#look at how much i cannot fucking function in the mornings

[casketscratch]

Went to a little concert last night that was a lot of fun, but it also had me on high alert for hours trying to calm myself down over how any airborne outbreaks are in the area, no one here masks, why is someone touching me, what are the odds anyone in this city is vaccinated (low!), is this worth dying over, oh this song reminds me of the time someone [redacted], etc.

When we got home, it turned out the cats had broken into the garbage to root around for leftover chicken wing bones from dinner, so then I had a whole spiralling rage/anxiety attack over whether or not one of them was going to die from bone shards, and then one of the cats was up at 6am yowling non-stop and I had a whole other panic spiral over yes, I was correct, he is going to Die Now. Finally kicked the cats out at 7, slept for another 3 hours--it's unheard of for me to not be up by 8am because I can never sleep through hearing other people in the house moving around--and my brain feels like slop in a jar. Just, foggy and drained and tired and burnt out in a way I used to always be. Can't keep track of conversations when people talk to me, can't pull a single thought out of my brain, not tired enough to sleep but too tired to engage with anything.

And then I remember I used to be this burnt out literally all the time, for years, so... maybe this is a good sign that I am managing better most of the time. I notice when I'm drained now. As frustrating as it is to be this bored/fuzzy/foggy/switchy and incapable of doing anything about it, it's not like this all the time now.

Pretty sure I lost track of myself to the point that someone switched in and ordered a whole shit load of washi tape and stickers and journalling supplies, too, and rather than getting mad (my bank account, bro, it cannot take this) I am just going to take it as a sign to get back into journaling properly like we used to. Not even gonna look at what specific things I ordered, it'll be like a fun surprise when it shows up this way. 😮‍💨

I do however want to invest in all my favourite pens again as a result.

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[daisykihannie]

𝚂𝚠𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 | 𝙺.𝙷𝙹

Pairing: Hongjoong x afab!Reader

Warnings: Smut, nsfw, weird, established relationship, p in v, unprotected sex, fluff, crack, body swapped, kind of self-sex?? etc.

A/N: My brain is running on approximately 3hrs of sleep and my brain had a blurb and i cannot go to sleep until i get this written. Also, i couldn’t decide who to write this for sooooo Hongjoongie it is<3

When you woke up this morning, you felt the weight of your boyfriend’s head on your chest. Apparently at some point in the night he started clinging to you instead of you clinging to him. You weren’t really sure how, why, or when the two of you swapped sides on the bed but he was now sleeping to the left of you.

Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep and you went to stretch just your legs a bit so that you wouldn’t move too much and wake him. Your foot collided with the wall, further proof that you were currently sleeping on Hongjoong’s side of the bed but why were you so cramped on a king sized bed?

Shaking off the compiling thoughts all correlating to your current position, you looked down to your chest, wanting to see how adorable he’d look clinging to you like a koala. Instead you were met with a mop of hair that was not your boyfriends. Actually it was your hair and your face and your body pressed against… Hongjoong’s body?

You were looking at your form on top of Hongjoong’s but from Hongjoong’s point of view. After who knows how long of just staring, your brain finally caught up and in the blink of an eye you were scrambling away from your body. You tripped over the covers you didn’t think to throw off first and landed hard on the floor before moving further away. You stared at the stirring figure in bed as you increased the distance between the two of you until your back collided with the full length mirror in the corner of your room that was pointed towards the bed.

“Mmmm” Hongjoong grumbled and sat up with a yawn, still not opening his eyes or- your eyes? You were far past the point of confusion and your brain was constantly misfiring while trying to comprehend your current situation.

Your boyfriend scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he spoke, “What’s wrong?” his voice was low but it was significantly higher than normal considering it was actually your voice and not his. “Why do I sound-“ his sentence was cut off when he finally opened his eyes and looked at you and instead of seeing his partner, he was staring at himself and his partner was actually visible in the reflection of the mirror, staring back at him.

His eyes grow wide and they flicked back and forth between himself and the reflection in the mirror, his brain was probably going through the same agonizing misfiring as your own but neither of you were fully panicking for some reason. Had it not fully caught up with you two yet? Were you both too tired to care? No, you both cared, a lot really, but maybe it just wasn’t all that scary since you two were dating and have been together for years.

“D-did we- are you- am i-“ Hongjoong couldn’t finish a single string of words and his thoughts weren’t any better. You just nodded, wide eyes locked with the others as you both silently worked through everything in your heads. “We…” Hongjoong started. “Body… swapped…” you spoke for the first time, slightly jumping from the startling and unfamiliar bass in your voice. This is fucking insane.

“o…kay…” that single word that your boyfriend spoke was heavy and drawn out. The reality finally fully settling in now and you tried to get off the floor but your legs were far too weak to hold your weight, the adrenaline causing your knees to buckle and you fell back to the floor. Hongjoong, seeing you falling, moved to try and catch you but you met the floor first. His own knees buckled only a short distance from you as well, causing his knees to meet the floor harshly.

You both looked at each other and your non-functioning legs and you were the first one to start giggling, trying to hold them in but when Hongjoong burst into his own explosive fit of laughter, trying to hold them in was useless and you two were both giggling messes. After a long fit of laughing, you both ended up clutching your sides when they began to ache.

Hongjoong had your body doubled over the arm around his abdomen and you had Hongjoong’s body on its back on the floor, writhing around and kicking his legs. It took a minute of heavy breathing for you two to stop laughing and just looked at each other. Even though you were kind of looking at yourselves, that same expression full of love and adoration was visible in each other’s eyes.

“So um- Babe?” you called out and he tilted his head slightly to the side, showing he was listening. “Why is your dick hard?” you asked, a redness creeping up your neck. “Huh?” he asked and looked down at his body’s groin, momentarily forgetting that he didn’t have his dick anymore. “My body doesn’t have a dick.” you coo teasingly and Hongjoong looks to your body, seeing the tent that was obvious in the loose fitting plaid pajama pants he wore.

“Oh. I guess even with your brain, my body still reacts to you the same as if it was my brain in there.” he says and reaches forward to start stroking the hard-on you were sporting. Your body jolted away from his touch at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a soft gasp. “Sorry- that felt… weird.” the blush that had settled into a soft pink was bright red again with embarrassment.

“It’s okay baby. How about i help you out yeah? Since it’s my cock, i know what feels good.” He suggested and you took a moment to think about it, cock twitching in excitement at the thought. “I have always wondered what you feel like when you fuck me…” you trailed off, looking away from your boyfriend who was still staring at you. “Oh? Well, i guess you finally get to find out.” his tone sensual but completely different than the low growl his own vocal cords normally took on.

He held his hand out to you so he could help you get to the bed. It was weird to be led to the bed by your slightly smaller body, to be dominated by yourself but kissing felt mostly the same considering you could close your eyes. But when your pants were removed and you felt that first stripe licked up the underside of your cock, you couldn’t help the deep guttural groan that escaped you. When warm lips wrapped around the head and a soft tongue was moving up and down in tandem with the plush pink muscle moving up and down your length, you couldn’t help the way your hips bucked and spasmed at the overwhelming feeling.

This was a completely different experience than getting head normally. Hongjoong knew what he was doing from learning what does and doesn’t feel good during blowjobs. He knew exactly what spots were most sensitive and made sure to focus on those. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was technically sucking his own cock which only helped him to fully fit into his role.

Once you felt a familiar knot begin forming in your lower stomach, the muscles of Hongjoong’s abs constricting ever so slightly and your moans growing more airy, he pulled off with a pop. You whined at the ruined orgasm but you knew that he only stopped because if you came now, you wouldn’t get to feel what it’s like for Hongjoong to fuck you.

After a few moments of the both of you breathing heavily, he was climbing up your body. He sat himself on your pelvis and pulled the pajama shorts, on his temporary body, to the side to expose your dripping cunt. He began to roll his hips over the expanse of his cock, fully drenching it in your fluids.

Neither of you could contain the soft, airy moans that left your throats at the new feeling. Once you were both well lubed with your fluids, he lifted his hips off your pelvis. He reached in front of himself to grab his cock and line it up with your hole. He lined it up and then took a deep breath, feeling nervous for the first time now that he realized he was about to be impaled by a cock.

His larger hands met the hip bones of your body and began to massage them soothingly. “Baby, remember that it’s my body. My body is comfortable taking your cock. It’s nothing new to the body you’re in so it’ll only feel good.” you reassured him and that seemed to help him a bit but he was still struggling to physically impale himself.

“Here, let me help.” you said and got a tighter grip on his hips, moving him just low enough for the tip to be inside so he wouldn’t have to hold his cock anymore. “You can let go now, grab my hands so you’re holding them.” you cooed and he did that, grabbing the backs of your hands that remain on his hips. Once his breathing calmed and he nodded softly, you began moving him further onto your cock.

He took it inch by inch, the stretch causing his jaw to go slack in a silent moan and his thighs began to quiver at the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was feeling. You weren’t really fairing much better, once your cock was buried to the hilt and Hongjoong was able to relax and just rest with your cock buried inside him, you felt his hole tensing over your length.

“oh- fuck. Is- is that what it- shit! f-feels like when- when my pussy f-f-flutters?” speaking was extra hard with the overwhelming, and very very new, sensations you were feeling. It was so wet, warm and tight inside of him. It was like your cock was wrapped in the softest, wettest, and somehow the most tingling sponges ever. It was heavenly.

He nodded and let out a shuddering breath. “I d-didn’t think about h-how every time we fuck… oh shit… your pussy m-muscles have to st-stretch like this…” he was not keeping his composure as well as he normally did. “F-feel good?” you ask, lungs still heaving but getting better. He nodded with his eyes still shut. “s-so fucking good.” he moaned out and did an experimental roll of his hips.

“Fuck… i’m not g-gonna last long Jagi…” he whimpered softly, voice cracking slightly. “I-it’s okay joonie… I’m n-not either.” you replied, a moan following as he began bouncing up and down despite his legs shaking. You grabbed his hips and held him in place an inch or two above your pelvis. You bent your knees to give yourself some leverage to move, “let me.” was all you said and Hongjoong was grateful for the offer because he was incredible sensitive everywhere and his brain was struggling.

You began to jack hammer into his body, the way you love being fucked the most, punching wanton moans from him and grunts from yourself. You were both crying out each others names and a lot of “Fuck”s,”shit”s, and ”oh my god”s. It didn’t take long for the knot in your abdomen to snap, slamming his smaller frame down hard on top of yourself as you spilled inside of him and his body began convulsing through its own orgasm.

After a few moments, both your bodies collapsed from exhaustion, his body becoming dead weight on top of yours while your cock was still buried inside him. At that moment it was like someone clapped and you were now on top of him, his cock buried inside you. “oh thank fuck-“ you groaned, feeling more at peace now that you were back in your own body.

“Holy fuck… we both had the most insane orgasms and we swap back… how fucked is that.” a spiteful chuckle left his chest after he finished speaking, both of you a bit too exhausted to care about anything more than being in your own bodies again and being held by the person who had become your home, in post orgasm bliss.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vod’ika! I enjoy your stories so much! May I make a request? Prompt category Physical Gestures. Perky morning person (F) a little insecure. Chronically sleep-deprived clone BF can’t talk to her until he’s had morning caf and some time. Compromise is a pat on the head (or similar) as he walks by to acknowledge her presence without engaging until he’s awake. Perhaps Hunter, Rex, Fox or Wolffe. Thank you for considering. 😊

Morning Person

Summary: Fox loves his girlfriend. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He even loves how bright and bubbly she is first thing in the morning. It’s not her fault he cannot function without a cup of caf first thing in the morning.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 1031

Warnings: Reader is described as having long hair that "tumbles down her back" and she can wear it in a bun on the top of her head.

A/N: Hihi! You sent this in and I immediately knew what I wanted to write! But then it turned into something soft and fluffy at the end, lol. Thanks for your request~

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Fox hates mornings.

In his, professional, opinion. Any time before 10 should be illegal, and he shouldn’t be forced to work before noon.

Tragically, the galaxy very rarely cares about what he wants, so here he is. Awake and sort of aware at 7 am.

The bed next to him is still a little warm, but that tracks. His perfect cyare wakes up at 6:30 every morning, even on days when she doesn’t have to work. Distantly, he can hear her moving around the kitchen, and soon enough the familiar scent of breakfast sausage cooking wafts into the bedroom.

Fuck, he loves her.

Groggily, he rolls off the bed, and stumbles into the fresher to shower for the day. It doesn’t help wake him up, but it needs to happen, and if he doesn’t do it now, it won’t get done.

One quick shower later, Fox meanders his way through the apartment he shares with his cyare and into the kitchen. There, standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand, is his cyare. 

Her hair is pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and she’s clad in one of his shirts and her frog covered sleep pants. She’s adorable. And she notices him as soon as he steps into the room.

“Morning Fox~” She chirps, “Did you sleep well?”

Fox grunts an affirmative noise and walks over to her. Normally, he would pat her head and kiss her forehead as a way to acknowledge her in the morning, but her hairstyle forbids it this morning.

So, instead, he kisses her temple and rubs his thumb down the back of her neck, before he steps around her to grab the, already prepared, cup of caf.

His poor cyare is a little insecure about her place in his life, even now, and so does everything in her power to be useful to him. This means, in this case, that she makes him breakfast every morning and preps his caf the way that he likes before he wakes up.

He, personally, thinks it’s ridiculous. Why would he want to look at another woman when he has her, after all? But she’s allowed her insecurities. It’s his job to make sure that they don’t overwhelm her.

When they first moved in together, she took his silence in the morning as an indication that he wasn’t happy with her. Though she never mentioned her thoughts to him, she just allowed the belief to work her into an anxious frenzy, until she broke down sobbing one morning asking him if he didn’t love her anymore.

That had been a mess and a half to clean up and untangle.

Together, they worked out that so long as he acknowledges her in the morning, even if it’s something as simple as a touch and a kiss, it keeps her from overthinking everything.

He settles on one of the kitchen chairs, silently nursing his caf, as he watches her make breakfast for them. She’s humming along with the radio, and a small smile lifts his lips. 

Her hair is a mess, she’s not wearing any make-up. Her clothes are wrinkled and worn, or very childish in the case of her pants. She would be the first one to say that this is when she looks her worst.

She’s wrong.

Right here, first thing in the morning, when it’s just him and her and no one else, she’s never more beautiful. He really is a lucky asshole.

He watches her plate breakfast, sausage, toast, fresh fruit, and some juice, then she sets a plate in front of him, before sitting in the chair next to him. 

That’s about the time she realizes that he’s staring at her.

“What?”

Fox absently pushes his mug to the side, and reaches out for her, his hand settling on her cheek as he coaxes her closer to him so he’s able to press kisses across her face. His free hand reaches up to tug the rubber band out of her hand, allowing her long hair to fall around her shoulders and down her back.

A giggle falls from her as he pushes her hair out of her face, so he can continue kissing her, “Fox! Our breakfast will get cold!”

“It’ll keep,” He mumbles against her jaw, “Love you.”

One of her hands tangles in his curls, while the other curls around his bicep. “Silly man, what’s gotten into you?”

Fox just hums and continues pressing feather-light kisses across her face, until he finally catches her lips with his own in a series of light kisses. Then he decides that she’s not nearly close enough, and he swiftly tugs her from her chair until she’s sitting on his lap.

Still not close enough, but it’ll do for now.

A sigh falls from her, soft and love-sick, and Fox grins against her lips before pulling away and pressing his forehead against hers. 

She has a dreamy look on her face and a goofy smile on her lips, “Goodness,” She murmurs, her fingers falling from his curls to rest against his stubble-covered cheek, “Have I just been depriving you, Fox?”

“Went all night without kissing you,” Fox replies, suddenly very, very awake, “Had to make up for lost time.”

“Ah, so you’re not deprived. You’re spoiled.” Her voice is teasing and her eyes are soft. Her fingers trail against his jaw, and she huffs out a sigh, “You forgot to shave.”

“Didn’t forget. Didn’t feel like it. Too much effort.”

She shakes her head, “After breakfast, I’ll get the stuff and do it for you. I know how much you hate the feel of your stubble in your helmet.”

Fox feels his heart lurch in his chest. She really is perfect. And so, he pulls her into another kiss, though this time he doesn’t keep it chaste. If she’s not giggling like a schoolgirl when he finishes, then he’s not kissing her thoroughly enough.

The rest of the galaxy can take a hike. This, right now, is more important. And, just before he gets too lost in her lips, he can’t help but think that, just maybe, mornings aren’t that bad.

@kimiheartblade

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@dukeoftheblackstar

@continous-mistakes

@0revna0

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@mira-loves-star-wars

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@rebell-ious

@silly-starfish

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@clones-cyare

@kiss-anon

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Mercs proposing hc?? So basic but Im literally one corny mf

The TF2 Mercs proposing to their partners

WARNING: Mild gore gifts because this is the Mercs we’re talking about here.

—————————————————————————

Scout:

- Biggest panic attack of his fucking life. Has no idea how to function like a normal human being anymore. It was that feeling of being in love with somebody all over again and needing to tell them. What’s worse about this though is that marriage is a huge commitment. One that many aren’t ready for yet. What if you reject him and he messes this relationship up?

- Goes to Spy for comfort. In all honesty he’s just a very damaged little boy on the inside and scared that he is incapable of receiving unconditional love. The other Mercs catch him behind the base crying into Spy’s shoulder on the curb while Spy holds him. He’s telling Spy how much he loves you; and how terrified he is that you cannot return that same vow. Spy knows the feeling. “Shh, mon lapin.” Boy howdy Spy’s certainly grateful that Scout’s mom didn’t teach him a word of french.

- Spy has to shove Scout into your room to actually finally get him to do it. “Your idiot boyfriend has a few words for you, and apparently I have to be present or i’m certain he’ll break down crying again.” He says to you. While poor Scout curls up into a ball on the floor.

————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- First of all, why him? Second of all, this is the type of guy to go all out and spend half the money he earned in mercenary work to get one of those “will you marry me Y/N?” banners hooked up to a plane. Complete with the pilot being ejected and the plane crashing nose first into a rock formation. Apparently that was 100% intentional because a bunch of confetti came out of the explosion. You don’t know if you should be horrified at the audacity, or head over heels.

- Brings you an entire necklace of ears. But that’s not all! For limited time only you can get one of soldiers’ severed heads that was purposely boiled and skull cut into the shape of a helmet! Great, right? “Wow, what type of animal is this?” You ask. “A DOG. PACKAGED WITH PURE, NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, PASTEURIZED AMERICAN GLORY!” well that’s not reassuring. “OOOHH SAAAAY CAAAAN YOU SEEE—“ Soldier immediately gets hit over the head by Heavy and knocked unconscious.

- After the initial silliness dies down you see adoration as you tend to his awful head wound. Maybe Heavy knocked the stupidity out of him? No. He’s still insane. Soldier grabs your wrist as you apply alcohol to his wound and squeezes your hand. “Somebody like me doesn’t deserve somebody like you.” He says. “Bullshit, Soldier.” You say, leaning in for a kiss.

—————————————————————————

Demoman:

- He can only achieve this when drunk off his mind. Not to mention it arrives in the most unromantic way possible. But it doesn’t make you love him any less. He holds you close to him after a New Years party at the base and pats your back. “Jus’ so you know, you’d look mighty fine with a ring on your finger.” He flirts, getting incredibly physically affectionate. He makes sure never to cross your boundaries.

- “Me mum would kill me but fuck all. y’know? Old wench’s days are numbered anywae. We could live ina nice cottage by the sea.. If ya want wee lil’ bastards I’ll actually take care of em. I’d have to stop me drinkin tho.” He says, pecking your neck. His remaining eye is pleading with you to say yes. “Pleaaase?”

- Has no recollection of these events in the morning so imagine his dumbfounded expression when one of the Mercs asks about his new fiancé. Cue the embarrassment mixed with pride and excitement.

—————————————————————————

Engineer:

- Will 100% go to your window in the dead of night and sing a song for you on his guitar. Particularly I imagine this would be the contender. You have no idea this is even a marriage proposal. You just think he’s being incredibly sappy. Imagine the surprise while mid song he pulls out a small box and throws it up and down recklessly like a baseball. You’re slowly beginning to catch on as he opens it with his free fingers after finishing the song.

- Complete overconfident show off. He pep-talked himself before all this and rehearsed his performance repeatedly. By using the wrangler and effortlessly throwing the box up in the air and propelling it forward with a single bullet, the sentry successfully aided in getting the box up to you. You don’t even know how you managed to catch it, to be honest.

- Tips his hardhat to you. “Whadda say? Marry me?” He can barely contain his smile. Both excited and somewhat relieved he pulled that off.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- “Heavy made you dead person crown..” He walks into your room one day and puts it on your head. It’s a bunch of severed ears meant to resemble a flower crown. “Hey, thanks big guy.” You’re grateful for the gift, being a crazed Merc yourself is it really any surprise? You give him a huge kiss on the cheek. Heavy looks thrilled that you accepted his gift. Which is very much unlike him. Usually he’s reserved. Maybe he’s just having a good day?

- Well.. you eventually find out why. That was apparently his way of proposing to you. Soldier nudges you the next morning and teases you for being engaged to Heavy. You’re horrified to say the least. You had no idea this meant marriage. Not that you wouldn’t marry him. But what about his gun Sasha? Wouldn’t she feel jealous? You’ve been with Heavy so long you keep referring to that damn thing as a person.

- Immediately upon seeing you; goes up to you and gives you a list of stuff he wants at this wedding. There’s even a blank page for you to write your own needs. He seems oddly motivated to plan this out months before it actually happens. There is countless mentions of Russian authors he wants to attend the wedding. As if they’d ever consider going to a stranger’s wedding. “If they won’t come then Heavy will crush them..” He says. Same goes for your guests.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Wow.. Kind of the most normal out of all of them. For the most part. If TF2 took place in modern day they’d propose with a ringpop but all they have is a bag of candy and an actual ring (That they may or may not have stolen from someone in Tuefort.)

- They get on their knees and offer the ring to you in an extremely professional manner. It’s quite surreal to see Pyro pull off something so domestic and normal when he’s always destroying stuff with fire. In fact this is a little too normal.. This is Team Fortress we’re talking about here. Shouldn’t something be wacky happening right about now? It’s like the perfect opening for slapstick. Through your cries of love and laughter you begin to feel anxious at the back of your head.

- Yup.. There it is. Pyro tells you that Scout offered to be the ‘Ring bear’ for the wedding. There’s Scout dressed up in a cutesy teddy bear costume. You’re certain that’s not how it works. “Just for the record, if you tell anybody about this, I’ll fuckin’ saw off both your knees boston sandwich style. Capeesh?” He says. You have no idea what that means so you quickly agree.

————————————————————————-

Sniper:

- Afraid he’s going to mess it up, much like Scout. Gets incredibly physically ill as a result from stress and isolates himself in his camper van. You’re convinced he wants to tell you something but you have no idea what it is. One day on the frontlines an arrow narrowly misses your face and embeds itself into the wall next to you. You were about to turn around and bombard Sniper until you saw the note attached to it. “Pardon, Will you marry me? -Sniper.” With a very worried sad face drawn next to the note. He even bothered to draw his hat on it.

- Disbelief clouds your face at first. Sniper? Marry another Merc? You’re in shock. This isn’t something you’d ever suspect from a guy like him. But your initial thought makes way for an uncontrollable smile.

- He literally will not approach you first after this. You have to knock on his camper van because god knows he won’t be even able to face his team for months. As you jump into his arms and kiss him he immediately pulls you inside to love on you in private.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- WOULD RATHER SHOOT HIMSELF

- Just kidding. But he wishes he were dead right now. How could he do something so… Un-mad-sciencey? Marriage is just a concept brought upon by money hungry people. It only exists within the mind… Yet, that’s how he feels. An eternal vow to you is something he wishes to do. He’s already planned to make you a god alongside him once the time came so you could be his beloved consort forever. It reminded him of the greek story of soulmates.

- Gets a little fruitier than usual. The most feminine moan you ever heard left this man’s body as you brushed against him while trying to help him grab a syringe he dropped. This man gets unusually hornier and that’s how you know something’s up.. “Looking up my skirt, I see!” He says, as you glance up his long lab coat. There isn’t anything there but his pants so you roll your eyes. “Ah yes.. “ You respond. You decide he’s just clingy and horny as usual and carry about your assistance. You’re not in the mood for that. He never even bottoms so he’s feigning it anyway.

- “Err—Uh— Ho! Wouldn’t it be just shameful if I knew what was going on inside your head?” He asks. “Alright, i’ll bite. What are you saying, Doc?” You sigh. He fixes his glasses back up on his face thoughtfully. “One body, one mind. That would be quite intriguing don’t you think? If we were to.. Become one.” He placed an odd amount of emphasis on that, as if the thought was simply music to his ears. Lord he’s creepy. Medic grabs you and holds you close to him. “Think of the possibilities. We’d never be lonely again. I could stitch our bodies together and we could feel each other’s essence. Forever.”

- “Medic, you good?” You ask. Although his words were strangely flattering nonetheless in their own way. You smile at him. He seems to be lost in the idea. Fantasies of being with you for eternity flood his head. Particularly ones where you’re both a weird hybrid god. Weirdest marriage proposal world record goes to Medic.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- No, no no no no no. He can’t do this again. Marriage never worked out for him. After losing Scout’s mom and many partners that followed, he couldn’t bare hurting somebody like that again. His job always got in the way of what he truly desired but he had to live with it. This life chose him after all. His hand was forced into this position. Seeing your bright smile for the rest of his days was all he ever wanted. His urges to get up and say something to you were too strong.

- Has to metaphorically slap himself in the face and remind himself to act like a fucking adult. He wasn’t a little rambunctious teenager in Paris anymore. Yet he felt like one whenever he saw you. Such boyish feelings for an old put together gentleman like him. Spy decided to trust you and himself. But if something went wrong he wouldn’t hesitate to jump off a fucking cliff. Spy would stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours and contemplate his decision before making it.

- He proposes to you under a starry moonlit night. Not even bothering to kneel down, he slides the box across the balcony to you. “Well?” he asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes fixated on the horizon. “Do I have to say it?” He asks. “Yes..” You tell him. Your eyes gleaming with joy. You never felt happier in your entire life. “Fine.. Will you marry m—“ He couldn’t even finish before you jump on him, ultimately knocking you both down.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂���

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟗

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: +18!, SMUT!, memory loss, language, creeplander, naive reader, vaginal fingering

Word Count: 6664

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'Alone with My Thoughts on a Windy Night' by Lønely.

Butcher got in touch with you and asked you to come in the morning after you and Soldier Boy finally had a peaceful dinner and a pleasant talk. When Soldier Boy heard his voice, his face changed. He showed as much respect he could, and you were relieved that he remained calm during your conversation with Butcher. You were shocked by how he behaved, given his hatred for Butcher. It was nice. 

He was, however, clearly prepared to kill Butcher and his whole team without hesitation. After all, he had his own reasons. 

You made an effort to be more polite and gentle compared to earlier since you didn't want Soldier Boy to change his mind. After all, he had been miserable since the morning. 

When Soldier Boy asked you to eat more, you said, “I'm full, thank you,” breaking the silence. 

Stating: “You must eat so that you can regain your strength.” He tugged your chair smoothly till you stopped at his side just as you were ready to get up. “How are you going to get your memory back if you behave like this?” You let out a gasp and reached for his shoulder for support.

You turned your head away and moaned, “I'm about to puke,” as he tried to make you eat more. “And I’m sure eating more has nothing to do with gaining memory back.”

He said, “Of course it does,” as he kept eating like a greedy beast. As you saw him swallow half of a cheeseburger in one bite, your mouth fell open in astonishment. “Your mind cannot function as well if you don't eat properly since you can't regain your energy. It's simple.”

You finally picked one of the pies and began eating after seeing him enjoying the dinner so energetically.

Ignoring his comments, you giggled, “Can you eat any faster?” He ate everything on the table with great dedication and focus. Your chuckle transformed into an empathetic smile before fading away as you realized he had also been asleep for months. Just like you. You both had missed so much.

Until he was full and given up, you didn't say anything. It is likely that his jaw became weary from functioning for two hours. Then he burped, stretching his powerful muscles.

"Fuck. Sorry for that," he stated while raising his eyebrows and giving you a regretting glance.

"It's alright." You laughed at his attempt to appear gentle as you saw him struggle to avoid making the same sound. He looked funny when he tried to be kind.

Soldier Boy was about to say that you used to be disgusted by him burping whenever you two ate together, but now you didn't appear to feel that way. But if you complained again, he'd feel better. He kept this thought to himself because there was no use in ruining the atmosphere at the dinner table, though. 

He took a look at you and said, “We can leave now if you are done.” He would tell Homelander that he didn't want to be bothered till tomorrow later.

As you swiftly swallowed the final piece of pie, you nodded to him and started to stand up. You swallowed the piece and then licked your lips. “I am ready.” 

After following you, he realized there was just one pie remaining, so he took it while adjusting his suit. To remove the unpleasant smell from his body, he needs a cold shower. 

He winked at you and swallowed the entire pie. “I'm going to eat your pie if you are okay with it.” You were taken aback by his greed. He would probably eat until he felt worn out if someone challenged him. 

“It’s fine.”

Soldier Boy kept his hand on your back and continued to rub it there while you were on the elevator, as if he could sense your nervousness and was trying to reassure you. On the seventh floor, the elevator stopped. The person standing in front of you was Homelander. You wanted to break all of his teeth when you saw the big smile on his ignorant face. 

You remembered Homelander even if you didn't remember Soldier Boy. It was impossible for anyone to forget such a tyrant, a monster. If there was enough space in the elevator, you could back off a step, but there was no way to avoid him at this point. He was staring at you with his deadly blue eyes with joy, as if he had finally seen his buddy after a long time. The way he looked at you made you sick.

Sensing your uneasiness, Soldier Boy's posture changed, and he immediately took his hand in an attempt to show that you were his and that Homelander could not harm you or anyone else. But it didn't calm you down. Despite being his biological father, Homelander didn't give a damn about what other people thought. You were sure he didn't care what Soldier Boy was thinking about him. He only cared about his own animal instincts. 

The thought of him being the son of Soldier Boy got your body tense. It felt strange. 

“Look who we have here.” Homelander put one gloved palm on his chest as if he couldn't believe his eyes and added, “I guess someone changed sides,” in a happy tone. “I'm glad to see you in Vought with Soldier Boy, safe and sound.” 

“Cut this shit off,” Soldier Boy said before he could react. 

If Homelander referred to him as ‘dad’ or anything, that would be disgusting. He was undoubtedly cautioned not to be called like this by Soldier Boy. 

Homelander grinned proudly as he saw your hands locked together with Soldier Boy's. “I'm just relieved that you're finally on the right side. But I guess you're heading out.” Homelander was ready to say that you are now his mother-in-law, but he changed his mind since he didn't want to bother Soldier Boy. It would touch his nerves for sure. He had become overloaded with work; there was just too much to do. “I want to know how your former team is doing. They must be heartbroken to see you change sides. I hope that they took it well. Especially Butcher.”

Soldier Boy inhaled deeply and was ready to say something nasty when you said, “They are doing fine.” 

“Find your own spoiled son first and don't disturb me or her until tomorrow, and also politicians are being a pain on my ass,” Soldier Boy replied finally, pulling you closer to him as he became irritated with Homelander's conversation with you. “You have to start somewhere.”

“At some point, they will stop talking. I know you're not very good with the Internet, but I can tell you that the number of people who are rooting for you keeps increasing every hour. Now that you're popular again, make sure it stays that way. Nothing else is important. You just don’t blow up.”

Homelander waved his hand, seemingly unconcerned by them. “But first we must get rid of Butcher and the others. I considered Vicky unkillable, but he fucking murdered her together with the others. That is an extremely serious problem.”

Hearing Homelander discuss killing Butcher and others made you uneasy. You didn't want the others dead, even if you couldn't recall them and they lied to you all together. He was obviously referring to Butcher on purpose. It was intended to either annoy you or serve as a warning through you. It didn't really matter that Soldier Boy was holding your hand at the time. Both of them desired the deaths of your friends. 

Soldier Boy kept holding your hand even if you wanted to release it. Being around people who wished to kill your friends was frightening and unsettling. You couldn't sympathize with Homelander, but you could understand Soldier Boy's motivation for a reason. Homelander was a disease. 

“We'll discuss such matters later, and they won't cause any more issues.” Soldier Boy simply stated, “Don't fucking call me until tomorrow. There are other things that need to be resolved first.” He avoided talking about Butcher and others with Homelander while you're still in the very same place as them.

Homelander's actions angered him, but he would handle it later. 

You exhaled in relief as the elevator came to a stop and you and he left Vought Tower, Homelander, and his crap words behind. Until you got into the car, Soldier Boy continued holding your hand. Both anxiety and worry were still causing your heart to beat. You were afraid of Homelander and the terrible things he could do. It was useless to deny it. If it would benefit him, he could do any vile thing he wanted, no matter what they were. 

Soldier Boy's head turned to you as he drove you to his house, feeling the dense atmosphere between you. “He wouldn't dare to hurt you.”

You should have been soothed by his powerful voice, but it didn't. 

You openly commented, “It feels wrong seeing you cooperate with him. I'm not sure if the old me that you were in love with would appreciate that.”

Although you didn't want to come across as harsh, you found yourself talking to him as though you were prepared for another debate. But it wasn't what you wanted. Just as you chose to believe in Soldier Boy from the start and continue to do so now, you wanted to be certain that he would always choose you. 

“If only you could remember what happened, it would be easier for you to understand,” he said. You felt terrible because you thought he could've been a little nasty and sound harsh, but he wasn't. He was just calm. 

He took a big breath after looking at your perplexed look. “Even after finding out that Homelander was my biological son, I still wanted to kill him just as much as you did. He's just a cheap lab product, so it didn't really mean anything, but I was still going to kill them all. It may have turned out differently today if your pals hadn't betrayed me there.”

His serene and honest explanation made you feel a range of complex emotions.

You attempted to picture your life with Soldier Boy and wondered how it would be if you didn't lose your memories. With Butcher and the CIA's assistance, Homelander would die and Vought would be destroyed. It sounds like a nice and peaceful world. The day you lost your memories was a vast void that you were unable to fill despite your best efforts.

“I didn't mean to blame you,” you added sadly, attempting to show him that you truly felt sorry for him for everything. Soldier Boy didn't appear to be a despot or ruthless person, despite what Butcher told you. “All I need to know is that you won't participate in their evil plans as Homelander and the other Seven members do. I can't stay with a man who hurts other people.”

“It's not my intention,” explained Soldier Boy. “I can't say that I've done nice things in the past, but I'm... different now.” 

“That's good to hear.”

You both needed the quiet and tranquility that the remainder of the route offered. You were relieved that Soldier Boy was kind enough to purchase a house because you had been so stressed out after spending the entire day at Vought Tower. That would be more comfortable. You were aware that Homelander controlled and stayed in the Tower, and you could not possibly sleep there in the same building with him. 

After parking in front of a very decent house, Soldier Boy used his keys to unlock the door and softly brushed behind your back, encouraging you to come inside. Like his ego, you would have expected him to have a big house, but it was actually rather lovely and appeared surprisingly modest. The ambiance was pleasant because of the dim light and the dominant use of brown and green shades. 

Although the oriental rugs between the coach and the TV were completely un-American, it appeared that he was full of surprises and had unique design preferences. In fact, it appeared to be a charming house from the 1990s. It was also modern, so it looked a bit mixed. You were fine with it.

You could feel him watching you enthusiastically as he shut the door, as if he was trying to gauge how you were going to react. 

As you entered and lightly touched the surface of a large green coach, you told him, “Your house is very...sweet,” with a sincere smile. Your heart was racing frantically as the atmosphere grew heavier. After all, you were in the same house with the strongest Supe. There was nothing wrong with feeling like that. 

You noticed him taking a sigh of relief. You turned to face him as he drew closer. “Our home,” said Soldier Boy instantly. The quickness with which he could melt your heart was terrifying. “You'd told me once that you didn't like big houses.”

Another memory that was missing. God knew how many there were of them. 

You said, “Ah.” Now, it was painful to be unable to recall a single conversation you had with him. You grasped his hand with gratitude, realizing that he did care about your taste when he designed and purchased the house. Not even knowing where you were, he must have thought about you and what he would do once he found you. 

Now, you didn't even know his name. 

Your heart ached, and every argument you had with him felt wrong. 

You inquired, “Where will I be sleeping?” You could look at the entire house later. You felt exhausted even though you hadn't done anything since the morning other than hang out with Soldier Boy in Vought. A lot of things would change after tomorrow. You needed to relax your thoughts and your mind.

“I didn't get you a separate room. I hadn't planned to find you suffering from memory loss,” he sighed, clearly upset by the way things had turned out with you.

“Sorry,” you said in a whisper while genuinely studying his eyes. The situation was hard to convey in words, but it was agonizing to desire to comfort him and reassure him that everything would be fine soon. You only wanted him not to blame you, regardless of whether you remembered him or not. You truly felt sorry.

“It's alright.”

Soldier Boy led you upstairs to see your room after seeing your attempts to suppress your yawns.

Soldier Boy's hands remained on your back the entire time, seemingly sensing your nervousness as he led you upstairs to show you the room you would be staying in from now on. Even if you had been with him for a long time, despite the fact that you couldn't recall those times, he was still kind of a stranger. Fixing it would take some time. Of course, there wouldn't be any issues if you allowed him to use Cate's abilities on you. But you weren't prepared to do this. To find out whether he truly loved you, you had decided to get to know him as well as let him get used to the new you. 

In an attempt to show that you were cool and prevent him from bringing up the Cate issue again, you looked about and softly touched the massive wardrobe and then the bed's cushion. You were too exhausted to engage in the same debate. A deal is a deal. 

You were right to check the wardrobe to see if there were any clothes for you. The answer is yes; he had considered everything. You were devastated by the idea of him setting up the room in anticipation of finding you and building a life with you. You couldn't ignore his effort, even if you didn't remember him. He must have been really disappointed to find you this way. You were a disappointment.

You said, “It's a lovely room,” as he walked slowly behind you, making your heart beat. Being in the same room with a supe made it difficult to concentrate on important issues. Once your guy was a supe. He was a supe that was once your boyfriend. Most probably. 

“I'm glad you liked it.”

Soldier Boy hadn't planned to show you the room that was. He hadn't imagined this moment like this, but what was done was done. For the moment, it was all he had. He felt that it was something like displaying your room to a complete stranger who looked just like you, but he soon brushed these feelings aside as he became irritated. You might reestablish your connection with one another. Everything would be okay as long as you had each other. All he needed to do was wait three months. Not a single day more.

By locating Cate and allowing her to use her abilities on you, he could have made you remember everything. The thought of forcing you to do something like that was an option, but it wasn't right. Now you were even more stubborn. Your submissive and docile side, which put all of your trust in him, was far better. But now he had to put up with whatever you had. He might be able to make you change the way you view things later.

Soldier Boy stepped back and set his firearm on the table. Shortly after you sat down on the bed, he started taking off his supe suit and loosening his belt. Your cheeks flushed, unsure of just where to gaze. Soldier Boy, however, grinned mischievously as he removed his hefty chest plate and then everything on him after hearing your heart race. Even though your eyes begged you to stare at his packs, thick belly, and massive shoulders, you chose to look straight into his eyes.

You tried your hardest to imagine how you had once before touched each other and how many times you had touched his body. You were happy that he couldn't read what you were thinking.

He finally laughed as he said, "You don't have to torture your eyes and force them not to look at me," taking pleasure in your small battle. "Enjoy the view."

You only muttered, "Funny," but you were encouraged to take a quick glance at his physique.

You watched him enter the bathroom and turn on the water. Finally, he turned back to the room and removed his gloves. All he had left were his pants. It was a flawless appearance, no doubt about it. Fortunately, he didn't say anything obscene while you were watching him strip off. It was lovely to see him dismantle his outfit piece by piece. His muscles alone were enough to give you an idea of his strength. 

Soldier Boy remarked, “If you need a quick shower, you can join me, you know. To save the water.” as he set his phone aside and unbuttoned his pants to remove them as well. 

You responded, avoiding eye contact this time, “Unfortunately, I already took a shower in the morning, remember?”

“Your loss then.” 

When he removed his trousers, your cheeks flushed, and you lay on the bed to avoid staring at him until he removed his boxers as well. Even though he remained silent, you could hear him smirking. When he entered the restroom, you were now watching the ceiling. While he was having a shower, you finally got up and dressed. 

Soldier Boy emerged from the bathroom with a small towel over his belly as you looked over the stuff he had purchased for you inside the wardrobe. As soon as he glanced at you with a broad grin on his face, you immediately stepped back and swiftly lay on the bed, cradling your pillow. He was clearly delighted by your attempt to get a glimpse of his physique as if it were your first time. Since it was truly your first time, he thought it was funny to see how you reacted.

He abruptly dropped the towel from his belly, revealing his entire wet body to you as he turned to face the wardrobe.

“Don't you have shame?” You grumbled as you finally dropped your pillow beneath your head after tightening your fingers around it. Otherwise, you would bite it out of excitement and embarrassment. Pressing the yearning that was waking between your legs was challenging. You were watching as the drips from his damp hair fell shamelessly down his back and onto the floor, as well as down his tight ass. 

“I'll let you enjoy the view. We've seen each other naked a hundred times.”

“Sorry, I must have a weak memory, but I think that is something fixable at least.” 

“You know what they say; practice makes perfect. It will be my pleasure to help you in this.” After giving you a playful response, Soldier Boy turned to face you entirely nude, revealing his entire wide, muscular physique with pride. He's already excited by your lively and humorous demeanor, which is causing him to think about dirty things. When he noticed your bold attitude, his body forgot the chilly shower he had just had. He was relieved that you held your attitude.

Before he put on his boxers, you had a quick glimpse at his manhood. You felt a little uneasy due to his size and questioned how you could possibly have taken his beast inside of you without Temp-V. It must have been hard for you both to have sex because he was a supe. Perhaps that was somewhat painful from your side. The only way to know was to do it.

You allowed him enough space to lie next to you on the bed when he also put on his sweatpants and t-shirt. It kind of felt odd. As you observed him, the strange, weighty feeling was still present in the air. Once more, the sadness you experienced in Butcher's home, where you and Soldier Boy spent the night, was palpable. You couldn't explain it or understand it; it was just a powerful emotion. It seemed like an ode to the memories you and he had lost. You could rely on it, which made you feel comfortable around him and less frightened of him.

Thus, you moved a bit closer to him while he gazed at you expectantly, as if he were paying attention to how you reacted to him, as if he were attempting to enter your head and find out what you were thinking about him. 

“Come here,” he murmured, and as soon as he noticed your cautious attempt to stay near, he immediately embraced you in his powerful arms. 

You took a big breath of his fresh scent. His aroma was a combination of wood and ocean, a wild but mixed scent. You may claim that this wasn't a stranger at all because it has been said that people had smell memories. You could practically taste and almost recall his in your mouth. 

By complimenting him, you tried to ignore the space between you. “You smell nice,” you remarked. You didn't want to forget him, that's for sure. You desired to remember what you were missing. All you wanted was for things to go escalete naturally, though. He had to give you enough time to get to know him again. 

Then you recalled his sour remarks that if you forgot him, he wouldn't love you. Did he tell the truth to you? Was he being honest? You hoped he could give his name to you without you asking for it anymore. But you didn't press him. 

He just responded, pulling you closer. “Hmm.”

As he watched you, you placed one of your hands on his sharp jaw and massaged and stroked him there. Even though you were even unable to recall his name, he was a little perplexed by how at ease you were with him, but he was completely cool with it. In that one real instant, your heated arguments earlier meant absolutely nothing. You went through all of that pain for that little, gentle, and tender moment.

As if to show you that he would be gentle after you took Temp-V, his powerful hands lightly patted your back. But you couldn't ignore his strength; you knew he would easily rip you in two if he utilized it even little on you. You weren't scared at all, yet it was enough to make you shiver. Simply put, it was thrilling. You felt safe and sound.

Your hands moved to his, caressed his still-wet hair, and then paused at his neck, feeling encouraged. You kept checking his green eyes to make sure he was alright, moving your head and body closer to his lips. Then you closed your eyes, overcome by his intense stare, and instinctively pressed your lips to his warm ones. Feeling something and attempting to restore what you had lost was perfectly normal.

You could see he wasn't expecting you to act so brazen and eager, but he immediately regained his composure and kissed you passionately and without hesitation.

Soldier Boy had missed you and needed you more than ever; there was no doubt about that. Both of you were touching each other, and the yearning to feel something was agonizing. That was all he had, but he hadn't imagined your first night in your home like this. Your agreement would be terminated if he endured three more months of pain. It seems that it would take some time to make you remember everything. Yet Soldier Boy was patient when it came to you.

It did not, however, imply that he would stay away from you until you recalled. Fortunately, it was okay for you to go all the way and let him look after you and fuck you as he desired. He needed to touch you, feel you, be inside of you, and prove you belonged to him once again. Your body also needs that. The way you responded to him made it crystal clear. 

Soldier Boy didn't lose another second to move on top of you without breaking the kiss. Although the kiss was nearly slow, it was urgent, desperate, and passionate. Your bodies yearned to be close. 

Even though you gasped in surprise, you continued to kiss him softly as he positioned himself between your legs. The hardness between your legs seemed like it wanted to go through your underwear and sleeping clothes, but you tried to ignore it. Soldier Boy's kisses were intense, passionate, and full of hunger. To find a more comfortable position, you shifted slightly beneath him. He forced you to lie properly by pushing your cushion away and pulling you down slightly beneath him. You seemed to be at his mercy.

 As you continued to kiss him tenderly, your hands tingled as they touched his thick beard. You had no control over your lips and mouth; they simply wouldn't quit. It was as though his powerful hands controlled every part of your body to find the things you forgot about. His kisses were becoming more forceful and possessive than yours, as though he was also looking for something that he had lost with you.

His hands gripped your hips and pinned them under him while he silently growled and pushed his tongue in your mouth. It wasn't until then that you realized you were rubbing against him to create some friction. Without reluctance or guilt, you reached his belly with your hands, slipped your fingers into his t-shirt, and caressed his pacs. His chest was surprisingly warm, and it was nice to touch and feel his power beneath your fingertips.

Getting to know his muscles and physique again felt amazing. You pondered whether he was also finding the procedure enjoyable. After all, it wasn't his first time with you.

Soldier Boy didn't appear to be going to draw back anytime soon, so you eventually did so to catch your breath.

You attempted to engage in some real conversation as your finger continued to probe his muscles beneath his t-shirt. “You are very warm,” you said, breaking the silence. Since your reunion, you have argued more than you have talked in peace.

Through your lips, Soldier Boy gave you a little smile before he slightly withdrew. Desire was bursting forth and reddening both of your lips.

He remarked, “I can get warmer,” and raised an eyebrow. When he slightly warmed his chest, you gazed at him bewildered and then gasped in surprise. You were shocked, but it didn't hurt.

“Then you must be very useful in winters.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, eventually placing his length between your legs to provide the friction you had been seeking for a while. “I'll keep you so warm and nice."

He kissed you again just after you said, “I hope so,” but this time he was more possessive, as if he was eager to show you that you were his and would do anything you asked from him. It was strange how comfortable and proper it felt to be at his mercy and underneath him.

Even though you weren't sure whether you would go all the way without utilizing Temp-V, you chose to follow his lead and see what transpired. All you could hope for was that he wouldn't leave you unsatisfied. You spread your legs somewhat wider and lifted your hips slightly to signal your need and want to him. Like he was battling you, his tongue and lips were biting yours. You would have gone insane just from the way his muscles were flexing beneath your fingertips. You really needed to feel him.

You even surprised yourself by how loudly you moaned as one of his hands gripped your tits and played with your nipple through your top. You needed the release since you had been teasing each other since the morning, but you weren't sure how to go about it precisely.

Soldier Boy decided you were ready to go further with him after hearing your desperate moans. Since you had been teasing since the morning, you both really needed a moment to relax. His recent chilly shower had no significance at all.

You gasped as he quickly drew back and lowered your sweatpants with your underwear. You kept your hands inside his t-shirt to indicate to him that you were prepared for some foreplay. Feeling his heart pound beneath your hands caused you to calm a little. He needed you as much as you needed him. He still desired you in spite of his thoughts about your new self. 

He examined every inch of your body, making your legs tremble with eagerness and coldness. Despite your strong desire to escape from his penetrating gaze, you chose to wait patiently underneath him, telling yourself that you had previously done it a hundred times. There was no cause for fear. 

As his hands began to brush across your knees, he smirked slyly and said, “Are you feeling anxious now?” Your chest lifted with strong breaths, and you felt defenseless without a cushion beneath your head. 

“No,” you immediately replied. Even though your cheeks were flushed, you chose to be bold. It wasn't your first time with him, you kept telling yourself. “I rather feel... wet.” 

When he found nothing unsure on your expression, you could feel him warming up beneath your hand. Despite your best efforts to disguise it, he could see that you were still anxious and bashful, but there was no reluctance. Soldier Boy's hardness was urging him to lower his sweatpants and boxers and go inside you with a single hard thrust. You both needed a little foreplay, but you could lure him into your warm pussy so well. He would properly look after you later.

“Well, I'm having trust issues lately, so I must check myself if you're telling me the truth,” he said in an amusing manner. As you waited for him to act already, you smiled softly at him. 

You went crazy as his hands gently moved up your legs and thighs without breaking eye contact. You were actually flowing there as his fingers finally reached your pussy and his lips opened in astonishment and delight. You were completely ruined there. You whimpered quietly as he palmed your pussy and then your slick since you've been feeling sensitive. You had your hips up in expectancy. 

“Fuck,” he shrieked, sensing your slippery liquid on his palms. He could simply glide inside you since you were so moist beneath him at the moment. He didn't even have to get you ready. “Guess we have an issue here.”

“Told you,” you mumbled, biting your bruised lips to keep your hungry moans to yourself. You wouldn't say no if he lowered his trousers and shoved his hardness into your pussy since even his hands felt so amazing. You would simply let him fuck you. 

Without saying anything, he played with your clit for a brief while before pushing a finger inside without warning. As if you were supposed to take him the way he wished, his finger moved with such ease. He kept an extremely close eye on your reaction. You wanted to get rid of panties and sweatpants so you could move freely beneath him, but his powerful hands prevented you from moving at all. He didn't even need to attempt to get you to come; you could come at any time.

It would be safer if you injected yourself with Temp-V for your first sex after a lengthy period of time apart, but it was hard for Soldier Boy not to take himself in hand and fuck you. He would not risk it without you using Temp-V, although he was usually very cautious when you fucked. He didn't want to be concerned about hurting you while you fucked. You needed that Temp-V. 

His finger continued to move inside you, and he asked, “You like this?” Seeing you in such need and desperation beneath him must have thrilled him. 

With an “I'm not sure,” you continued to tease him even though you were on the verge of losing your mind from how intense you were feeling at the time. “Need more.”

“You are greedy, aren't you?” In a gruff voice, he continued, “Let's see what I can do about this.” You guessed he thought you were challenging him. That was good.

This time, you both gasped as he pushed another finger inside. He had thick, rough fingers. Your eye watered with pleasure and intensity, and your hole felt so little in comparison to his two big fingers. You started pleading, “Please.”

He began to fuck you rough with two fingers while his jaw tightened. His fingers glided into you with ease since you were sufficiently slippery, but you stiffened up as he began to get a bit too quick and harsh. You started to panic and said, “Careful!” You put your hands on the abdomen as if you were prepared to shove him at any moment. However, he refused to move at all.

“Calm down!”

You closed your eyes as soon as your walls constricted, and you let out a loud moan as you experienced your orgasm before he could add a third finger. While your legs were trembling like a leaf, he kept fucking you with his fingers. You wondered how his cock would feel inside of you because his fingers felt absolutely amazing. As you rode your osgasm properly, Soldier Boy kept fucking you with his fingers while keeping his gaze fixed on you, watching you closely.

He believed he could come in his boxers right there since you looked so lovely and beautiful when you gave yourself all to the pleasure.

It was a feeling he had missed. He had missed seeing you take everything from him the way you needed. He had missed hearing your heartbeat and seeing you grow pleased. You still belonged to him. No matter what, that would never change. Soldier Boy hadn't planned your first night together in your house weeks earlier to be like this, and while it wasn't the ideal scenario, it was still good enough.

Soon, everything will be fine.

When you eventually opened your eyes after riding your orgasm, you noticed Soldier Boy staring at you seriously. When you were really sensitive, he slowly removed his fingers from your pussy. As he tugged up your panties and pajamas, your pulse was pounding wildly. You were unsure on how to proceed at this point. 

He immediately stopped you as you put your shaky hands in his sweatpants to let out his cock and offer him the same pleasure he gave you. You gave him a perplexed expression. “Let me..”

He interrupted you right away, saying, “Enough for today.” He surprised you by placing a hard kiss on your forehead before you were able to react. 

“I'm alright,” you said, puzzled by his changed attitude. After all, you had been teasing another one since the morning. There was no reason for stopping. “We can continue. I mean it.”

Soldier Boy took a deep breath and swiftly moved your hands away from his throbbing cock. He understood that in order to avoid offending you, he had to be honest with you at this moment. Not because he didn't want it. He was about to lose his mind. “We should get some sleep. If not, I'll end up breaking your hips and bones. For the first time in a long time, I don't trust myself at the moment.”

It was the best way he could describe the issue, and he didn't want to come off as threatening. He wasn’t good at expressing himself anyway.

“Oh,” you simply muttered.

Soldier Boy had made up his mind, but you didn't want to let him be dissatisfied while his hardness continued to give signals to you. Breathing deeply, he returned to his side on the bed and pulled you into his embrace, placing your head on his warm chest. By then, you were all right.

Your head was resting on his warm chest, and you couldn't help but smile as a wave of happiness and security washed over you, making you feel better than before. You loved the feeling of being in his strong arms. You couldn't help but bring your body closer to his, as though there were just a single gap between you.

He listened to your heart pounding with delight and said, “Satisfied and happy, huh?” in a playful tone. Soldier Boy couldn't help but feel the same way as he felt your exhilaration and unexpected joy in his arms. Uncontrollably, his arms grew tighter around your entire body.

You questioned innocently, “It's not so bad, isn't it? I guess we are good like this. Not as awful as you believe, right?” In less than three months, he might decide that you were okay even if you had no memory of anything at all. Perhaps he would reconsider about giving your new self a chance. He could perhaps fall in love with you again.

Soldier Boy kissed your head firmly and with a heavy heart. He couldn't deny that he was perplexed about what was happening between you and that his thoughts and feelings were in chaos. He just knew that he would not allow your memories to fade. No manner what. He decided not to say mean things and destroy your happiness at that time. Letting your memories just fade away would be a betrayal of everything you had built together.

He only said, “Not so bad,” recalling your final days together, which had been months ago. His heart longed for what he craved in you. He missed you.

You allowed your body to rest a little bit under Soldier Boy's strong arms after he gave you an encouraging response, and you closed your eyes peacefully as happiness caused your heart to race with relief and relaxation.

Next Chapter

⋆──⛥──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──⛥──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──⛥──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──⛥──⋆

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[thanatologie]

iron man 1994 my beloved i could never hate tony's bitchin mullet.

like there's definitely some allegory to be taken away there, sure, about how emmrich has such a distaste for the nobility but essentially isn't that what joining the lich lords is? stepping into the ranks of the elite of the elites, the ones who'll live forever? and he gets there and it's hollow and full of ash because the things that made his life good and worth getting up for in the morning - manfred, love, even simple things like the perfect sandwich and a good cup of tea - are all denied to him now, essentially. something something trading those things for something he's yearned for for years and discovering he's still going to end up ultimately alone and lonely, and really, making rook break their promise to him (never lonely) because they're going to die, he's not.

but! i don't think it's as nebulous as all that. i think there's something much more...tangible? in how hinky it is. look, you've got these powerful, immortal necromancers who found a way to cheat death itself. who are clearly the ones ultimately running the show, at least in the necropolis. who've sold themselves as nevarra's ultimate protectors of things that go bump in the night, turning lich tropes on their head. who stringently control who and who cannot join them. with an entire fucking city - essentially, because the necropolis is not just a really big graveyard, it's a functioning city - who've drank the koolaid and either don't believe they exist or buy the party line that everything about these - again - extremely powerful and immortal necromancers is absolutely fine, nothing to see here.

like everything we hear about these guys comes from emmrich, who is...basically starstruck and romanticizing the whole thing in his head. he's swallowed what they've told him, he's devoted to the mourn watch and he would see being able to serve it long after he was supposed to die as a blessing and a duty. we get some lip service from one of the lich lords before they like. watch rook like a hawk (why???) during the ritual instead of, you know, being in the room with the ritual. but everything about these guys sets off every alarm bell there is. "how many exceptions until tyranny", that one guy asks, while tightening the thumb screws on emmrich to join their little club (and for what? is it because he's so naive and vulnerable and suggestable as to be molded into...something?).

tell me these guys aren't magisters breaching the fade part 2: electric boogaloo in some way and i'll be like you sure about that?

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Alright, question. Does anyone know what these graphs that show up throughout Double are? They're driving me insane because the only thing I can think of them being is brainwaves, which has Implications (aka Trikoto coping). It doesn't look perfectly like it, but I think it's the best match.

Like, here's the thing. First, they look like functions, except both sides of the "y" axis are positive??? Which makes no sense, obviously. That makes it hard to figure out what they're supposed to be, since I don't know any graphs which are Like That. My only guess is that it means the value displayed is always positive or doesn't matter, meaning the plus signs are there only to indicate it's a graph, but it's not fantastic. Again, if someone has better ideas, let me know (and it's probably a good idea to check the notes of this post in case I'm being stupid btw).

But let's look. There's two distinct type of "functions" which appear; sine-like functions (wavy) and "spiky" functions. Here's the issue with that. Sine functions appear fucking everywhere in nature, so it's not like that really helps narrow down what we're dealing with here. And spiky functions like that just- they're nowhere to be found. I literally did a reverse image search on a Paint reconstruction to see if anything in the internet looked like that, but I was only finding electrical systems (icons, not graphs) and stuff that Does Not Look Related. So what are they?

Again, I'm not sure, but take a look at one of the contexts in which they appear.

(I apologize for the youtube scroll bar there, I can't be bothered to get these screenshots without going frame by frame)

On the left, Mikoto is sleeping with a sine wave next to him. On the right, John is awake with a spiky graph. The imagery of sleeping and dreaming is very prevalent in Double, as a lot of times (including the scene I'm referencing right now) switches between Mikoto and John are indicated by "Oyasumi" ('good night') for Mikoto and "Ohayo" ('good morning') for John (mostly, depends on exact theories). Not to mention all the times the word "dream" shows up, etc. Just look at the MV, it's filled with this type of imagery.

Which is what got me thinking these graphs could be approxiamates of brainwave graphs.

Notice how Gamma and Beta waves, associated with wakefulness, are pretty spiky. Not as sharp as whatever the fuck John's got going on, but pretty spiky nonetheless. Meanwhile, Theta waves, which some sources claim is associated to light sleep, looks vaguely like a sine function if you look at it with one eye closed.

Honestly, while the comparison is not perfect by any means, the fact it relates to so many of Double's themes like sleep and exploration of the mind makes me think this is the most likely thing. I reiterate, I am not completely confident on this, if you have better ideas let me know.

And this interpretation does work with most of it's appearances without much issue. We've already seen the "John is awake" thing:

(Note: For this post I am only taking into account things between the plus signs. Other scribbles can be interpreted as just that, scribbles to indicate a chaotic mental state, and will thus be disregarded)

It shows up alongside (presumably) John again in the "that'd be good" image flash.

And there's also this? Which I'm not sure qualifies. The plus signs are over the entire scene, while the spiky function is only on part of the scene.

Which makes me think it wouldn't quite count, but I can't be sure.

But you may have noticed I'm sort of ignoring the elephant in the room. Look at the graphs which appear alongside Mikoto:

There's usually two overlapping functions (if you ignore another two-function graph appearing at the very end of the "Mikoto is sleeping" scene). Which I imagine doesn't quite make sense even with DID (I mean, by definition a function cannot have two f(x) values assigned to the same 'x' value), but this is a symbolic function, it doesn't have to literally work. And if they are brainwaves, they would likely represent... co-fronting, presumably? Which sorta doesn't work unless Trikoto is real, as we never hear of John co-fronting ever. Doesn't help that the final image flash, as you can see, a few frames later gives a third function in a separate graph, so 2 + 1 imagery.

And it actually works pretty well. The first scene where this happens has two sine functions, one of which has higher frequency at the start, but slowly loses frequency until it fully overlaps. And in that moment, Mikoto wakes up and there's a switch to John. The deeper the sleep, the lower the frequency (<- massive oversimplification). So, Mikoto, who is already asleep at the start, probably has that sine function which doesn't change, and a second alter goes to sleep, going dormant.

Which fits, because later, when Mikoto is awake and panting, one of the functions is spiky (awake) while the other is sine-y (asleep). So there's a dormant alter here. But we then see a graph for presumably the alter right after, which is spiky and awake. Thus, the alter that's dormant is neither Mikoto nor the alter on the ceiling, therefore Trikoto.

That covers all the times these graphs appear in the MV (I checked. I have issues). So, again, not certain of any conclusions, but brainwaves is sorta the best I can come up with at the moment. Anyways, thanks for reading and take care!

[f1-stuff]

Body Swap ❤️

(Here's the previous piece I shared)

And a 1k snippet cus what the hell:

He wakes up, and he’s still Carlos. Well, he’s Charles, but in Carlos form- yeah... 

He lays in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and wondering how this all works. Is his own brain still in his body? It must be, right? So then, how is his consciousness in another body when his brain is still where it’s supposed to be? Is it his personality, but with Carlos’ brain? But it can’t be, or else, he’d be able to speak fluent Spanish right now (he tries, and in fact, cannot).

He tries to remember what happened the night of the race. He knows that they’d all gone to get drinks, the sting of his DNF and Carlos’ penalty still too fresh in their veins for sleep. But after arriving at the hotel bar, everything gets...fuzzy. Charles can’t recall anything, until the next morning, when he’d woken up as Carlos.

The gap in his memory is notable enough to make him think that whatever happened in that gap contains their answer for...whatever’s happening. But it doesn’t get him any closer to remembering.

When he finally gets up, it’s because his growling stomach becomes too insistent to ignore any longer. He only runs into a couple doorframes on his way to the kitchen, still  not used to these specific proportions or controlling this body’s limbs. He finds Carlos already there, and it still shocks him to see what looks like his own body operating separately from himself. Carlos, obviously, knows where everything in his own kitchen is. But it looks to Charles like he, himself, knows where every dish and cup and ingredient is in his teammate’s kitchen, a kitchen he’s never been in until right now.

His headache from yesterday is already returning.

“Morning,” Carlos says, when he notices Charles lingering in the doorway. “Fuck, that’s weird.” Charles doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“Morning,” he says, shuffling over to the island and sitting in one of the stools.

“I’m making some coffee.”

“I don’t drink it,” Charles says, and then realizes that Carlos does. “Oh...”

“Yeah,” Carlos says, smirking. “Bet you’ll feel much better after.”

Charles is still resistant to the idea, but when Carlos puts a cup in his hands, the smell alone begins to wake up Charles’ senses. He downs the whole thing, the taste familiar and welcome on his tongue, and feels like he can almost function again.

“Better?” Carlos asks, and Charles nods, gratefully. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay,” Charles says. “You?”

“Yeah, okay, also.”

They descend into silence, and Charles feels distinctly like they’ve...forgotten how to be around each other. But they can’t be blamed for not acting themselves, when they aren’t themselves.

“So...what do we do?” Charles asks, and Carlos sighs.

“I did some research,” he says, and Charles raises his brows. “I don’t know if any of it is to be believed. But, I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Okay,” Charles says, gesturing for him to keep going.

“Well, first, I found just a bunch of things about virtual reality, which was not helpful,” Carlos says, scoffing. “And then, there were things about brain transplants which...I don’t think has happened.”

It’s strangely reminiscent of his own thoughts this morning, but Charles just nods without interrupting.

“There was something about ‘mirror souls,’ ” Carlos says, and it makes Charles’ ears perk up.

“That sounds promising.”

“Well, it is part of this...spiritualism thing. And there were people talking about their souls switching bodies with their ‘twin flame.’ But we are not...” Carlos trails off, and Charles frowns, not totally understanding what he means.

“ ‘Twin flame’ - what is this?”

“I don’t really know,” Carlos says, sighing. “But it did not sound like us.”

“Well...okay,” Charles says, feeling frustration building, but not with Carlos necessarily - just with the whole situation. “Did you find anything about how to undo this?”

Carlos hesitates, but then shakes his head.

“Not really, no. Everything was saying that either it is an energy exchange that should undo itself very quickly, or that we need to...understand something. About each other. And until we do that, we will stay...like this.”

They’re both silent again, Carlos letting him process the words.

“But how did this happen in the first place?” Charles asks, eventually. “Why can’t we remember that night, after the race?” 

Carlos shrugs, his expression apologetic. Charles is struck by how it feels to see his own face with that expression aimed at him.

“We have to fix this, Carlos. The next race is in less than two weeks. We cannot still be like this when it’s time to drive the cars.”

“I know, Charles,” he sighs. “But what can we do?”

“We should...tell someone. Try to get advice-”

“You want to tell someone?” Carlos asks, disbelief in his voice. “Who would believe us, Charles? They will think we are playing a prank. Or that we’ve gone crazy. They’ll withdraw us from the race-”

“They wouldn’t do that-”

“How do you know?” Carlos interjects, his voice raising.

“Carlos...” Charles starts, taking a breath. “It will be a disaster. We will have to either learn to drive like each other, or else, entirely change our setups. It will be like...”

“Like learning to drive from scratch,” Carlos finishes for him.

“Exactly. This,” he says. “Impossible.”

“It’s not impossible, Charles. We’ve done it before. When we first got into an F1 car.”

“Yes, but-” Charles breaks off, scoffing. “You can’t be serious, Carlos.”

“What choice do we have?” he asks, and Charles doesn’t have an answer. “If we don’t know how to reverse this, then we have to focus on what we do know. We have under two weeks to get ready to drive each other’s cars, so...” He lifts his brows.

Charles sighs. He knows Carlos is right, but it means admitting that he’s gonna be stuck like this for longer.

“Okay, so...what now?”

WIP Wednesday

[myfaveisfuckable]

Jadzia:

1. Okay so. First off, incredibly trans coded. Like, holy shit. Jadzia's species (Trill) can join with a symbiont (worm) and they become one being and also the host gains the memories of previous hosts. Jadzia's symbiont (Dax) was previously joined to a man, Curzon, for ages and at the start of the show she's only recently been joined (when Curzon died of old age) and we frequently meet characters who knew Dax back when it was joined to Curzon so they go "Curzon! Look at this guy, he and I go way back" and she points to her pronouns pin (that part's only canon in my heart) and says "i go by Jadzia now :)" and it's great. But ON TOP OF THAT! I love the hc that Jadzia was already trans before she was joined to Dax and personally, I further headcanon that she *used to be* hung but got bottom surgery. Thus, all apply.

(oh and yes i'm the same person who submitted Quark for his pussy popping and yes, ds9 truly is the most queer star trek. or at least the queerest classic trek)

2. Trans icon via symbiotic worm. Gets way more tail than the supposed "ladie's man" on the show. In a past life, got dicked down by Vanessa Williams so hard it literally caused a heart-attack. Fucks Klingons so hard they BOTH end up in the infirmary afterward. Also just insanely hot and a hotly insane.

* It is not currently canon but has been in the past.

Pyrrha:

1. Pyrrha "Daddy" Dve, butch loverboy who cannot help but give the ladies what they want. She's a gentle and supportive parent who provides for her family and braids her little girl's hair every morning. She's a hardbitten noir veteran who's left that life behind and just wants out, but the life won't let her go that easily. She's a hopeless romantic with a terrible sense of humor. She's the only survivor of her friends. She's been dead for ten thousand years. She's a functioning alcoholic, and she fucked your mom. The perfect woman.

2. AGGHHHH pyrrha the woman you are. i need to kiss you on the mouth i need you to fly me up to that planet i want the best for you you should get to kill god

3. Oh God oh God. I just love her so much

4. she can cook, she can shoot a gun, camilla and palamedes want her so bad, she's 10,000 years old and counting, and her meat is huge.

5. if pyrrha has no fans not only am i dead but also my soul has by some unknowable process ceased to exist and every ounce of what was once myself, is no longer within any realm

* it's real and huge* ITS ACTUALLY CANON 🎉🎉* It's essentially canon the body she's in has a penis, but ALSO her pre-lyctorhood body is ALSO trans to me. She has a massive dick no matter the form i know it in my heart and soul. * The physical dick was not always hers (there's some body swapping shenanigans going on) but she's had it for a very long time and knows how to use it. We've never known her any other way.

[upontherisers]

because i’m That Person, can i ask a silly little question about preferred coffee orders for any oc or grouping of your ocs? do they have preferred coffee (or tea!) orders? do they have opinions about *other* peoples’ orders? — @shoshiwrites ☕️

i'm not a coffee guy by any means but this is a fun character exercise so here are the coffee orders for everyone in the mattie/joe poet laureate/secret service AU because i've been thinking a lot about them recently

poet laureate mattie james: sugar. so so much sugar. she says it's just enough to get rid of the bitterness of black coffee but joe is pretty sure that the amount she adds is actually illegal (he still gets eight sugar packets when he orders for them both). she likes a coffee in the morning and any time she's in the recording studio

special agent joe toye: black and hot, even well into summer. it's all the army had and it's what he got used to. he can't stand all the extra shit people try to put in. a medium black coffee is good for him. "oh look at mr. inflexible set in his ways" says mattie. so he takes a sip of hers and it is as disgusting as he thought it'd be but he tried it nonetheless because who can say no to that face and those big brown eyes.

special agent johnny martin: large, two creams, two sugars. he used to be like joe but he's in his dad era now. why deny himself a little fun? sometimes he gets an iced coffee but not that nitro cold brew shit. he ordered one once and he thought he was having a heart attack. he has perfectly balanced his caffeine intake and he's not going fuck with it.

special agent bill guarnere: a dash of cream and a little sugar and hot. what is this numbers shit? a good coffee is cheap and they make it how he likes it without gettin' too fancy. there's one coffee shop he goes to in all of d.c. and god forbid he has to order from dunkin or starbucks when they're on the road. there's a lot of "back in my day" (aren't you like 28) to the baristas and johnny apologizes and shuffles him out of the store.

special agent bull randleman: iced green tea in the warm months, chai in the cold, but never matcha. matcha just tastes like dirt to him. a little caffeine but not too much. he's not his best when he's jittery and he crashes if he has too much at once. he gets a lavender green tea once and bill makes fun of him but bill tries it (and likes it) says "huh. not bad" so occasionally lavender green tea gets thrown in the mix.

supervisory special agent lewis nixon: hot, black, and in a mug from the coffee maker in the secret service administration offices. he can use something a little more mobile and he knows it, but he likes how it makes him stay in one place for a while and that it makes other people stay too. (like ms. james' witty and quite demanding harvard publicist) i mean it's good to make dick slow every once and a while.

group supervisor dick winters: sorry but you cannot convince me that 21st century dick winters is not a caffeine addict. he doesn't get into the energy drinks but he definitely always has a coffee on him and he doesn't know if caffeine has no effect on him or if he has it so much that it's now his baseline of function.

publicist/manager georgie webster: it's a ridiculous, sweet as fuck, more-syrups-than-coffee, takes-two-tickets-to-print ass order and she always manages to make the secret service foot the bill, which pisses nix off more than anything because he's the one reconciling the expense reports. "nine dollars for a grande" he mumbles and georgie bats her eyes like she can't possibly know what he's talking about.

record producer george luz: he may or may not be abusing the label's partnership with rockstar energy but he is always wide awake and on top of his shit so who's to say

[green-pine]

Meh what can i say

I cant even draw that much lately

I feel like a black dot in a infinite whitespace

Im so confused and apathetic

Im tired all day, But im still eating normally so im not feeling down at least. Im afraid i dont feel anything, anything deep at least. Im not sad rn, im just confused.

I got really sad this morning when i woke up, i started crying...im starting to feel very lonely again, but this time ive realized ive got no one to go to, no toxic ex, no friend, nothing.

I should be looking for someone new but im too emotionally vulnerable rn, im scared im going to be abused again.

Its been one year since this artwork i made, its title "sex doll". I guess it still represents me somehow. Days are going by so quickly, im losing myself in each one of them, they are blurry and they melt together, they mean nothing. I spend them being somewhat detached from them, like im not really living them, as if they were just in my mind all the time.

But again, im not feeling extremely sad or anything, im just empty and i feel like i should kill myself, but i know deep down thst i wont bc im too curious, curiousity has always been my problem, it always backlashed. Some minor things happen and i get too curious to see how they will end. Sometimes i wonder if im still the person i used to be, and i think i am somehow, but at the same time im not. Im definetly less stressed than i previously was when it comes to my future, mainly bc i accepted that its probably gonna suck, or that im not gonna have one at all. Maybe ill kill myself before ill ever have one. Im not motivated anymore, i have this feeling of emptiness and loneliness that blocks me. When i was younger i had so many big dreams and a strong motivation to achieve them, i didnt need anyone, now i need someone.

I have some good friends yes, but they cannot fulfill that type of loneliness.

Im so angry at times, i think about what happened to me, how i let people treat me like shit and never did anything bc it was pointless, but the pain remains.

None of this writing makes big sense its just a stream of thoughts im having.

It sounds dumb as fuck, i wanna go to sleep

I spend the whole day just waiting for that

I should kill myself

There is no point in living anymore

Kill myself

Kill myself

Empty

Nothing

No desire

Nothing

Im detached

Nothing feels

Nothings real

I dont like anything anymore

I just function

Im a machine

Terminate me pls

End me

End me

Idiot

Idiot

Idiot

Delusional fuck

Idiot

What are you hoping for

Kill youself

Stop the game

You can do that at anytime

Find your joy

In the absense of pain

Kill youself

Slit your wrist

Your neck

Killl it

Die

Die

Die

Die

[whumpfish]

Me, opening up to my ex: [explains my psychotic symptoms]

Her: Omg you hear voices?? What are they saying about me?? XD

Me, now, away from her: That I should have left your ass then and there, but I couldn't hear them over all the ableism in the room

My first hallucination ever was auditory. I was in the shower, and thought my aunt had come over and was talking to my mom. Then I listened harder to the words and realized they were narrating different functions of my brain, and the inside noise I was used to since age 5 was now on the outside. It scared the shit out of me. I was 16.

When I came out that year, people would go "oh you're so brave!" And I'm just sitting there smiling like "Thanks! I'm also psychotic, and my closet only has room for one skeleton."

I spent most of my young adult life dealing with intermittent tactile hallucinations (a special level of hell given my raging entomophobia,) and fucking terrified the auditories would come back, because I had received no guidance from who was quite possibly the worst shrink in the entire country, and so I had subconsciously bought into the idea that auditories specifically are dangerous and scary and make you dangerous and scary. Once my health tanked 5 years ago and all my everything became more severe, they did.

Now, after a couple macrocycles, I'm normal about them. They're not scary, they're just... annoying, because I have to check with my mom if I suspect I'm having one. In fact, I much prefer them to staying up til 4 in the morning in a state of high tension, swatting insects that aren't there.

I've started speaking casually of them to family. I have an uncle who I never met who had bipolar I like me. He died from it, and so everybody has kind of shied away from the subject because nobody knew how to talk to him either and look how that turned out. My bipolar I presenting had a more profound effect on our interactions than me coming out, (which everyone was just kind of like "yeah that makes sense.") Eventually I figured the only way to break this is to be just as normal about my disease.

If I don't, it's going to stay unknown and uncomfortable and scary, and that doesn't help anybody.

BUT, that's family. The whole episode with my ex taught me that if I'm not joking about my symptoms, I am the joke. It's discouraged me from opening up, to say the least. I only share this much because of the safety of internet anonymity.

Double that when I'm outside the home. I wrote in my disability app that I can ask my mom if she indeed left her alarm radio on or if the neighbors are in fact having a loud party next door, because it sounds like medium to loud voices but too "distant" to make out words, but I cannot for my safety ask a coworker if they hear that too.

there's a lot to be said about how the average person indulges in delusions far more than anyone is really comfortable grappling with. every now and again, a poll comes out that reveals some sort of number of people who believe they have magical powers, usually pretty high, and everyone takes turns making fun of it and affirming their own Sanity

this is more observational than scientific, but it really does seem like writing off delusional thinking as the realm of the "insane" creates this valley where the "normal" person's thinking (especially a person who considers themself normal, but that's a whole other kettle of fish) must be more empirical, because, categorically, they are not insane

[peripheralviewsandcatattitudes]

Welcome to the Year of the Crumb

Sunday 23 March, 2025

so where do we begin? ans where do we end?

long time, no see my very good friend (please pardon the unnecessary but sneaky rhyme).

you ask me, a rhetorical: how have you been? (i jolt my head and quietly shiver). i cannot answer that question pessimistically - or optimistically for the matter. you can assume that this glass of water some kind of fluid in it. it is clear, calm and collected. but whether it is half empty or half full is another thread waiting to happen. all that I can really attend to is that: i am alive (surprisingly). i am breathing (h.e due to the implications of "the bug", only through one nostril). i am somewhat content in my life; *most of* my friends are healthy and not malicious (back-biting in small numbers), my fridge is stocked, my pantry is contained. my spotify playlists are updating as we speak. my REM has been regular. the only thing that hasn't changed since we last spoke? you guessed it - everyday, i am still fucking depressed.

now, i don't know exactly where we left off the last time i spoke to you. however, something tells me i was investing long and hard in fields of the mirtazapine industry. unfortunately after 5 years into the harvest, i lost track of the engines and eventually lost response with the source. i mean, other than a subtle self induced coma, the medication did not adjust much of my brain chemistry. to be frank, nothing so far has really. 2025 is the year of the inaugural crumb and we do have some newer additions to the "How to make sure Sarah does not axe murder Anyone 101" family. first we have duloxetine - also known by their shiny stage name of "Cymbalta". it is a half green half blue pill, so you connect with all sides of the Matrix everytime you ingest it. Cymbalta is used specifically for "anxiety and depression" - yes, kind of what you'd refer to as the orange and apple juice of generic mental disorders. how effective has it been? 7/10 - that is a modest estimate (trust me, it got me through 3.5 years in hospitality work. i remain a touch grateful to this choice). next up, we have the funky fresh sounds of Quietiapine! also known as 8 hours of sleep in a jiffy. this is a little pink pill (kind of adorable, actually). it's the first anti-psychotic i have ever been prescribed to (yes, i have been enlisted to the subo army now). how effective has it been? 6 to a light 7/10. it's done wonders for my REM. trust me, when i haven't secured a thorough amount of rest, you would not want to be in my circle the morning after. just saying - if i met you as a bread loaf after having a bad sleep, you are at risk of becoming the "crumb". last but not least, we have Sodium Valproate!!! these purple pills that taste and smell somewhat real similar to marijuana are apparently very useful anti-psychotics? i have been taking 4 of these a days and do you know how effective they've been? DR. DO FUCK ALL. they have literally done peeled potatoes for me. and look, i might be hypercritical but i was told by my shrink that these were supposed to do at least something. they haven't snapped a twig in my membranes. they haven't sparked a new electrical plug, or changed the structures of my cranial functions. due to my dismay in the pill, i have come to the conclusion of not even rating them out of 10. therefore, i've resorted to the Anthony Fantano code of conduct: NOT GOOD. 👀

okay. so we have covered one thing that has pretty much been happening with me. i have gone on a merry, frozen berry pill hopping journey... you know how some people travel the Great Ocean Road, or go on exchange overseas. folks, i go PILL HOPPING. y'all been a wild ride!!!

Until then

smc xoxox

[myveryownpersonalhell]

Introvert Issues

A generic rant, nothing more.

Being a huge introvert, I appreciate quiet time. I love my current job for a few reasons:

First, I have my own office that's away from most of the other staff, and I have peace and quiet for most of the day. Occasionally, someone will pop in to quickly say hi or ask a question, but I'm fine with that.

Second, I get to set my own schedule; my boss knows that I know what I'm doing, and he's never had an issue with me getting my work done or meeting deadlines. There's no micromanaging, nagging, or 'friendly reminders'. I'm given a job, and I do it.

Third, casual dress code (nothing really to do with introversion, but throwing on a pair of jeans and a hoodie every morning saves me the time of having to decide on what to wear, and saves me the cost of buying and maintaining dress clothes). I'm not a fashion icon, and I know nothing about brand names or high-end stuff, or even fashion itself. My clothes are functional, not classy.

Fourth, my boss and almost all of my coworkers rock. We all work well together, we collaborate well, and we're all on the same page.

Of course, there's usually always one that drives you nuts.

My job involves a lot of things. Accounting, HR, safety stuff, IT stuff, website design and server maintenance, graphic design, etc. I do a wide variety of things, and I really do love it. A lot of what I do requires concentration, which is why a quiet office is beneficial to me. Of course I deal with interruptions, but they're usually minimal. Most of my coworkers take a few minutes of my time if they have a question, and the conversations are short and necessary, or there's a quick call. But, concentration is key, and so is quiet. I can't concentrate if a radio is playing, or if someone is constantly talking. Most of my coworkers understand this.

Then, there's Emily, who is a massive extrovert, and she is literally incapable of not talking or making some sort of noise. I can avoid her most of the time, but to me, she's utterly exhausting just to be around.

She'll literally walk up a flight to stairs to use the bathroom near my office just to have an excuse to talk to me. There's a bathroom about ten steps from her desk, but she'll literally walk across the office, up the stairs and down the hall just to use the upstairs bathroom and then she MUST say hi, and tell me all about her weekend or evening for 20-30 minutes.

I've told her I'm busy multiple times, and she didn't take a hint. I've ignored her, and she still keeps talking. It's at the point where, if I hear her coming, I pick up the phone and pretend I'm on a call. But, even that doesn't work, because she's incapable of existing in silence.

If she can't talk to me for whatever reason, she'll make noise somehow. If she ran up the stairs, she'll make loud panting noises to prove how exhausted she is. If she sees me on the phone she'll 'talk' to herself and make sad, disappointed noises as she walks by. And, if all else fails, she'll burst into song and start singing to herself, loudly. If she's making a coffee, she'll talk herself through every single step and comment on what the coffee pot looks like, how long it's taking, how much water she used, and so on.

My boss has given me the go-ahead to close my door and stick a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on it, but even that doesn't do it. She'll stand outside my door and talk to herself. For fifteen straight minutes.

Holy fuck. I cannot deal.

I know extroverts need to externalize, to some degree. But, this is almost pathological. She cannot exist quietly. She's incapable. She doesn't know how. She has to verbalize every single breath, thought, action and feeling.

And I don't know how to deal with it. I'm at a complete loss. I used to enjoy coming to work, and now I dread it.

[lovelyrecs]

we're getting in the thick of it... we're getting in the buckyreader of it all........

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything.

he's so grinch i love him so much

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

ah yes. the ability to say he tried... and then look my grinch observation continues. his little troll heart grew three sizes when The Function he was forced to go to was empty

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

HELLO DID I PICK THAT UP FROM YOU OR WAS THAT ME ohmygod ari.... grinch!bucky au......

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

she did a gig as a what

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

okay so he has very extensive experience with avoiding this. he's used every single one of these excuses. "oh i forgot" well okay i won't LET YOU FORGET "oh the traffic was so bad" okay no need for a car "oh i had to make breakfast and the thing broke" i bet you they could make tony fix that shit and make it so it doesn't break. the invincible microwave prototype is in his lab right now. i love your one liners so much "This was, of course, devastating to him." I CANT i am having the time of my life

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

LMAOO HE COMPLAINED TO SAM ABOUT THIS?? love that

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

HAHA old man joke

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

she's barbie. i would read a book about her idec about bucky

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

PBBT HELP ME

Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

what'd i say. i can see the memes. he's fucking insane i would also be a huge fan. what is there to fix tbh. this would get me wholeheartedly also i noticed you didn't include it. how naked was he.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him.

AWWWW SHUT UPPP i'm feeling it ari i'm feelin it

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend. You kick him under the table. 

HELP she really was the right person to ask. and she did it all with a smile on her face. (grunts) is so fucking funny i love this woman. also how the hell did you get the buzzfeed font

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.” “Where?” He raises an eyebrow.  “I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?

that's so. that's such a stupid lie why would she lie about that AND WHY DOES HE CARE SO MUCH LITERALLY DOES HE WANT TO GO THERE??

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.” [...] “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

that sounds like mold. this all started when she moved into the house and stopped when she left. and the strange incidents are health problems. a cough??? how does a ghost cause a cough???

“Asbestos?” you echo. “Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

EXXACTLYYY also that fucker kept that gum just to make him more assholey. he wanted to be annoying and nonchalant. kick him again

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?” “On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

she has a point i've never bitten my legs and also i'd like to ask how high up the bites were. like is it a place where she could feasibly reach

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?”  “Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?” “You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

maybe there was that much fucking mold but his take is so much funnier

To Barnes (Work): are you ready for your influencer era To Barnes (Work): influenza

SNBDH SHE'S SO ME I DO THAT

From unknown Just letting you know though– he was lying. From unknown He doesn’t have an aunt.  Motherfucker.

HELLO I TOTALLY FUCKING BELIEVED HIM however upon my reread. it is an extraordinary coincidence that his aunt had the exact same symptoms. i sort of admire his scheming to get his way

i really admire the amount of time and effort you put into this fic like the memes and the buzzfeed audio things are so fucking cool

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

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