#nefarious skull

[rebornicartchive]

Hi there, just call me FT, and welcome to my archive blog dedicated to Rebornia/VOLTERGEIST's content on tumblr. Their OCs will be tagged, but fandom related stuff with be tagged as "#others."

I also run a blog that is meant to be a rewrite of the now cancelled Pilot Webcomic, where I am trying to mold it into something that could be potentially likeable, as well as another blog that's a genuine critique blog.

This is not intended to be hate blog, nor do I support Volt for their actions over the years. The reason why I am saying this is because Volt has been demonized by the FNAF fandom and most of their ex-friends for acting the way they did, when they were going through an incredibly shitty time period, and while I don't support Volt's actions, I can understand they were in a bad place mentally and physically.

Onto the topic of the hate/"critique" blogs, there is very obvious transphobia, acephobia, racism, along with other stuff. I do not support any of the blogs that "criticize" or those who demonized Volt over the years by misconstruing information about them, as they are no better themselves for sending threats, doxxing, ableism, and sending real life gore images.

(Rewrite Blog: @re-pilot-info)

(Critique Blog: @volterge1st-critical)

(Text Post/Character Info Archive Blog: @dapper-deoxys)

(Aesthetic Blog: @pilotverse-aesthetics)

[re-pilot-info]

what about backstories for the characters? are they different?

Almost, especially with the main protagonists!

Taizo - Mostly the same with some major key differences to suit the story more.

Skippy - Same, but with some minor changes.

Greeze & Countdown - Not really much I know about Greeze, but in the rewrite, these two have losta history.

Artman - The same, but again, huge key differences, because he's not a sex depraved freak like in the original.

Pilot - Ohhhh boy.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

this is unrelated but i am SO jealous of jared masion for being both a writer and a voice actor and working on ieytd2...... he gets to write a plot point in which he gets impersonated and then voice act his own impersonator?? what the fuck? if i was a writer and a voice actor i would get impersonated literally every game. ieytd would become a 'freak of the week' style series where you just have to find out who is impersonating the handler and when

[cubone-i-guess]

Many much more eloquent and experienced people have written about what makes a horror movie good or bad. Idk anything about all that, but I know that all I really want a horror movie to do, is trust me

[sbcdh]

On the morning of August 19th 1966, the merchant marine vessel Pelican unloaded its cargo into the port of Los Angeles. Recently declassified information about the Pelican’s ship manifest confirms that the ship was carrying experimental materials for a nascent project Clover. Of the 425 drums of material, only 424 were accounted for. 

While government officials have not confirmed exactly what was in the lost barrel, its contents are believed to be approximately 55 gallons of an experimental substance similar to LSD. 

To anyone with a passing interest in the 1970’s music scene, this will not come as news. Tall tales of a lost ship full of experimental drugs were as common as disco, though the stories have been exaggerated. The most common form of the story features a drunk crane operator loading a shipping crate onto the wrong train, though in reality it was only a single barrel that went unaccounted for. The more outlandish forms of the legend include everything from a daring heist by a crew of rocker-pirates to shadowy government entities vanishing the entire ship for their own nefarious purposes. 

The reality was a simple logistical mixup, a mistake that can be tracked back to a simple addition error on an inventory sheet, an ordinary yet deeply embarrassing mistake on part of the government. Additionally, The information that revealed the lost barrel came alongside a report detailing project clovers lost asset tracking protocol. Protocol that reads as comically naive in hindsight, with guidelines including “monitoring local jazz bars” or keeping an eye out for “feminist thought.” With the benefit of retrospective, it is no surprise that agents were not able to track the barrel. 

Declassification of the Pelican’s manifest prompted an unexpected crossover with another niche legend of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene: the disappearance of the Knights of Altonia. 

Even today, many consider the Knights of Altonia to be a myth, but scant references to their existence can be found. According to a review from a 1977 issue of Jam! Magazine, the Knights of Altonia were a “D-List psychedelic glam metal outfit with more style than skill, known more for their disappearance than their music.” Though a 1997 retrospective from Tempo calls them “A band too ahead of their time to be properly appreciated” noting their flamboyant stage costuming and its significant influence on the aesthetics of the genre. 

To the frustration of music historians seeking to separate fact from fiction, the band featured an elaborate mythology, with each member claiming to be a “Wizard-Knight of the Mystic Tower” who traveled from their world to ours “on a journey through the Nine Realms to find the secret stone.” This has been the source of innumerable urban legends around the band. A common joke among hobbyist historians at the time claimed that the Knights did not vanish, but simply “returned to the Nine Realms.” Information on the band is so muddled that many music historians doubt their existence entirely. In fact, the only confirmed, physical evidence of the band’s existence is a photograph at the bottom of the Jam! Review, it features:

Lead singer and guitarist Donald Hawkins as his stage persona “Zozimos the Wise.” He sports a mane of dreadlocks, and a classic blue wizard hat and robe decorated with yellow stars.The robe is worn open to reveal Donald’s bare chest, along with velvet short-shorts and a pair of thigh-high leather boots. The article states that the glittery bright purple guitar in his hands was named “Excelsior.”

Rhythm guitarist Jon Todachine as “Wan the Witch King.” He wears a deerskin jacket, also open at the front, decorated with what appear to be crow feathers and small animal bones. The theme of bones continues to his belt buckle, which features an as-of-yet unidentified animal skull. This figure is presumed to be Jon, although it should be noted that the broad hat he wears features a curtain of beads that obscures his face. 

Bassist Riley Knox as “Chulainn the Horned.” He wears a full deer skull, along with a lit candle that appears to be slowly melting down over the mask. Most of his upper body is obscured by what appears to be a cloak of leaves. Beneath the cloak he appears to be wearing a pair of Nike Blazers. 

Drummer Marcus Wilson as “Magnus Fire-Weaver.” He wears a viking helmet over intricately braided red hair, a chain-maille loincloth, a pair of medieval bracers on his wrists, and nothing else. 

Most notably, a speaker on stage left is placed upon a large steel drum identical to the ones used by project clover. 

Study is ongoing. 

[quarterlifekitty]

thinkin bout lightly angsty sex post-kidnapping. some nefarious organization heard that there was some sweet number one of the boys had gotten attached too (you), and they wasted no time going scorched earth to get you back.

So. I’m gonna make this crazy ass. Fair warning. By the way, what do you guys think of as the sweetest number? I think it might be 3 or 4. Idk why.

cw: violence, trauma, Ghost not being a qualified therapist, dubcon

Anyways, imagine Ghost getting you back in his arms. While you’d always known he was in the armed forces, you never really knew any of the details. Now you’ve seen a little too much of that world. He burned the world to get you back, but it didn’t burn fast enough for you to escape unharmed.

You’re told it’s been six months. Six months you were kept in darkness most hours of the day, six months spent ducking in and out of cement rooms with ceilings barely tall enough to let you stand up straight.

Six months of being made to kill other prisoners if you wanted to live. Being attacked by others who’d been kept in darkness longer than you. Weaker, but angrier.

Ghost used to feel guilt over it— always needing you for comfort from the things he’d seen, while it seemed you never needed him for the same.

But now you need him more than you’ve ever needed anyone. He knows you, and he knows what it’s like to have blood on your hands that never washes away. He knows how the stench of rot can fill your nose all the way up to your brain, and how it can feel like the sun has the power to melt your eyes from your skull.

Half the time you cling to him so hard you break skin, the other half you claw and kick because you can’t bear to be touched.

He doesn’t have time to feel guilty over getting you into this. You need him.

Maybe it’s not the right thing to do, but it’s the only way he knows how to get you to settle. To relax. To go limp like a kitten caught by the scruff.

He holds you down and makes you cum until you can barely lift your head. He just wants you to feel good, to let him worry about all this shit going on, just unclench your teeth and give up. You don’t need to keep fighting, not when he’s here to do it for you.

You’ve spent years taking his mind away from all he’s seen and done. He’s intent on returning the favor.

[katakaluptastrophy]

The ships … the ships were still full of people. I reached our hand out into space. I extended. I struggled. He said, I bit through the sun first. It’s human nature. That started things going.

Imagine being on those ships (and remember, not everyone in those ships was a nefarious trillionaire) zooming away from earth.

Maybe you've watched mushroom clouds blossoming across the face of the earth as you pulled away, the lines of communication fizzing out and going dead.

Watched...something...happen to the earth. Watched the sun flare and then flicker out.

I sliced through Venus, Mercury, Mars … by that point a couple of the tugs had already launched through the Kuiper. I had to kill Jupiter and Saturn in a fucking hurry. I reached … they blinked away from me … all I could do was hope that they’d watched what I was doing and all died from fucking terror. You and I went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar. We took Uranus … Neptune … crunched down Pluto … found every satellite and craft, reached in, crunched up all the humans, moved on.

You try to make contact with the installations as you pass - the small city on Mars, the helium-3 capture facility at Jupiter, the mines on Saturn's moons, the skeleton crew constructing the shell on Uranus, the Kuiper platform. Maybe the comms are eerily quiet. Or perhaps, you make contact for just a moment, enough time to witness what happens when god doesn't kill people "clean".

As you speed away, the rings of the gas giants burst asunder and the planets seem to desaturate, the readings go haywire as their magnetic fields suddenly destabilise. And something, oh god, something seems to slip away from each one, some absolute acid trip of horror, like some kind of writhing, fleeing ghost.

The moment I found the fleet spinning up to enter FTL, it was too late … I could only grab one of them … and you and I held it in the palm of our hand. I was in there with them. All those frightened people. All those runaway rats.

And then something physically stops one of the ships. Alarms are going off, sparks are flying, lights are flickering, and there's a horrifying sense of presence (if John feeling Alecto's presence was unremitting screaming inside his head, what does the presence of the newly combined John and Alecto feel like? Because I don't think that invovles less eldritch psychic screaming, somehow).

And then you break free, and spin off into some kind of warp of time and space, with the knowledge that you are the last humans left alive in the universe and that something truly terrible lurks on the husk of the earth.

Imagine 5000 years of that tale being passed down through humanity (that's equivalent to the time that passed between the stone age and the present day), as civilisations rose and fell across planets and systems.

And then imagine, one day, being the ship that encountered something they'd never seen before. A ship, of an entirely unfamiliar design, bearing an unfamiliar symbol: a skull. The whole ship is covered in bones. Sleek, designed, inlaid bones. Human bones.

When they hail you, you see humans, but not like you've seen before. They're dressed in strange outfits: military uniforms and robes that look like something from a textbook of the most ancient history. They're carrying swords. Swords! Many of them seem starved and sickly, as if their bodies are consuming themselves. They speak of their empire and their god in strange, archaic words - an impossibly ancient language from the earth that was - of the resurrection of the dead, of the Lord over the River, of necromancy.

And you realise that however horrifying the tales of the earth's death in fire, there are things worse than death.

[ccazimi]

cw: human sukuna x reader, modern au, smut, a bit of bondage, evil blowjob, slight sadism/masochism, reader is lowkey a menace, a bit of dirty talk/degradation

wc: 1.5k

a/n: there was a vision....

Sukuna's bound to the chair, hands tied around the back of it behind him.

He wasn't intimidated by some light bondage-- doesn't change the fact that he'll be in charge even when you have him restrained like this.

Besides, when you pulled away while kissing him, asking him so nicely if you could tie him up because you "wanted to try something new", he couldn't say no, even if he did tease you a bit.

"Say please, and maybe I'll let you."

You peek up at him through your lashes, fixing him with a shy smile. "Pretty please?"

Frankly, this should've been the first warning: you asking him so sweetly when you were usually a grade A brat, devoted to being as difficult as possible even when you wanted something from him.

At the same time though, there's been some times when you were actually nice and submissive without putting up a fight, so he really never knew what exactly to expect.

He squints his eyes at you for a second longer to discern your intentions before deciding that you didn't have any nefarious plans this time, and giving in.

You beam in excitement at having passed his assessment as he sits in the chair you've pulled out.

"Fine. But no pink fuzzy handcuffs or some shit like that."

"Oh, you won't have to worry about that."

And now Sukuna's being tied with thick, strong ropes that you just casually had in your bedroom.

He is, in fact, starting to worry ever so slightly when he can feel the intricate knots you're tying to bind his wrists together, so tightly and firmly that he couldn't get out of them even if he wanted to.

Next are his ankles, and now Sukuna's watching you wondering why the hell you seem to know how to do this better than you should.

By the time you're done, he feels a bit too vulnerable for his liking, but of course he'd never admit that.

Soon you're finished and kneeling between his legs, undoing the zipper of his pants.

He watches you with a smirk, as you struggle just a little. "Shouldn't have tied me up like this, princess. Can't even get my dick out without my help, huh?"

You don't say anything, just smile to yourself as you finally free his cock.

Weird. Normally he gets some kind of rise out of you whenever he taunts you like that.

But it's soon forgotten when you bend down, placing your tongue right on his leaking slit before lapping at the precum that's beaded there.

He sighs in his relief as you grip his throbbing length and begin running your tongue along the veins that crawl up his shaft, placing soft wet kisses as you go before finally taking him into your mouth.

Sukuna groans, watching you with lidded eyes as you begin bobbing your head, taking his cock so well down your throat and back up.

"Ah, fuck, you could've done anything with me like this and you still chose to suck me off." He breathes with a cocky grin spreading across his lips, wishing so badly he could just shove your skull down with his hands. "What a good little slut that knows her mouth belongs wrapped around my dick..."

He jerks his hips up, thrusting himself suddenly down your throat, making you gag and choke slightly as he chuckles condescendingly. "Oh, you look fuckin' adorable right now."

And then, you stop, his dick fully sheathed in your throat as you look up at him with a devious glint in your eyes.

Your mouth is stuffed with cock but even then he swears he can see you grinning.

Sukuna's a bit thrown off, not entirely sure what to make of this when he feels it- something solid, a bit sharp, lightly pressing into the skin at the base of his shaft.

He looks down, eyes widening in utter horror to find you pulling your lips back slightly to show off your teeth caged around the base of his dick.

For the first time in his life, something akin to anxiety threads through him as his breath hitches in his chest.

"Don't you fucking dare." He warns in a low voice.

In response you open your jaw a little wider and drag your mouth up his length, letting your bottom teeth graze ever so slightly against his skin while your warm tongue continues to lap at it.

Sukuna's whole body tenses at the feeling- which man wouldn't when he feels teeth around his most delicate area?

He's suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you could very much inflict some serious damage right now if you really wanted to and he would be able to do absolutely nothing when he's tied down like this.

So this was your plan all along.

Sukuna glares down at you, more in increasing stress than anything else. "Get your fucking teeth off, you dog." He hisses in a strained voice, though for some reason his dick is still entirely rock hard.

Dog, huh?

Well now you're definitely not giving in. In fact the feeling of having him borderline scared like this under your touch is going right to your head.

Your eyes flash as you set a slow rhythm, dragging your tongue around his dick, intentionally letting your teeth brush against his skin.

"Fucking b-, hah-" An unintentional moan leaves his lips at the new feeling, and he can hardly believe that this is doing it for him, making his cock twitch with excitement.

He can feel the smugness practically radiating off you, and Sukuna stares at you venomously like its your fault he's actually getting turned on by you teething his dick.

You continue on, just barely letting the point of your incisors drag along his skin before taking the tiniest nibble near his tip out of curiosity.

Sukuna winces but doesn't say anything, ego dissolving when he feels the slight pinch shooting up his dick, and you feel pleased with yourself for successfully subduing him.

So just because he's being good, you widen your jaw again and suck in your cheeks, making him relax when he feels the sharp edges gone, replaced by only the soft warm heat of your tongue and pulsing throat, your saliva-slicked lips working him till he can feel his orgasm starting to build.

You hear him breathing heavier, straining uncomfortably against the restraints. "Fuck yes, just like that-"

Sukuna fights the urge to thrust his hips and shove his dick further down, in fear that your next nibble will be a bit bigger, if he does so.

And then your pace slows again, spitting more saliva so that it drips down his length, licking up his shaft till you reach his tip oozing precum to swirl your tongue around the tip in sensual strokes as you jerk his shaft with your hand.

Sukuna isn't mad at all by this change of pace, in fact he can feel himself growing closer and closer hungrily watching how erotically you suck him off.

"Look up at me." He commands you, voice rough with arousal and words broken by breathy pants in between.

You do as you're told, lifting your eyes to gaze up into his own, causing another surge of pleasure coursing down to his throbbing dick.

But then you're pulling back to brush his frenulum against the edge of your bottom front teeth, making him stiffen again as a crease forms between his brows.

He growls at you through his clenched jaw, trying not to wince from the proximity of the edge of your teeth to his tip. "I swear to God, when I get out of these damn ropes-"

Sukuna's threat is cut off by you abruptly picking up the intensity of your hand wrapped around and jerking his cock as you double the efforts of your tongue laving around his glans, teeth held in place around his girth, not moving but applying pressure that's gradually increasing.

One part of him feels the instinctive need to get you off his dick right now at all costs and god, how he loathes the effectiveness of these ropes, because without them...

But at the same time he can't deny the thrill that edge of pain is sending through him, jolts of electricity at the simultaneous sting and pleasure blending together with the urgency of cumming before you bite his fucking dick off, and soon his balls are tightening.

"Holy fuck-"

With a final twitch and a groan, he's cumming ropes of thick, hot semen into your mouth, flooding it so that it overflows and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Sukuna leans his head back, closing his eyes to take a few seconds to recover and bask in relief.

When he tips his head forward to look at you again he finds you kneeling, cum swallowed, and smirking like you're almost proud of yourself.

"What the fuck was that?!" He seethes, trying to lean forward despite those fucking ropes and this damn chair.

Finally your smirk splits into a full blown grin. "Well a blowjob, what else?"

"THAT WAS AN EVIL BLOWJOB." Sukuna yells, enraged that you played him like this (and that he liked it).

"You're so hard to please..." You sigh, rolling your eyes as you reach forward to tuck him back in, laughing when he flinches ever so slightly at your touch.

"Stay away from my penis. You've officially lost dick privileges." He announces.

You stand and stretch. "Have I, now?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can untie yourself from these ropes then." You lean over to kiss him on the cheek before running to your room and closing the door, cackling as you hear him raging furiously from the chair he's stuck in.

[narfin-frood]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your art, and I just wanted to know, did you study the WOY art style? I'm asking because the way you draw each character, Hater especially, is so expressive! Do you have any tips with expressions? Thank you!

thank you so much!! and to kinda answer your question: while what i do is, technically, studying, that's not what it feels like. i genuinely just enjoy looking at character sheets. a lot of the time they'll include little notes about things you wouldn't think about unless you're told to, like wander's eyes typically angling towards each other at the bottom or sylvia's eyes obscuring the full width of her neck.

(i have any one of these open in my reference panel almost always! not only are these full of tips & tricks for your everyday sketching, they're full of rules for each character, which are meant to be broken in interesting and fun ways.)

[im gonna pack a bunch of other, tangentially related tips and tricks and thoughts into the readmore, including my personal breakdown of hater's expressions specifically, so feel free to give it a click. long post ahead]

a lot of stuff can be picked up by just watching the cartoon as many times as you want. i have watched every episode (minus big fucking baby episode, which i hate) like 6 times over, sometimes more (looking at you the rager), and that has definitely solidified my wander over yonder visual library.

also, wander over yonder's art style already fits in with the way i draw, because i LOVEE long curvy lines and super crisp & clear silhouettes!!

as for why/how i get hater so expressive.... that mainly has to do with the fact that i think he's So Cute. He's So Cute and i wanna Squash Him. and his character design reflects that!!!

his hood is his eyebrow and his eyes may or may not be rolling around in their sockets, and his nose is a little upside down heart. but all of the lord hater emotion is stored in the chin. lord hater has a bunch of specific and VERY malleable options for mouth shapes, depending on what makes the expression and lipsync look clearest.

you can keep it super simple, with a clear divide between his top and bottom jaw, and do several round bumps for teeth, which they do a lot when tweening, like this:

this kind of seems to be his default state, depending heavily on the episode and when it was made and who was drawing him the most, of course.

you can also keep his jaw and skull distinct, but keep his teeth straight and flush with each other, which helps for sharper expressions, esp. anger or frustration, but can also work for a good "squee". he also sometimes pouts so hard his chin eats his mouth, which is, again, cute.

if you're having trouble keeping an expression clear while also maintaining the distinction between his jaw and the rest of his skull, it's pretty common also to forego most of the overt skeleton bits, save for a few hatch marks to indicate teeth (sometimes squiggles or bumps, when he's yelling about it). in my head i affectionately refer to this style of hater expression as the "peanut sans"

none of these convey the intensity of emotion you're looking for? fear not, you can also always just go Full Skeleting. and give his teeth a full outline. this is great for Pain and Strain and Nefariousness.

and then there are a million expressions in between and possibilities within these parameters beyond your wildest belief. nothing should hold you back from a really fucked-up lord hater expression. not proportion. not structure. ESPECIALLY not symmetry. please. make his chin bigger. make his head bigger. make one eye bigger. make him look in two different directions. scrunch his nose up. whatever it takes. by all means. i implore you to have fun

(honorable mention. his W face. the face when he says the consonant W. sometimes OO. i'm. obsessed. with it . he looks. kity)

anyway. lord hater tangent aside. i could also share my own process for expressions, but it really just hinges on what looks appealing/what i like the most/what communicates the emotion i want to communicate the clearest, and it varies between characters and people.

it helps to, again, build your visual library, and look at lots and lots of funny faces, both in real life and in cartoons you like. make funny faces in the mirror and try to focus on what parts of your face change shape or interact with other parts of your face when you do something like smile really wide or drop your jaw. your skin is taut, and there's a bunch of muscle and fat attached to your bones, so when one big bone moves, a bunch of muscles and fat under the surface will shift around too, and understanding that relationship is really helpful in the long run, both for drawing real people and for drawing cartoons.

and the easiest way to retain information like that is to have fun while you study. stop thinking of it as studying and start thinking of it as gathering information on this thing you like a lot and want to do more of, like when you scroll through someone's account to look at all their art, and just. do more of that. do more exploring and observing. since animation is my special interest, this part is pretty easy for me, but it does still take practice to get into that mindset, especially when you convince yourself you have to be super strict and rigid to make it in the art world. focus on drawing and observing what makes YOU happy first, and everything else will follow.

and don't worry about taking notes. don't worry about remembering everything you look at. just look at things you like, and think about them for longer than you usually would. think about the shapes and colors. what makes that drawing so darn appealing to you, besides subject matter and the vague concept of an "artstyle"? you'll be surprised just how abstract what appeals to you can be. for me, with expressions especially, it comes down to random shit like "i like when the edge of a character's mouth creates a tangent with the outline of their head" instead of "pretty eyes" or other, vaguer elements. and that shit i like becomes a part of my artstyle, but only when it fits in and looks appealing, because you can't do stuff like this in every single drawing & retain a full range of expression

ANYway. i hope this made some sense/helped at least a little. i like lord hater a lot. and i also like to draw

[reveryfics]

Hello !!

If you write for him, could I request Tony Stark x m reader ? Nothing specific, maybe something similar to the reader from your Scott Lang fic. (Loved it!)

thanks!

A Game Of Chess

Tony Stark x Male Reader

Summary: Tony isn't convinced you're anything but lucky, despite your constant reminder of your mutant powers

A/N: I couldn't think of a good mutant power, so reader is simply has telepathy/telekinesis. Plus I feel Tony would just in general be a sceptical person. Sorry it's short!

TW: Tony - Teasing

Ah, yes, another glorious evening of shattering Tony Stark's ego. You, of course, couldn't help but let out a perfectly timed, utterly condescending chuckle as you watched his meticulously crafted facade of composure crumble like a stale cookie. There he sat, the great Tony Stark, inventor, genius, playboy, philanthropist, reduced to a sputtering, red-faced mess by… you.

Honestly, it was getting a little repetitive. Ever since you graced his presence with your magnificent, undeniably mutant abilities (which he, bless his cotton socks, still insisted were mere parlor tricks), he’d been on this pathetic quest to prove you were cheating. As if you needed to cheat. You, with your telekinetic prowess and the ability to read his mind like a particularly dull picture book.

He’d challenged you to everything: cards, darts, even a ridiculously complex game of quantum Sudoku. You, of course, had demolished him at every turn. It was less a competition and more like watching a toddler try to assemble a rocket ship with mittens on.

Tonight, it was chess. He huffed, that familiar, petulant sound you'd come to associate with his impending defeat, and took a hearty swig of his overpriced whiskey. "I refuse to believe you aren't, at the very least, employing some form of… nefarious tactics," he accused, his finger wagging like a disgruntled metronome. You, in your infinite magnanimity, merely shrugged, downing your own, significantly less expensive whiskey with a theatrical flourish.

It was a delightful internal battle playing out in his mind: the logical side desperately trying to rationalize your victories as mere coincidence, while the increasingly desperate side was screaming, “Just admit he’s a mutant, you stubborn fool!” You could practically hear the gears grinding, the circuits short-circuiting.

"Why can't you just accept it?" you drawled, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. He glared, a look that would have been intimidating if he weren't currently sporting a very fetching shade of beetroot red.

Another game commenced, and, predictably, within minutes, you had him checkmated. He groaned, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage some sense into his thick skull. "Okay, fine, maybe… just maybe… you're telepathic," he conceded, his voice dripping with reluctant admiration. "So, what am I thinking right now?" he asked, a smug smirk spreading across his face, clearly thinking he’d finally caught you in a trap.

"Oh, you know, the usual. 'Here he is, defeating me in chess with his mind, and all I can think about is what he’d look like naked, preferably tangled up in my expensive Egyptian cotton sheets,'" you replied, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

His face turned a shade of crimson that would have made a tomato envious. He sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish gasping for air. "Right, right, I concede," he mumbled, finally accepting his utter and complete defeat.

The next hour was a parade of his pathetic attempts to test your powers. He’d ask you to move objects, to guess his favorite color, to predict the next word he was going to say. Each successful demonstration only served to further fluster him.

It was particularly amusing when you’d casually mention his more… colorful thoughts. Especially when you’d pulled your chair a little closer, leaning in just enough for him to smell the whiskey on your breath, to see the mischievous glint in your eyes. "Seriously, Tony," you purred, your hand tracing a slow circle on his knee, "what would the Avengers say if they knew how desperately you wanted to… engage in some extracurricular activities with me?"

He tugged at his collar, his eyes darting around the room like a trapped ferret. "They… they wouldn’t believe you," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

You chuckled, your hand now sliding up his thigh, then his chest, as you stood up. "Maybe next time, Stark," you called over your shoulder as you sauntered away, leaving him in a state of delightful disarray.

Who knew his stubborn disbelief would lead to such… entertaining results? And, if you played your cards right, to something far more interesting in the future. After all, a little bit of chaos was always good for the soul, especially Tony's.

[estrogenblast]

to this very day, mike is controlled by the nefarious skull

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 16: Seth x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6721

Warnings: Afab!reader, leopard Thiren reader, rut/heat cycles, femdom, pathetic sub boy behavior, cock and ball milking, onahole, dildos, puppy pads, prostate milking, multiple orgasms, ABO adjacent? ABO inspired? idk

A/N: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date - with a needy, desperate cat boy 😩 Part of what went into this is I thought it would be cute to pair a snow leopard with a jungle leopard, and the other part is because I just enjoy topping boys and playing with their butts xcvnnbdekds

⭐

The sound of your doorbell going off brings your attention up to peer down the short hall in your apartment. You hadn’t ordered any packages as far as you could recall, and your neighbors very rarely had any reason to bug you. It probably wasn’t anything important then, you quickly decide. 

And you almost ignore it in favor of returning to whatever you’d been looking at on your phone, but then the buzzer goes off again with a noted edge of desperation this time. Which was decidedly odd. How could a doorbell sound desperate? Perhaps even more pressing, who would possibly be seeking you out like this? 

Quickly realizing they weren’t going to go away until you answered the door, you drop your phone on the couch cushions and push up to your feet. A few barefooted steps later has you turning the lock and twisting the handle, swinging the hinges inward only to find Seth standing on your front doormat. 

Your brows shoot up in genuine surprise. Not only at his unexpected and sudden appearance, but also because of how absolutely miserable he looks. His usually pert ears are half folded over his skull, twitching slightly to accompany the faint shudder you can see making his shoulders lock up. Even more alarming is the fine sheen of sweat you can make out on his creamy skin and the rosy flush that stains his cheeks. It almost makes him look sick, and your frantic thoughts immediately go to hospitals, doctors and insurance forms. 

Except … he shouldn’t have any reason to come to you when he was feeling under the weather. 

Shaking off your initial surprise, you give him a closer look. “Seth? What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs in such a faltering, broken little voice that you immediately start to understand what’s going on before he even finishes speaking. “I know we broke up but I - I didn’t know where else to go. You’re the only one who can help me. Please, can I come in?” 

You almost tell him ‘no’, because he was right. You and him had broken up. Well over a year ago now, in fact. 

But for better or worse you’re not quite that heartless, and your tail gives a listless flick behind you as you step to the side. “Yeah, come on. Before one of my neighbors sees you and thinks I’m up to something nefarious.” 

A wordless sound of relief rushes out of him as he quickly scurries past you to get inside the apartment, clearly glad to be out of the public eye where everyone knew him as Officer Seth Lowell. His current state of thinly veiled distress did not align with his usual persona as a capable policeman who was always happy to help with a great big smile at the ready, and you take a moment to surreptitiously glance around the hall to make sure none of your neighbors were watching you through a crack in their doors. If someone got suspicious about his behavior and your motives for letting him in there was a very good chance you’d soon find PubSec showing up at your doorstep next. 

This was probably going to be awkward enough without adding more fuel to the fire. 

Slipping back inside and locking the door again, you turn to look at where he’s partially hunched over the side of your couch now, clearly struggling just to stand. “God, you look like you’re drunk or something.” 

“I’m sorry.” He says again, quietly groaning under his breath. “I swear I didn’t want to bother you like this but … you were the only person I could think of. I have to be careful about, nnghn, keeping my personal and work life separate. Can you help me? Like you used to.”

You hesitate to move from your spot standing just inside the doorway, knowing good and well that this would be inviting trouble you didn’t need. Burn everything, but you could even smell him from here. 

It hadn’t been this obvious or quite so bad when he was still standing outside where the smells of city life could strongly intermingle with his scent. But in the closed space of your modest little apartment your keen nose practically floods with the sharp spike of arousal that is not yours, making your head feel fuzzy and inebriated. This was dangerous, and not only because he was your ex. 

He’d trigger your own body’s natural instincts if you weren’t careful. 

Even knowing that, you can’t bring yourself to watch him suffer and you slowly approach him with deliberately heavy footsteps to make sure he could hear you coming. You didn’t think Seth would ever fully lose control of himself enough to attack you or hurt you, but it was clear at just a glance that he was in bad shape. 

Coming up alongside him, you can see his shoulders still trembling with the effort of keeping his rioting urges in check so you carefully reach out to slide your fingers underneath the soft fringe of hair hanging over his temple. Your spine immediately snaps ramrod stiff, sucking in a quick breath the moment you press them into the skin.  

“You’re burning up. I haven’t seen you have a rut this bad in a long time.” 

“I know.” Pitifully moaning, he tips his flushed face up to pin you with one of the neediest, wretchedly helpless looks you’ve ever seen in your life. “That’s why I can’t - I can’t go to anyone else for this. If I accidentally hurt someone … I’d never be able to live with myself. It has to be another Thiren who knows what it’s like.” 

Your heart painfully wrenches at that, sympathy and old love for him making it feel like you’ve suddenly got a rock wedged in your throat, but you quickly pull away. 

Rather defensively crossing your arms over your stomach now, you back up enough to put some space between you and him so you could think for a moment. Far be it that you didn’t understand where he was coming from. As a fellow Thiren, yes, and the complimentary jungle cat to his snow leopard, it did indeed make sense for you to give him a hand in his time of need. And a great need it was, by the looks of it. 

But you had so much history together, a past that couldn’t be severed from either of your identities just because you’d agreed to go your separate ways. It hadn’t even been a bad breakup in the typical sense where fighting with each other and screaming were involved, and yet both of you had walked away from it feeling like you’d left a piece of yourselves with the other. You and Seth had talked about it before so you knew his feelings on the matter were the same as yours, but that alone wasn’t enough to mend a relationship. He was dead set on following in his older brother's footsteps as a PubSec officer and you just couldn’t reconcile the daily dangers he was putting himself in to accomplish that. Maybe if he was a little less headstrong and reckless about everything but … 

Heaving a deeply bothered sigh, you grudgingly turn to look over at him again. He really did look unbelievably pathetic right now. And you’re aware of the exact moment your resolve starts to crumble as you watch his anxiously curled tail start to perk up slightly when he sees your attention is back on him. Dammit. 

“Alright, I’ll help you. But,” You rush to emphasize your caveat before he can get too excited. “No sex. I understand the position you’re in here so I’m willing to help as much as I can. I have to draw the line somewhere though.” 

“I understand.” He says on a terse, shuddering exhale that seems to visibly drain some of the uncertainty from his posture. “Thank you, thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.” 

“Don’t thank me just yet. Start getting undressed while I grab a few things real quick.” 

Spinning on your heel, you don’t bother to check if he’s following your instructions or not before you disappear through the doorway that leads into your bedroom. Everything in the apartment is so compact that it only takes a handful of steps for you to reach your dresser where you kneel down to dig in the bottom drawer. Luckily you still had all the toys and supplies you’d kept on hand for moments not unlike this one, though you hadn’t exactly planned on using any of them on Seth again. 

There were other Thirens in New Eridu, you know. Plenty of them in fact. Just because you hadn’t found any of them quite to your taste and had instead resorted to using some of these toys on yourself that didn’t mean you’d been holding out for this particular man to change his mind about his career choices. 

Pausing halfway through the motion of pulling out his favorite onahole, you wonder what the hell you’re doing. 

You’d need something to carry this all in. 

Momentarily abandoning the dresser, you quickly dig in your closet for a tote bag you’d bought under the assumption of going green for the environment — what was even left of it after the Hollow Disaster — but had promptly forgotten about amongst all your other clothes and impulse purchases. You waste no time shoving everything you can grab into it, idly wondering where you’d even accumulated so many toys in the first place, before hurrying back out into the living room. 

You find Seth standing at the corner of the couch in a timid little pose that was clearly meant to make him look smaller than he was. It’s not hard to see he’s deeply embarrassed about standing there naked with his aggressively rigid cock standing straight up off his body, already dribbling a thick bead of creamy discharge that glistens faintly in the overhead light. Your own instincts go absolutely haywire at the sight as much as at the unfiltered smell of him, but you valiantly shove it as far back into your mind as you can manage. 

Cautiously walking over, you try to give him your best attempt at an encouraging smile but he refuses to glance up at you, much preferring to keep his eyes downcast. You think that might be for the best, actually, as you kneel down on the hardwood floor in front of the sofa to dig into the bag you’d carted out. 

Thank your lucky stars you’d still had some of these on hand. 

With a pointed rustle of thin plastic, you pull out a puppy training pad and make quick work unfurling it so you can lay it open across the floor. A second one follows, just to be safe, leaving a sizable square of your flooring protected from any accidents before you stand up to get resituated on the edge of the couch cushions. 

It feels like your heart is going to jackhammer straight out of your chest at any given moment. And that wasn’t even mentioning how hot you suddenly felt, but you pause to take a deep, calming breath and ground your nerves, hoping you weren’t making some monumental mistake in doing this. 

“Alright,” You finally intone. “Sit.”

Eagerly shuffling forward, Seth moves into the space you’d indicated with your finger where he gingerly lowers himself down to kneel beside you just on the corner of one of the training pads. He still insists on keeping his face averted from you though, and you think he would have looked the picture perfect definition of submission sitting there on his knees had it not been for the demanding flex of his weeping cock in his lap. 

Or did that actually add to it? 

Stop. You couldn’t think about that right now. 

Trying very hard to ignore the decidedly awkward atmosphere between you and him, you eagerly reach down to dig inside the tote bag for a distraction. “I tried to grab everything I thought might be of use for this but just tell me if you want a specific toy in particular.” 

“I’m sure whatever you picked is fine.” 

“Okay …” Rapidly piecing together a haphazard plan of action in your head, you decide on a realistic, flesh colored dildo that’s longer than it is thick, leaning down to decisively smack the suction cup base on the hardwood floor to make it stick there. And as you start to lean back, intending to reach into the bag again, you catch Seth outright staring at you in wide eyed, hungry fascination. 

“What?” You demand. 

“Nothing.” He quickly murmurs, fidgeting slightly there on his knees. “I really appreciate you doing this for me. Feels like my head is going to explode.” 

“Well, you certainly came to the right person for this. We ended up with quite the collection once everything was said and done, so at least I was prepared. Think you can give me a text first before you come over next time though?” 

Seth’s pointed ears self consciously swivel back to lay almost flat against his skull, looking truly abashed. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Do you want the onahole or the dildo?” 

His head immediately snaps up. “Huh?” 

You can’t quite keep the sly little smirk off your face now as you pull the silicone pocket pussy out of the bag to ruefully wag it at him. “I said, onahole or dildo? Which would you prefer?”

Whimpering a series of pathetic, borderline sniveling sounds, Seth nervously flicks his gaze between one toy and the other as if he really wasn’t sure which was going to make him feel better in that moment. You have a sneaking suspicion which he’ll ultimately choose though, and just as expected he finally sets his sights on the cylinder in your hand. 

“Can I have … the pussy, please?” 

He really was cute, especially when he was like this, and you just can’t stop yourself from teasing him a bit. “What do you say, Seth?” 

A visibly violent tremor races through him, making the PubSec officer squirm at your feet as his tail wildly flicks out behind him in a jittery arc. “P - please, ma’am. Can I have the pussy, please?” 

“Good boy. Of course you can.” 

Thinking it almost a little odd how easily both of you were falling back into this old routine and these old roles that came with it, you lean to the side so you can brace your hand on the cushions and reach down with the onahole in the other. Immediately sucking in a sharp, over eager gasp at the sight of you bringing your hand close to him, Seth pushes up to fully balance on his knees in a stiff, halting pose that makes his cock jut out in offering to you. 

He looks especially good like that, you think, all lean muscle and sveltly compact with his rigid length bobbing expectantly in the air. His nearest hand anxiously grabs at the cushion where yours is resting, almost like he wanted to reach out and take it, but he makes do with simply leaving them close together. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the other and he finally settles on placing it across his own stomach, fingers digging into the flesh when he squeezes down. So desperate and needy that he just has to hold onto something. 

In a past life it would have been your ankle he was clinging to while he impotently rutted his leaking cock over your stockinged foot. You’d also done the reverse on a few occasions, with you straddling his leg to grind your pussy over the bulk of one of his heavy boots until you came shuddering and whining low in your throat. It was only one of the many perks that came with dating someone who was happy to switch roles around. 

You’re fully in control now though and Seth doesn’t even hint at trying to upset that balance when he all too easily could. He was pretty damn strong, after all, but he just noises a high strung whimper at you as he plaintively nudges his hips forward in a supplication gesture. Oh, you hated how much this was actually turning you on.  

Silently reminding yourself to stay focused, you direct the opening of the faux pussy to his sticky tip and start to fit it over him at a leisurely, sedate pace. Despite how unhurried you are about it, Seth positively lurches there on the floor, his tight abdominals sharply flexing when he grunts a wounded little sound. He doesn’t move to pull away or protest despite the heightened sensitivity brought on by his mating drive, and you’re able to gradually take him into the silicone sleeve one inch at a time until you finally reach the base. 

You don’t even have to move beyond that to have Seth dazedly swaying there, his narrow chest rapidly expanding with the near frantic breaths he pulls in. Just the simple sensation of a soft, fleshy substitute hugging firmly around his cock is enough to send him dangerously close to the edge, gasping a ragged sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of your name. 

“Ooh, oohh, I’m gonna’ cum. Gonna’ cum. I’m - -“ 

Making no move to stop or help him, you merely hold the pocket pussy in place while he rapidly dissolves into a stiffly twitching mess of spasms right before your very eyes. He tips over almost immediately, narrow hips stiffly juddering while he throws his head back to softly yowl up at the ceiling. You can feel his cock wildly flexing inside the toy, even with a layer of firm plastic standing in the way, and you subtly squeeze your thighs together in response. 

Yep, this was certainly dangerous. 

“Oh god, oh god, mmmmnnnghn!” Reeling from the sheer force of his own release, Seth unsteadily bobs there on his knees as he starts to come down from that all too temporary high, drunkenly spinning his attention back around to you. “Thank you. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you!” 

“What did I say earlier, Seth? Don’t thank me just yet.” 

That’s all the warning you give him before you start to move your arm, pumping the pocket pussy from the base to the glans and then straight back down again. He outright seethes, trembling so fiercely it looks like he just might collapse right then and there, but he still doesn’t make any move to back off or shy away from it despite the no doubt painful rush of overstimulation. 

Instead he actually leans his pelvis into it to fully offer up his cock to your mercifully unmerciful attention, which you’re all too happy to oblige. And now that he’s cum once, the interior sleeve of the toy is sufficiently lubricated to allow a smooth, easy glide as you move it along him at a vigorous pace. Your attentive gaze doesn’t miss the way thick, creamy clumps of white smear along his length to make a mess of him but he doesn’t seem to mind it and neither do you. 

Other than the state of your floor, that is. This was a rental, you know, so you carefully reach over with your toe to nudge the crinkling puppy pad closer to him. 

“Be careful not to spill, unless you want to clean it up with your mouth later.” 

“Ohhhn! Aghh, aahh! I … nnghnn, oh god, I’m gonna’ - -“ 

And he does, just like that. 

Shuddering so wildly this time you have to readjust your hold on the onahole to keep pumping it over him, Seth beautifully writhes there at your feet while he shoots yet more sticky spend into the cylindrical toy. He quickly becomes overwhelmed like this though and, lurching with a soul vacating wheeze, he blindly reaches out to snag at your wrist. 

“Please, please, please,” He chants, screwing his eyes shut tightly enough to hurt. “Aaughh, it feels so good, just — give me a second.”

“But you’re still cumming, though.” You murmur, earning a deeply frazzled whine from him that seems to echo in the space between your ears, almost taunting you with it. 

And he does indeed keep pumping jet after jet into the silicone pussy until it seems to fill up to its limit and it just thickly oozes out around him to wetly plop onto the absorbent pad instead. This was what he needed to get through this rut. Fully milked and emptied until some of that natural, instinctive drive to breed dissipated and with it so too did the influx of hormones. He’d be able to return to his usual state of mind much more quickly than if he’d been left to his own devices to deal with it on his own and, given just how much he was shooting off into the toy, you suspected this back up of fluid was in part to blame for his ruts staggering potency. 

Wait a minute. A back up of fluid? Did that mean … he also hadn’t found anyone else he liked enough to date? 

It probably made a certain amount of sense considering he’d come to you rather than anybody else for help with this, but there had been a small part of you that was half convinced he’d just meant he didn’t have any other Thiren he could go to. A regular human certainly wouldn’t have known what to do with him like this, after all. But given the amount of spend coming out of him it didn’t seem likely that he’d had sex at all in recent months. Maybe even almost … a whole year? 

Watching Seth dazedly sway on his knees, still roughly gasping and groaning his pleasure into the apartment, you internally berate yourself for lingering on those kinds of thoughts. This was hardly the time. 

Maybe you should give your arm a break so you could focus on something else for a moment.  

Carefully releasing a wavering breath of your own, you slow the pumping motion of your hand to a gradual standstill, giving him plenty of time to savor the last few drags over his flexing cock. By the time you finally start to ease the pocket pussy all the way back to slide it off him, he’s made such a goopy mess of it that there were even clumpy beads of milky white clinging to the lips of the faux cunt to create a vague lather effect. You can see it faintly bubbling even from where you were sitting, and you softly click your tongue when he at last slips free of the toy with an obscenely loud, wet slurp that makes his hips give an involuntary jerk. 

As he whines an overwrought sound that makes his chest sadly hitch, you reach further down to set the pocket pussy on top of the pad he’s kneeling on so some of that excess cum can safely run down the sides of it. Seth carefully watches you the whole time, his ears anxiously twitching when you sit back to reach into your handy tote bag again. Obviously this alone wasn’t enough to completely drain him so you were going to have to kick it up another notch. 

“Turn around for me.” You murmur, feeling a pleased little spark light up in your chest when he just whimpers a frazzled sound before complying, getting himself spun around on the floor. 

Without needing to be told, Seth obediently leans forward to brace on his hands and present himself to you with his legs spread wide. You don’t miss the eager curl of his tail as it arcs up to stand almost straight in the air or the anxious flicker it gives at the very tip. And between his legs his cock still heavily dangles, oozing a slow stretching thread of discharge onto the puppy pad underneath him. He hadn’t flagged at all despite having already shot off two loads and the creamy evidence of that was plainly visible on his skin. 

With a generous bottle of lube now in hand, you lean down again to curl your unoccupied fingers under the fleshy sway of his ballsack and nudge up to gently cradle them. Even for as brief as the sensation surely must be, he still sucks in such a ragged, sharp edged gasp that you’d almost think you were hurting him. 

You knew better than that though, perfectly familiar with the heightened sensitivity brought about by a Thiren’s mating cycle, and you allow yourself a moment to thoughtfully bounce his testicles in the palm of your hand. “Hmm. These are still quite full aren’t they? Haven’t you been tending to your own needs at all, Seth?” 

Full on wheezing, he shudderingly arches his back while sliding his knees further apart to leave the full weight of his balls sitting firmly in your hold. “I’ve b - been busy …” 

You softly click your tongue at that before pulling back to uncap the bottle, leaving his testes to pitifully hang there. “You should know better. Both of us are well aware how you get when you’re backed up.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Ignoring his plaintive whining for a moment, you bring your freshly lubed fingers down to slide them through the crease of his petite backside, making him jolt as if you’d just electrocuted him. It’s because he’s a male in the prime of his life, and that instinctive drive to breed, breed, breed could only be sated with the regular emptying of his balls — though he doesn’t exactly look like one right now when he’s hungrily pushing back on your hand like a bitch in heat. That had been you on more than one occasion, in the exact same spot and in the exact same pose, but as a woman your subconscious urges tended to skew in the opposite direction of wanting to be bred, bred, bred. 

It’s only your (mostly) clear head and the iron willed self control you’re desperately clinging to that keeps you from losing hold of yourself as you slip your pointer finger right into the center of his sticky pink hole and slowly slide it in. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your wits about you the more Seth’s potent cocktail of pheromones and adrenaline, sweat and semen floods your senses but you just keep reminding yourself that the two of you were no longer together. There wasn’t going to be any breeding done today. 

And his ass readily accepts the intrusion, granting your finger entry with only the slightest bit of resistance which the copious lubricant takes care of quickly enough. You dip into him straight down to the knuckle and he jerks his head up to keen a frantic sound. Upon giving the digit a brief wriggle to test the give of his inner sleeve you promptly deem him ready for another and carefully slip out so you can then push in with two. 

The faintly raised rim of his entrance greedily clings to you between the sporadic pulsing squeezes of his guts, trying to suck you in deeper and deeper. There’s only so far you can go though, and in an attempt to give him even some relief you curl the fingers down to insistently rub against the tender spot inside him. 

“Oohh! Aauughhn, aahh! P - please!” He gasps, immediately giving in to the full bodied spasms that tear through him as his shuddering hips weakly flex under your ministrations. 

Feeling hyper aware of just how sticky you were getting between the legs, you carefully set the lube aside on the floor where it wasn’t likely to get knocked over so you can reach your hand out to grab his bobbing cock. Giving it a tight squeeze that makes him mindlessly buck, you set in to attack him from both sides. While you work him open to ensure he’s sufficiently stretched with one set of fingers, the others drag down his stiff length in a demanding jerk to make his heavy balls bounce against your wrist. 

It hardly comes as a surprise that he cums embarrassingly quick, and you let out a trembling breath while you watch him shoot jet after jet of that milky white substance onto the puppy pad. It quickly starts to gather in a sticky, sopping wet puddle underneath him the more he keeps cumming, and as long as you continue to massage over his prostate he doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon. 

You can tell that it rapidly becomes too much for him though, his quaking shoulders dramatically hunching upward while his lower body twitches a wild, unsteady rhythm to match the hot pulses of cum that shoot out of him. His heaving gasps and groans soon take on a dire tinge as well and you finally decide to give him a moment to breathe, slowly sliding your fingers out to leave his puffy asshole needily clenching around nothing. You let go of his cock too, letting him tremble though the last of the spasms and dribble out whatever bit of semen he still had left. 

God, it smelled like a Thiren brothel in here. 

Struggling to shrug off the coaxing pheromones coming from him, you take a moment to glance down at the absorbent pad again. He really had cum a lot. 

“Here,” You murmur, stretching your hand out to grab a corner of the square and gently tug on it. “Let’s get these switched out before we have a spill, okay?” 

Swaying dizzily on his hands and knees, it seems to take Seth a long beat to realize you were even talking to him and another moment longer for him to understand what you were saying. 

Groaning a threadbare little sound, he gingerly moves to crawl off the training pad so you can slide it away from him and off to the side before replacing it with the clean one. You take care to position it directly in front of the dildo you’d suctioned to the floor, making sure it’s close enough before straightening back up to look over at him again. 

The pitifully flushed, bottom-lip-warbling expression staring back at you very nearly crumples whatever lingering bit of resolve you still had left. Not only was he going to be the death of you at this rate, he was also going to slowly wear you down until you finally gave in to the demanding pulse between your thighs. Worst of all, he wasn’t even consciously trying to do it. 

Your feelings for him as much as your instinctive urges compel you though, and you quickly busy yourself with squirting a healthy dollop of lube over the waiting tip of the upright dildo so you don’t have to think about it too hard. It was already much too late to start getting cold feet now. 

“Alright, come here. Let’s get you situated.” 

Seth doesn’t need to be told twice and he quickly drags himself closer to kneel between the spread of your feet. He stares up at you like a needy, hopeful stray the whole time but you decide you just can’t take much more of that at the moment so you reach out to nudge at his shoulder. 

“Spin around for me, handsome. It’ll be easier for me to take care of you this way, won’t it?” 

Head bobbing a delirious nod, he obediently complies and gets himself turned to give you his back. The puppy pad rustles softly every time he moves before going quiet again when he eases himself into the cradle of your thighs with a faltering exhale. 

You take a moment to lean over him and ensure the pad is where it needs to be before redirecting your hand to wrap around the base of the dildo so you can hold it steady. At your gently spoken command, Seth nudges himself up to balance on his toes so you can guide the silicone phallus to his loosened entrance. It catches in the fleshy wrinkle easily enough and as he starts to lower himself down, taking more and more of the stretch into his body, you eagerly watch the way his still achingly erect cock flexes at the penetration, swaying slightly before standing straight up again. You can even see a throbbing vein standing out along the side of his shaft, further tugging on your sympathy for him as you reach for the onahole again. 

Practically sobbing as he settles on top of the dildo, Seth somewhat awkwardly spreads his legs further apart to really leave the full brunt of his weight centered over the fake cock while he watches you bring the pussy toy close. And his tail restlessly whips around your leg to indicate his excitement but he can’t quite seem to find his voice anymore to speak. 

He just whimpers and seethes, chest stuttering with the hiccuping breaths he drags into his lungs. Sliding your unoccupied hand down across his shoulder, you locate one of his pert, pink nipples and start to flick it back and forth while you work on fitting the silicone cunt over his tip again. 

“Shhh. Just relax. Deep breaths for me, okay? I’ve got you.” 

The imitation slit spreads open for him at the insistent nudge of your hand and grants him entry to slide into the sticky, goopy mess he’d already made. He throws his head back, full on wailing a ragged sound now while his hips uncontrollably judder the deeper he slides into it. Once again torn between two equally unrelenting stimuli, he sways drunkenly between your legs and stiffly rocks back against the dildo wedged inside him to bask in the pressure on his guts. 

Your own breath starts to come a little quicker watching him writhe in place like that, almost as if there was a symbiotic bond present that was mirroring his pleasure right back at you, but you grapple with yourself not to get distracted. Gripping the cylindrical toy so hard the knuckles hurt, you begin working it back and forth over him to a wet, sloppy schlucking sound that instantly has his toes curling tight. 

So caught up in gradually drawing him back to that hazy edge of oblivion, you almost don’t even notice your own tail wrapping around to curl possessively across his chest. It’s only when you feel the brush of fur against your fingers, still mercilessly flicking at his fatly swollen nipple, do you catch what you’re doing. It very nearly manages to surprise you, the rhythm of your wrist wavering for a split second, but you don’t stop long enough to question it. 

You just keep sliding the onahole up and down, up and down, again and again until Seth cums once more with a lilting, higher pitched moan than his usual. It’s easy to tell he’s getting uncomfortably sensitized and over stimulated by it all but you know you have to keep going. If you didn’t and then sent him on his way, there was a very good chance he’d quickly succumb to the mindless urges of his rut again, and probably be all the worse for it. 

This was only going to work if you completely drained him, which was exactly why the dildos you’d grabbed came in handy. His prostate needed to be thoroughly milked to ensure you got every last drop out of him to simulate a completed mating cycle and stop the production of his pheromones. It’s the exact same process that would have happened if it was your pussy taking him in deep and sucking noisily at his throbbing length. If you were the one he was shooting his load into, the two of you probably would have been tangled up in each other for at least another day given how backed up he is.

If it was you … 

“Oohn!” The sound that abruptly spills right out of your mouth catches you completely off guard and, uncontrollably shuddering, you scoot to the very edge of the cushions to press your cunt into his back. Your hand keeps working though and you stare at it as if you were transfixed, watching the bubbly clumps of semen run down his cock to tangle in his pubic hair. It felt like you were right on the edge of cumming too but that shouldn’t have been possible. You’d pointedly ignored every little twinge and aching clench in your body for a reason, and yet … 

Rousing himself at the sensation of you desperately rubbing yourself against his spine, Seth tips his head back to blearily peer up at you through the heavy, inebriated fall of his lashes. “B - baby?” 

“Oooh nooo …” 

Sucking in a wet, half stifled breath, you squeeze your arms tighter around him to desperately clutch Seth against you and screw your eyes shut while you stiffly grind yourself against him. It’s an incredibly awkward thing to do in this position, especially when your hand was still mindlessly pumping at his cock, but you couldn’t stop. You just couldn’t. 

Not one or the other, or any of it, and you finally tip over the edge with a savory stutter of your hips, dropping your face into his hair so you can seethe and groan your pleasure into all that silky soft excess. It doesn’t even really feel all that good when your pussy was pathetically clenching around nothing and yet it hits you so hard and so fast that it almost makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

This couldn’t be happening. Even when you know damn well that it is, you still try desperately to convince yourself that it’s not. 

But you feel a little too intoxicated, a little too high on the dizzyingly potent fog of pheromones and the overwhelmingly sharp smell of sex in the air to truly fight it. Rumbling one last reluctant sound of bitter pleasure, you finally give in and lean your weight into Seth from behind. 

He tries to fight it at first but he’s even weaker than you are at the moment, and both of you are soon sliding forward to sprawl out across the floor in a heaving pile of limbs, hardwood be damned. You really can’t bring yourself to care much about that when your cunt was screaming at you, begging to be stretched and filled, and relentlessly bred. 

You’d known perfectly well how dangerous this was and now look. You were starting to slip into heat because of him. Dammit Seth. 

“Okay, look,” You finally manage to wheeze, struggling to sit up on top of his back. “I promise this doesn’t mean anything but — I can’t take it anymore. I’ll let you fuck me if you want. Please fuck me. I want your cum, I need it.” 

Issuing a disoriented, foggy groan, he shifts underneath you to look back over his shoulder, panting just as heavily as you are now. “Wh - are … are you serious? You said - -“

“I don’t care what I said.” Hissing through your teeth, you reach down to grab a fistful of that enviously soft hair, fingers closing at the root so you can yank his neck back at an angle that can’t be comfortable. “Please, Seth. If you don’t fuck me right now I’ll — I’ll never forgive you. You caused this and now I need you to take responsibility before I … I - -“ 

You abruptly startle when you feel his tail come up to twine around yours, locking the two of you together for as long as you were willing to let it happen. And even for as brief as the gesture is, it has its intended effect of temporarily soothing you, giving you a chance to suck in a much needed lungful of air. It would have felt even better if the space inside your tiny apartment wasn’t completely inundated with the buzzing smell of him. 

“Alright,” He cautiously rattles out when he sees you stiffly relaxing into his touch. “We can do it but … nghnn, like you said. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex. Are you still on birth control?” 

“Of course I am.” 

“Great. Let’s go then.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (1)

summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4.5k

warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!

note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3

part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.

They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.

You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.

Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.

Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.

“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.

“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”

But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.

“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.

You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.

“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.

The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.

You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.

You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?

Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.

“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”

Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.

“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”

You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.

“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”

“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.

“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”

Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.

“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.

Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.

Another empty casket.

“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”

You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.

“Yeah, let's go.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.

Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.

Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.

Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.

You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.

You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.

But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.

Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.

She looked so different and the same at the same time.

You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.

“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.

“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.

During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.

When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.

Howard had died.

You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.

Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.

This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.

You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.

Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.

“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”

“Does Tony know?”

“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”

“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.

“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”

“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.

“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.

“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.

“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.

“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.

“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”

With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.

“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”

“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.

“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.

“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.

“And look how that turned out!”

Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.

You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.

“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”

You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.

And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.

However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.

The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.

During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.

After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.

She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.

For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?

You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.

You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.

“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.

“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”

“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.

“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”

“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”

“You look agitated, but I need-”

“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”

You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.

You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.

You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.

Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.

Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.

“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”

“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.

“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We got a call from the Arctic.”

“From the Arctic?”

You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.

“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”

You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.

You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.

You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.

Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.

Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.

The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.

You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.

Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.

You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.

Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.

And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.

[rose-morose]

I was just thinking about the Gravity Falls 'Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons' episode and it got me thinking about what D&D 5e class each of the characters would be

(spoilers under the cut if you still haven't seen this show)

(just go watch it, seriously, watch it)

Grunkle Stan: this one is pretty obvious, the man is a rogue thief, even though he relies highly on charisma checks, he rarely succeeds as it is his cunning and sleight of hand that serve him best, and his penchant for burglary and spotty criminal record are an added bonus

Ford: a warlock with the incomparable Bill Cipher as a patron, it was a deal he struck with Bill that gave him the knowledge and skills necessary to complete his project, all the while Bill manipulated him into furthering his own agenda

Gideon: another warlock with the same patron as Ford, the nefarious Bill Cipher, and although Gideon can perform magic on his own, it was his partnership with Bill that made him a major player, but nevertheless he may have multiclassed into another caster, most likely a bard judging by his flair for the dramatic

Wendy: some type of ranger, her natural instinct, rural upbringing, lumberjack training, and survivalist skills make her an ideal candidate for the ranks of rangers defending the fringes of civilisation, her aptitude for nature would serve her well in the hunt

Dipper: probably a wizard, he relies on his intelligence as he wasn't born into the arcane, he must instead study it alone, he is not granted power by a patron, a deity, or an ancient bloodline, he built his skills up overtime with research and training to manipulate the power already around him

Mabel: definitely a college of lore bard, she reacts to every assault with cutting words, and with a creative and flamboyant personality coupled with her affinity for stagecraft (puppet shows), she fits the narrative of the bard perfectly

Grenda: could not be more barbarian coded, with the rage, the muscle, the intimidation, and the ability to inflict physical trauma she's got it all, you can't get more barbarian than that, be cautious when approaching, lest your skull be caved in with a sofa

that's all I have for now maybe I'll do more later

[mobile-soapbox]

become so dangerous to the administration that they fear your very existence. pose a threat to them. do not let their followers gaslight you into thinking everything is fine. but i also say do not throw a punch to a follower of theirs who is apart of the working class. they have been swindled and they do not realize it. everyone who is apart of the working class has been victimized by the trump administration. no matter their beliefs, no matter their background, no matter what morality. no matter the eyes they carry in their skull. no matter what they see around them.

whether a victim of division or a victim of false promise, it doesn't matter.

do not focus anger on the one who labors as you do, who was vulnerable and was swept up by flattery. focus your anger and energy on the bastard in his fortress, sitting pretty surrounded by yesmen who hoard spoils for themselves. the nefarious man that is regressing the progress of the country.

rise against the trump administration. do not let pessimism blind you. do not scream a woe that this motion is unable solve all of our problems. as long as the world exists there will be problems. if you are so adamant about solving all of them, then why sit and watch as this situation grows out of control. as this situation stalls our society. do not stop to think and label these as fruitless endeavors or a fight with no end. as many have said before and will continue to say, at least you can say you tried. you can give it your all.

believe in the power you hold.

[chernobog13]

And just like that the nefarious Red Skull (yes, that's supposed to be him) is defeated by a Frisbee®.