you will hit every red light). He will open the door for you, helping you out, up. He will walk you through the apartment and into your room. It is the same song and dance and yet, you expect something to happen. Something awful. He will hurt you or you will hurt him. You will forget yourself: you will growl and he will grow angry. He will kick you out. He won’t show up when the bar calls in the first place. He will mock, and scold, and laugh at your tears. Thousands of variations play out in your head, before your eyes, but not once have they ever come true. He will sit you down on the bed. Delicately, always asking first, he will pull your shirt over your head. He will untie your shoes and fold down your jeans. You will sit, exposed, wincing, waitting. He doesn’t act as they have. He isn’t greedy, he does not expect things from you because he has shown an ounce of kindness. He will appear just when you begin to worry, to become afraid, with something to sleep in, warm and soft and smelling of fabric softener. I put them in the dryer for a few minutes, he beams, and you are relieved. He is gentle, grazing you, your scars, just barely. His skin is warm. He smiles at you as if nothing has happened, as if you have not burdened him another night, as if you are not a mangy animal sitting on the clean bed you share, too drunk to dress yourself. Or, maybe not. You’ve done it in the past. Pick yourself up off the bathroom floor. Flung your clothes where they could no longer touch you. Slept violently in whatever you could find.

Maybe you just like the feeling of being taken care of. 

Come here, he says, and you feel like breaking. He pulls you into an embrace, wrapping himself around you. It’ll get better, he says, and he sounds so sure. You’re not sure why, but a small, sober part of you believed him. It will be. Eventually. When he lets go he moves towards the bed, undoing the blankets and duvet, placing the pillows just how you like. While you sink in, he grabs a glass of water, some painkillers, anything to help the hangover in the morning. He’s always doing that: trying to ease something in you. Worries mostly, but also illness, aches and pains, nightmares and panic attacks. You don’t want to bite him. You don’t want to scare him off. You don’t want to be put down because of your anger, your rage, your wrath. You want to be good. You want to deserve this, but even now, your thoughts muffled by the vodka, say you don’t deserve him or any kind of goodness. Before he leaves, his laptop opens in the living room, the tv quietly showing a different angle of another uninteresting Homelander interview, he kisses your forehead. He’ll stay up, work, and when the time comes to join you he will slip by your side. He won’t make the first move, instead he waits, but does not expect, until you roll over, nuzzling yourself into him. It’s his favorite part of the day.  When you wake in the morning you’ll watch him sleep, his chest rising and falling under your head. Hughie doesn’t look at you and see you as a bad dog. You’re neither bad nor a dog. You’re not feral, or cagey, or untamed. You’re not a mutt with claws and sharp, bloodstained teeth. You’re you. The person he loves. The person he shows every piece of himself to. The person he cares about most. A struggling person, sure, but that isn’t a moral failing.

And he’s right: it will get better. Perhaps slowly, perhaps painfully, but it will. It always will.

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 | Part I | Part III

Summary: In a world were designation was everything, it was bad enough being caught in the middle as a beta. Strong enough, but never at the top of the pyramid, despite bonding a dragon revered among human and dragon kind alike and channeling a signet seen once in a century.

To present as an omega behind enemy lines... well that was an entirely different sort of curse.

CW: Dub-con, Non-consensual marking, Smut in general

Part II

Xaden

“Did you have to tell him my intentions for Violet?”

“I’ve kept plenty of your secrets, boy. I won’t lie to my mate when he asks a simple question about his rider.”

“Sgaeyl—”

“Tairn and Andarna knew the risks of bonding an omega when they chose the girl. They only waited this long to tear into you because they hadn’t sensed her presentation.”

“Will you kindly remind him that she’ll be in the worst of her heat long before they reach Navarrian soil regardless?"

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” 

Xaden scowled. He wasn’t about to touch that mental bond with a ten foot pole. Turning back to Violet, his displeasure only deepened when he noticed the smug little smile she wore. She was completely convinced her rescue team had arrived and she’d only be a few hours behind her squad mates in returning home. He wondered how long it would take her to realize the next dose of the serum cutting off her signet and mental channels had been served in her food before the first could wear off.

“Liam, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.” Like run through the Riorson House in nothing but his sweater. He doubted anything short of his mark on her neck would be a deterrent for the other alphas occupying the building. A day or two more and that would no longer be a problem.

“BRING THE GIRL!”

“Fuck,” he hissed. He’d never had another dragon in his head and Tairn was doing nothing to mask his fury.  “Nevermind. Just do me a favor and make sure people aren’t losing their minds out there.” Jaw clenched, he gathered the pants and underwear he’d stripped off of his omega just an hour ago. “You may see your dragons, but don’t think for a moment you’re getting on one of their backs.”

She swallowed, eyes widening slightly when he knelt to help her into her clothing. “Are you going to stare all night, or do you want to see your dragons before you’re glued to that bed for the next week?” Her nose crinkled at the reminder of her impending heat, but another deafening show of impatience from outside had her scrambling to dress. She didn’t even bother mouthing off about how he hadn’t brought her a suitable top, too concerned with reaching her dragons before all the noise turned into actual damage.

Keeping a firm hold on her arm, Xaden guided her back downstairs and out of the building where the two scaled beasts had announced themselves. It was Andarna who shot forward. Though the Scorpiontail was fully grown, her youth was shown all too clearly by her impulsive behavior. Xaden had never given any credit to the rumors a feathertail had bonded the youngest Sorrengail, but now he could see for himself it was a reality.

Tairn growled low, the sound more of a threat to him than a correction even as Andarna stopped short, a blast of hot breath breaking across his face. Protective of both females, then. “Release my rider. She will gather her armor and fly home tonight.”

Violet trembled beside him. It wasn’t out of fear. She knew and trusted these dragons, likely more than her own flesh and blood. The next time he drew a breath her soft scent was all he could gather—almost cloying in its new strength. 

“You’ll fly her home? How much time could you shave off of a seventeen hour flight, Tairn. Because I don’t think she’d make the trip and be in any form to choose an alpha you’d find more exemplary. I haven’t tried to pretend I deserve an omega, but the fact remains she was caught on Tyrrish soil. I have every right to claim her for making the mistake of crossing our borders without invitation.”

“I can make the trip just fine,” Violet spat.

Xaden ignored her protest, suppressing his smirk as she tugged the collar of his sweater away from her neck. “You made some gamble in choosing an omega as your rider. I won’t try to dig out an explanation for that. I honestly don’t care.”

“The first smart decision I’ve seen you make tonight.” 

“Tell me then, why you think this is the worst option for her? Staying in Aretia, being able to fly and fight for the right side of this war after she’s marked? Can you guarantee Navarrian leadership is going to overlook her dynamic to keep her signet active, or is she going to end up passed around to a bunch of assholes who want to knock the great Sorrengail line down a peg?”

He wasn’t about to mention he’d be sharing her with Liam. It was a better case than he’d painted with his little speech now, but it wasn’t going to help him by any means.

“You know the real war we’re fighting here, Tairn. Let her fight it too.”

“Flying will help.” Violet insisted, stubborn to the very end. “The cold air…” 

She made a soft little sound, stumbling towards Andarna when Xaden finally released her. The female coiled around her to preserve the body heat Violet was already struggling to regulate. Angry as they were with him, both dragons knew she had a better chance of gaining a purpose here than in Navarre.

Tairn growled again, eyes glowing brighter with the sunset long passed. “You will give her the antidote to whatever drug you’ve been using to block her signet and communication immediately. If you make any attempt to put her at a further disadvantage than she already is, you will learn very quickly that dismemberment doesn’t always end in loss of life. Is that clear?”

“Your terms are agreeable.”

Andarna glared as he took a cautious step closer. “Let me get her back to her nest, Andarna. It’s the best thing either of us can do for her at this stage. Please, let me prove to you that I can help her through this.” She relaxed, slowly uncoiling her tail to release Violet who thankfully only hesitated a moment to stagger back to him, despite having not heard half of the conversation. “Let’s get you inside, little one.”

~~~~~

Violet

Violet was less than pleased with her dragons’ recap of what had been said when their bond was silenced. Logically, it was the best course of action, but her instinct to run as far from this place as possible was still barely cutting through the mental fog of her looming heat.

“Did they truly release Rhi and Colin?”

“We crossed paths when they first took flight," Tairn told her. "They’ll be back at your assigned post by now.”

“Good.” 

She drifted towards the bed again, worrying her lip when she realized just how much of Xaden’s clothing she’d gathered in her nesting phase. “It’s natural, even if you hate the alpha arranged for you.”

Arranged. She didn’t think she’d ever heard her dragon speak so delicately. “Careful, Tairn. You almost sound concerned for my state of mind.”

He grumbled something in his own language that had Andarna tittering and Violet couldn’t help but smile. “I won’t bother requesting you maintain your shield through your heat. Ours will remain in place, but this will likely be an interesting experience for all of us.”

Violet groaned. “Just what I need. Two unwilling voyeurs.”

“In truth a human’s mating cycle is not so different from a dragon’s. Especially the younger generation. When—”

“And that’s enough of that. Thank you, Tairn.”

Even if one of her dragons was inclined to expand on that thought, Violet doubted she’d do well in listening. It was one change after the other. A volley of sensations that left her breathless and aching. Alongside the building fire under her skin there was a sharp cramping in her abdomen, slowly morphing into an incessant throbbing. A moment later her pants were soaked through.

“Fuck no.”

“Violet—”

“Get out of my head!” 

She could feel the sting of emotion from Andarna. Regretted yelling at her dearest friend the moment the words had been projected. But she’d meant it, too. Her careful control was being ripped from her in a matter of moments and the only solution was found in an alpha she wanted nothing to do with. It was all humiliating enough without being coddled through it.

She hadn’t realized she’d dropped to her knees until she was being lifted up and cradled against a warm chest, the now familiar scent of leather and mint washing over her. It was almost as soothing as the low purr Xaden offered so freely. “Into your nest, now.” She whined when her back hit the mattress and he pulled away. “I’m not going anywhere, Violet. Just gonna get you out of these pants again. You’ll be more comfortable.”

He groaned when he caught sight of the slick clinging to the fabric of her underwear. Long and low, the sound sent a shiver through her body. “Gods, Violet. By the end of this heat you won’t be able to sit straight in that damn saddle.”

Violet winced as the throbbing between her legs grew, desperate to find some sort of friction to temper it. The moment she aimed to press her thighs together, however, Xaden had his knee up between them. His chest was parallel to hers then as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You will not hide from me, Omega. If you need something, ask for it like a good girl.”

The fabric of his pants was rough against her skin as he applied a bit more pressure and let her roll her hips as best she could from her position on her back. “Ask me.” He reached under the sweater she wore, thumbing over her nipple. “You’re going to break for me one way or another. Why resist what you want and need, Violence?” 

She let out a frustrated growl, forcing herself to go still against his leg. “Don’t need an alpha.” Her hand was flying before she could think better of it, but her heat had already left her sluggish, and Xaden hadn’t lost his senses the same way she had. He saw the blow coming, pinning her wrists to the bed with one hand before she could think to do it again.

Then his teeth were at her neck.

He hadn’t bit her hard enough to leave a permanent mark, but the sudden pressure did what it was intended to do, reminding her of her place in all of this. Establishing his control of her in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted. She went still beneath him, a whimper caught in her throat when his hand dropped between her legs, two fingers dragging through the hot slick there.

After a moment of teasing her that way the pressure lifted just enough for him to land three stinging swats directly over her clit. She wailed from the shock of it, still nearly frozen beneath him when he finally pulled his mouth from her neck. “Try again, Omega.” 

She swallowed. Pushed through the need, the craving that had every muscle and bone aching. The desire to feel him claim her completely. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t what she wanted when she was in control of her body and mind. “Don’t,” she rasped. Xaden leaned down to hear her better. “Don’t. Need. An. Alpha.”

He pushed off of her, leaving her to flounder in her attempt to master the desire and relief warring within her. “What are you doing?” she asked, watching wisps of shadow slither across her nest as he retreated, smoothing down his clothing. Her arms and legs were spread wide before he finished straightening his clothing. “I’ll be back in an hour. Maybe then you’ll have another answer for me.”

Her discomfort morphed all too quickly to panic. But Riorson was already out the door. She tried to breath through it, ignore the unforgiving bindings around her limbs and the smaller shadows licking across oversensitive flesh. He was likely still nearby if their security hadn’t dwindled. Might even be able to hear her through the door if he’d lingered or returned early.

It didn’t take long for Violet to realize she had no chance of winning this game. Of making it through this heat alone, even if he released her. She sobbed as a particularly brutal cramp set in, low and punishing. It felt like a consequence for her stubbornness. She hadn’t even realized she was begging until the anxiety clouding her senses was soothed by that same low purring from before. 

He’d been listening after all.

“Say it again,” he crooned, stripping his clothes and letting her add the soft cotton shirt to her nest. “Tell me what you need, Violence.” She hesitated. “Say it again, Omega.”

“I need you.” His hands ran up her legs, almost entirely wrapping around her trembling thighs. “Please, Alpha. Please.”

He shuddered, dipping his head to scrape his teeth across her scent gland. “Not so hard, was it?” Even when her bindings fell away he left the more delicate shadows to tend to her, teasing her breasts as he began to move down her body, stopping when he was level with her center and lifting her legs over his shoulders. The warmth of his breath shocked her, but he was quick to still her squirming, hands gripping her hips. “There’s a good girl. Such a sweet little mess for me.”

She wasn't sure why his words settled her so easily, but she didn't exactly have time to think on it, either. The heat of his mouth was all she knew after that. Every stroke of his tongue indulgent to himself even as they replaced that awful cramping with something softer, rapid in its growth. She reached down to card her fingers through his hair, her grip tightening when the rough pad of his thumb worked over her clit. Every muscle in her locked at the sensation. “Don’t try to hold it in,” he growled, “or it’s going to be a very difficult week for you. Come for me, Violence.”

Sobbing, she gave into the need. Shed her pride for the relief she knew she could find, no matter how she felt about Xaden Riorson as a person. There was no more talking after that, his verbal encouragement falling away to touch alone, every stroke of his fingers across her skin a bridge that let her first orgasm roll straight into a second.

“Good girl,” she heard faintly. 

“Need—” 

“I know, Violet.” 

He eased her legs down from his shoulders, stripping out of his pants before kissing a trail up her body until he could run his fingers through her hair. Twist the length of silver and brown around one fist and kiss her, the taste of her slick lingering on his tongue. Another shift and he was folding her legs to keep them spread open, dragging his length through her slit.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Easy.” He lined up, just teasing her with the tip for a moment. “Breathe for me, love.” Resuming the stimulation to her clit, Xaden pushed into her little by little, humming his encouragement when she tried to stop or slow his steady claiming. She was panting by the time he’d fully sheathed himself. 

“You take me so well, sweet girl. Look at you.” He was moving before she could say a word to stop him, hips rolling up against hers at a languid pace she didn’t know how to match, feeling so restless. “Stop,” he murmured when she attempted to reciprocate. A pillow was shoved under her a moment later, tilting her lower body at an angle easier for Xaden to work with. “Relax, sweetheart. Stop worrying. Just take what I give you.” 

“Xaden, I can’t—” 

His next thrust was sharper, deep enough to tease her with his knot. Her fingers dug into his biceps, hard enough to bruise, but whatever pain they left behind didn’t seem to serve as any sort of deterrent. He set a firm rhythm and it broke her down faster than she cared to admit, slick coating them both, her face pressed to his neck, breathing in short puffs against his skin. And gods spare her, his scent gland was right there, close enough to drive her to insanity. Close enough to bite. 

He grunted sharply, hips jerking from their rhythm when she dared to pull him closer, lick the salt from the column of his throat. “Violet, fuck.” Whether it was a reprimand or loss of control, she wasn’t sure, but his teeth sank into her neck for the second time that evening, the shock of his marking throwing her over the edge again. “So pretty when you come for your alpha,” he crooned, tongue flicking over the broken skin. “So pretty with my mark on your neck.”

It was right there, that niggle of dread she knew she would feel now that he’d staked his claim on her. The anger, simmering beneath the inferno of her need. All of it was right there, just out of her grasp. Because now—even after three mind-numbing orgasms—the only thing she could think about was taking his knot. 

“Please, please, please, please…” She groaned, back arching. “Xaden, please.”

He groaned again, hooking one hand under her knee to force it up to her chest. “Say it again, Violet. Say my name.”

“Xaden, Xaden, Xad—” A wail left her when he finally seated himself past the knot, holding her tight until the swelling locked them together at last. The only freedom she had was her hands, some deep seated instinct to mark him forcing itself to the surface. She clenched her jaw tight, denying it, and refocusing that energy to claw down the length of his back.

No mercy. No escape. His final claiming.

He spilled inside of her with a gruff shout, dropping her leg to fist the pillows behind her as if he was afraid to mark her that way. Part of her—that little part she hated—was struck by it. Part of her wanted to wear the bruises he could leave behind. But the other part of her was going to remember just how much she hated him when the heat broke. 

Violet let it win, muffling the whimper crawling up her throat. 

“Shh, I know, love.” She didn’t realize she’d started crying until Xaden flipped them so she could lay over his chest, his knot still locked inside her. She was so damn full like this. She loved it. Loathed it. Worst of all, needed it.

She clenched around him, gasping for breath. “I don’t… I don’t want this.”

“I know,” he repeated, running his finger up and down her spine in steady strokes that did nothing to ease the heat already building low in her belly. Gods, she already needed him again. “I know it’s not fair,” he continued, slowly wrapping her hair around his fist. “I know it’s not the romance you envisioned. I know you don’t want it. But you’re done fighting it. Do you understand me, Omega?”

Violet braced against his chest, shivering. Even as she sat astride him, it was crystal clear who held all of the control in their arrangement. If it could even be called that. Entrapment might be more accurate at this point. 

She ground her teeth. “You aren’t—” But he was her alpha. Whether she’d consented or not, the man had his teeth in her neck just minutes ago. She was marked. Claimed. His to torment or pleasure at his own discretion. There was no fight here she could pick and win. “I understand.”

“Very good.” She gasped, caught off guard when Xaden started to lift her off of him. “Easy, love,” he cooed, all but manhandling her to put her down on her belly. “I think we both know you’re in no state to ride my cock at the moment.” She winced. Despite the steady need taking hold of her senses, she didn’t think she could handle another round yet. “Relax. I’m going to get you cleaned up. Then you can get some rest.” He moved to the connected bath before she could respond, returning a moment later to part her legs long enough to clean her up before drawing up one of the fluffy blankets from the border of her nest to tuck her in. The juxtaposition from his attitude about her cooperation was startling, but she dismissed the thought, sinking down further into the pillows around her.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

“You’re sure you want this?”

“Liam.”

“No offense, Xaden, but you don’t exactly share well.” 

Violet sensed a hand running though her hair. Feather light, yet somehow close enough to possessive to send a rush of pleasure through her—another base instinct she had no chance of fighting. She was practically preening under her alpha’s touch. 

She really, truly hated Xaden Riorson. 

Of course his marking of her meant she also really, truly needed him now.

“Our infantry on the border received a missive. Tauri wants proof of life regarding his prized weapon.”

“We’ll worry about that when her heat’s broken. Right now my concern is seeing her through it. Are you going to be a part of that, or not?”

There was a pause, then, “She’s got a hell of a spirit. Considering how stubborn you are, I think you’ll tear each other to pieces without someone in the middle.” 

The mattress dipped behind her and her grip around Xaden’s waist tightened on instinct even as the warm pressure of a second body secured her from rolling back. “Good morning, little omega,” Xaden crooned. “Sleep well?”

As well as she could when her heat was wrecking her sleep pattern, the ache between her thighs a constant torment. Gods she’d never been so sore. Or so needy. She shut her eyes tight, trying to breathe through the next crest of her heat. Ignore the slick coating her thighs. “Oh, sweet girl.”

Xaden started to reach down between her legs, but she jerked away, straight back into the hard wall of muscle behind her. Liam. “Please. Can’t—can’t take a knot right now. Hurts.”

Both men seemed to soften at that. Even if Xaden had taken her choice in all of this away, part of him seemed to be a decent alpha. A caretaker. “Alright, love. Something a little different, then.”

She yelped, startled when Liam started working her open from behind, whispering instruction and praise against the soft skin of her neck just above her scent gland while two thick fingers stroked her slow and deep. She just about melted into the nest. “That’s it, honey. Just lie still. Let your beta make you feel good.”

She moaned, long and low. The heat was still building, and far more rapidly than when she was still shaking the fog of sleep. Liam had told her to lie still, but— 

“Easy. You’re alright. You’re alright, honey. Just gonna help you.” His fingers curled, pressing up against her slick gland. The touch was so unexpected it threw her over the edge before any of them expected, drawing out a sharp cry. “Perfect omega, so pretty when she comes.”

“The prettiest little thing,” Xaden agreed, pushing up until his back was against the headboard, legs spread enough he could stroke his hard length as he watched Liam take care of her. “Why don’t you come up here with me, sweet girl.”

Violet managed to push up to her hands and knees with a bit of guidance from Liam as she was still a bit off kilter from her first orgasm of the day. She crawled up the bed until she was between Xaden’s knees before pushing up to meet his eyes.

“You may think the worst of me at the moment, but I have no intention of hurting you when I can help it. That said, while I won’t make you take my knot—” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “—I do intend on filling you up one way or another.”

Just a handful of words and a single touch from her alpha and her belly was clenching tight, that pool of heat returning. She wasn’t going to survive the week, that much she was certain of. “Alpha?”

“Relax, little one,” he cooed, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Alpha will help you. Just show me what that pretty mouth is good for, hm?”

She swallowed hard, but let him guide her down, appreciative that he was letting her set the pace in this. She started slow, little kitten licks meant to tease. It was a strange balance, wanting to please him as her alpha and punish him as her captor. But it was one she thought she’d enjoy immensely, especially as she watched his body begin to tighten, his hand twitching where he played with her hair as he fought the temptation to push her down.

“Violet,” Liam warned from behind her. “Keep playing games and you won’t get to come either.”

She shivered at the promise, but ended her teasing then and there, wrapping her lips around the head of Xaden’s cock. His hand tightened in her hair for a moment, but it was the only sign he gave that her mouth had any affect on him. “Go on, sweetheart.” She sank down another inch  before drawing back, setting a steady rhythm until the tip hit her gag reflex. 

A bit panicked, she tried to pull off of him only for Xaden to finally establish control, holding her just shy of the point she choked. He clicked his tongue, brushing a tear from her cheek with the hand that wasn’t currently fisted in her hair. “Going to have to train that out of you, aren’t we? Teach you to open up for your alpha.”

She’d never particularly enjoyed sucking a guy off. Most of her escapades before and in the quadrant had all been quick fucks, straight down to business. Her short time as an officer, well, she was more concerned with her assignments than men. To put it simply, deep throating was far from her specialty.

But again, there was that incessant part of her desperate to please her alpha. She took a breath, leaning forward the slightest bit. “That’s it. My good girl, eager to please, hm?”

She hadn’t realized Liam had left the bed until the the mattress dipped behind her and his fingers returned to her aching core.

More more more more. 

As if he heard that silent plea he removed his hand a moment later to drag his tip through her drenched slit. Gods.

He filled her from behind in an easy slide that stole the breath from her lungs, his path aided by the copious slick she’d secreted. Violet whined again, the sharpness of the stretch lingering without the full force of her next heat wave to soften it. 

She jerked against Xaden again, nails biting into his thigh until he released her. “Wait,” she breathed. “Just…”

Liam stilled behind her, thumb sweeping across her nape in steady, soothing strokes until she all but became one with her nest. “That’s it. Good girl. Alright now?” She nodded, mumbling something just coherent enough for him to chuckle against her shoulder. “We’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 

He kissed across the black and gold of her relic, left a scorching trail down her spine with his hands moving parallel, all the way to her waist. “Fucking perfect,” he groaned, jerking her back by the bend of her hips and thighs to realign her with Xaden’s lap. “Every inch of you.” The next thrust of his hips had her gagging around her alpha once again, but this time she was determined to prove herself capable of pleasing him. Relaxing her throat, she timed herself to Liam’s steady pace behind her, delighted when Xaden finally began to break beneath her, his breathing shifting, hips tilting up ever so slightly. 

The next punch of Liam’s hips struck something particularly sensitive and she moaned low and deep. “Fuck, Violet,” Xaden hissed. “Keep that up…”

She wasn’t going to last much longer either. Not with the way they were handling her between them, mapping her body to find every sensitive point they could. She was a fucking mess, driving straight towards the brink of her next orgasm, barely able to focus on the one task Xaden had given her. He cursed again. “Almost there, love. Want you to take every bit of it.” His hand wrapped around her throat and she shattered, clenching around Liam and finally feeling him spill inside of her. 

Xaden was the last to come. Pushing as deep as he could go, he spilled down her throat, holding her until she stopped fighting the intrusion.

The surrender. She didn’t imagine giving that control could be so freeing. He finally pulled back, lifting her chin until he was certain she swallowed the last of his seed. “Our perfect girl.”

She blinked up at him slowly, a weightlessness setting in she didn’t quite understand.

“Feel… floaty.”

Both men chuckled, Liam helping her to settle back into the bed while Xaden left them just long enough to bring some water to drink and wet rags to clean up the worst of the mess. He was quick about cleaning her up, knowing she was sensitive even before Liam took her. The only protest she gave was a little whimper her alpha quickly soothed with a kiss to the forehead before settling in on the side Liam hadn’t occupied.

“How are you feeling, love?” She hesitated, looking down. “Violet?”

“It scares me.” He cocked his head, waiting. “I don’t trust you. Not in the slightest. But I want you. Want to please you.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Liam rested, playing with the ends of her hair. “Both of you.” 

Just your basic needy omega. Pathetic.

Xaden sighed. “It’s going to take time, longer than I’d like, for you to trust us, Violet. But I marked you last night. Claimed you as my omega. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

The fact that that very statement didn’t make her rage was what scared her most of all.

[princesssszzzz]

I don’t know why people keep trying to come up with justifications for why they ignore Baela and Rhaena as main characters. Your stanning characters that haven’t appeared on screen yet so I’m not sure why pretend that screentime matters. No one has to stan any character so I’m trying to understand why lie and keep making excuses for it 😂 like?? Just don’t stan them then if you don’t want to 😂😂

“Baela and Rhaena aren’t the same as the book counterparts”

So because they don’t have word for word the exact life and portrayal that people got from a historical book, then they forever have to be investigated and compared on screen? All the discourse strays away from what was on screen and the attention put on what wasn’t on screen, which is why people have convinced themselves that Rhaena had literally no lines in S1 even though she did. No other character from the show is the same as their book counterpart so why is this only applied to them.

“They don’t appear different from each other, I don’t know their personality”

Even with the multitude of shit writing from the writing team, they are very clearly two different characters and tbh even if they weren’t it wouldn’t matter. Why? Same as my other reasoning. They aren’t the only characters missing development on screen but they are the only characters people just can’t fill in the gaps with apparently. 80% of the discourse surrounding other characters are literally headcanons people made up out of their ass or from the book😂 Like at what point have people seen Rhaena pick up a crossbow or Baela touch a dragon egg and want it to hatch. Please bffr. It also reminds me a lot of the fandom kept intentionally incorrectly portraying Baela as a rough and tough butch lesbian in fics and fan art and getting offended because that’s not how she’s portrayed on screen. All the while ignoring the fight scenes she has btw which lets me know that even if she was portrayed similar to book Baela, they would still be pretending like they don’t see that.

It’s so funny and the same with the Jace/Baela CANON ship. They suddenly can’t see chemistry unless they fuck on screen and profess their love for each other every time they talk, but with everyone else all they have to do is stand in the same room together and the fandom starts writing ship headcanons. It’s so funny and unserious when I hear these talking points.