#or the restraints of building technologies at the time

[notonewouldmind]

I Need someone more knowledgeable than me to do an architectural analysis of witch hat atelier…. please please please I am begging you

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART THREE.⠀FADING IN THE HEAT OF YOU

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), trauma recovery, emotional tension, mild angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions, pwp (porn with plot—lot of it actually), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), praise/degradation kink, creampie, mutual orgasms, soft dom!bucky/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 21.4k

author's notes : Here we are at the final part of this piece! Despite the horrendous headache I earned from spending way too much time staring at my laptop, it truly has been a blast writing this. For my fellow horny adult readers, here's a little treat to end this chaotic year on a good note—of course, it is mandatory to read the first two parts to understand the context of the following chapter.

Minors, it's not for nothing that I ended the last part on their kiss; please do not engage with this post and be mindful of what you choose to consume on the internet.

Once again, wishing you all a Happy New Year and nothing but amazing things for 2025! With this, I’m officially signing off from writing for the year. It's been an amazing first month here; thank you for all of the constant love and support, dear readers, and I hope to see you soon—next year, probably. :p

(ao3 version)

The days in Wakanda passed in a tranquil rhythm, starkly contrasting to the chaos that had defined much of Bucky Barnes’ life—the relentless missions, the disorienting bursts of violence, and the weight of a mind that was never fully his own. The serenity was almost disarming here, a world away from the harsh clang of metal restraints or the suffocating darkness of Hydra’s labs. The Vibranium-powered chamber, nestled within the heart of Shuri’s state-of-the-art lab, became a sanctuary of sorts. The air was tinged with a faint metallic scent, mixed with the earthy undertones of the herbs Shuri kept in small jars nearby. A soft, rhythmic hum filled the space, blending seamlessly with the occasional chirp of holographic interfaces. The walls shimmered with subtle hues of blue and gold, their glow casting intricate shadows on the sleek, obsidian floors. Touching the chamber’s surface revealed a surprising warmth, a testament to the dynamic energy harnessed for healing. It was a marvel of Wakandan brilliance—walls glowing faintly with soft hues of blue and gold as the nanotechnology worked tirelessly to stabilize Bucky’s brain activity. The hum of advanced machinery was oddly soothing, a constant reminder of the healing taking place within.

You accompanied him daily, sitting quietly on a sleek chair Shuri had graciously provided. She often teased you about your devotion and, more recently, had been ecstatic upon finally hearing what had transpired between you and Bucky. Her teasing was relentless, but there was an unmistakable warmth behind her words, a genuine happiness for the bond you were building. The moments in the chamber were both heavy and hopeful. The technology was doing its job, methodically erasing the remnants of Hydra’s mental conditioning. Still, progress was not without its challenges.

Bucky sat in the center of the chamber, his expression neutral but his fingers twitching ever so slightly. The faint glow of Vibranium circuits danced along his temples, tracing patterns that seemed almost alive. Despite his stoic demeanor, you could see the strain etched in his features—his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. His fingers twitched restlessly against his thighs, and every so often, his brows would knit together in a fleeting moment of anguish that he couldn’t entirely suppress—signs of an internal battle raging just beneath the surface.

“You okay in there?” you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the quiet hum of the room. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you studied him.

His eyes flickered open, the piercing blue momentarily dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low and rough. “Just... takes some getting used to.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. It earned you the faintest curve of his lips—a victory in itself.

As the treatments progressed, Hydra’s influence faded bit by bit, but the process was not without its setbacks. There were days when fragments of his past would resurface—flashes of missions, orders barked in harsh tones, and the cold detachment of the Winter Soldier. On those days, he was quieter, his silence heavy with unspoken pain. You knew better than to push him, but you also refused to let him face it alone.

When the sessions ended, you would walk together back to your room. The atmosphere during these walks often shifted—sometimes quiet and contemplative, with the two of you lost in your thoughts, and other times filled with light conversation, your voices carrying softly in the cool Wakandan air. On rare occasions, you’d catch him smirking at one of your quips, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was becoming, unburdened by the past. It had become a shared space over time, a place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down. The bed was a modest size, but neither of you minded the closeness. On good nights, you’d lie tangled together, his arm draped over your waist as your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. Small kisses were exchanged—gentle and unhurried, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

One night, as the glow of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains, you turned to face him. His eyes were closed, but you could tell he was awake. “Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur.

He cracked one eye open, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “They’re not worth that much.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even throw in a nickel.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and for a moment, the tension that so often clung to him seemed to dissipate. He cracked an eye open, giving you a small, playful smirk. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “You can’t keep secrets from me. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I think I can,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “It’s one of those ‘too dangerous to know’ things.”

You snorted. “Dangerous? You’re telling me you—the super soldier who fought Nazis and got cryogenically frozen—have a secret too dangerous for me?”

He gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Alright, maybe it’s not dangerous. Just… weird.”

“Now I’m curious,” you said, leaning in. “Tell me, or I’ll take the nearest pillow and suffocate you with it.”

He sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fine. I was just thinking how weird it is to be here with you. To feel... I don’t know, normal for once. Not like the guy who’s been stuck in the past, just... me.” He shifted a little, his gaze growing soft. “Feels nice. Kinda like it that I can be more than just a weapon.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “Bucky, you’ve always been more. You were never just that guy. You’re this guy,” you said, tapping his chest lightly with your finger. “The one I’m hanging out with right now. The one with way too many cute smiles and a bit of a dorky side.”

“Dorky?” He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a highly trained, super soldier with zero dorkiness. I’m all edge.”

You snorted, reaching out to poke his side. “Uh-huh. Totally no dorkiness. Zero. Zip. Nada.” You grinned as he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Seriously though,” you said softly, “You’ve always been more than that. And you deserve everything. Even if it’s just hanging out with me, doing absolutely nothing but being adorable.”

His face softened, and he looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “How do you do that? Make me feel like I actually deserve this?”

You leaned in close, your noses almost brushing as you whispered, “Because you do, Bucky. You really do.”

Before either of you could say anything more, you couldn’t resist. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing his in a soft, teasing kiss. It started gentle, just the lightest touch, both of you savoring the moment like you were testing the waters, but his lips were warm and inviting, making it impossible to pull away. The kiss deepened slightly, and you felt the heat grow between you, soft and steady, as you moved closer to each other.

His hand gently cradled the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. You melted into his touch, your own hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. You both pulled each other closer, a quiet giggle escaping from you as his lips were soft and gentle but full of a quiet hunger. His kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor every second, and you did the same, taking your time as you enjoyed the sweet closeness.

When you finally pulled away, your lips tingling from the kiss, you both exhaled in unison, breathless. Your foreheads touched, and you closed your eyes for a moment, just basking in the quiet intimacy.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire but still that familiar playfulness in it, “you’re making this very hard to resist.”

You smiled, still a little dizzy from the kiss, and giggled softly. “I’m not trying to make it hard, but I’m not complaining if you’re enjoying it.”

He chuckled softly, eyes darkening with something more. “You’re trouble.”

“Good trouble, I hope,” you whispered, your voice low and playful, your lips brushing over his again in another gentle kiss.

His grip on you tightened, the playful softness quickly giving way to something far more desperate, more urgent. This time, there was no teasing—only the raw, unspoken need between you. His kiss grew hungrier, his lips pressing harder against yours, as though he couldn’t get enough, as though he was trying to pull you inside him. His hand slid down your back, cupping your waist and tugging you closer, the heat between you building with every movement. The tension snapped, and the kiss became frantic, your bodies instinctively responding to each other. You felt every inch of him against you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the erratic thrum of your own.

You eagerly matched his pace, your hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, your bodies so pressed together you felt like you might melt into one another. He groaned softly, the sound low and thick with need, and you felt a shiver of desire race through your body in response, your pulse quickening, heart pounding in your chest. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your head spin—delicious, dizzying. His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, making you arch into him, your body reacting to each touch like it was the first. The air between you was thick with heat, your breaths shallow, as if neither of you could catch your breath long enough to slow down.

His hands moved lower, his fingers gently brushing along the silky straps of your pajamas, his thumb lightly grazing over the delicate laces of the top. He tugged softly at the string, teasing it with gentle pressure, his fingers brushing your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you. It felt like he was trying to strip away the barriers between you, his touch slow and deliberate, each movement sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

His hands slid to your waist, tugging you even closer, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. The heat from his body pressed against you, making you feel like you were burning alive in the best way possible. The kiss deepened once more, more urgent now, your lips parting as you both gasped, the desperation for more building, an almost frantic need to feel every part of each other. Your tongues met in a frantic, eager dance, tasting and exploring as if the world around you had vanished. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of his lips, his body, the way his touch made your skin tingle with every inch of contact.

The room around you seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him lingering on your tongue, and the undeniable pull of his body. Every shift of his hands, every soft groan, every caress made your own body ache, and you pressed even closer, feeling him everywhere. You felt him hard against you, the desire between you so palpable it was almost suffocating, but in the best way possible.

Finally, when you pulled away, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with every labored breath, you both stayed close, foreheads resting against each other, completely breathless. The world was spinning, and your hearts were thundering in your chests as you tried to find some semblance of control.

He blinked, still a little dazed. “Well, that wasn’t dangerous at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, your lips curling into a grin. “You looked pretty dangerous there for a second.”

He snorted, the warmth of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m always dangerous,” he said, but there was a playfulness in his voice now.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Dangerous, but still a dork.” You tucked yourself under his arm, letting him pull you close. “I’m not complaining though. You’re my dangerous, dorky soldier.”

“You’re lucky I like you enough to endure being called a dork,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m the lucky one?” you teased, poking his chest. “I think you’re the one who’s lucky, getting to be my dork.”

And with that, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as you snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you like a protective cocoon. His embrace was grounding and comforting, the kind of closeness that made everything else in the world feel insignificant. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, each thud a soft, reassuring reminder that he was here, with you, in this moment. It was the perfect lullaby—a steady, familiar sound that eased the lingering tension in your muscles and settled the storm in your mind.

As you lay there, tangled together, the quiet of the room seemed to stretch around you, the outside world no longer exists. The soft rustle of the sheets, the faint hum of the air around you—it was all drowned out by the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth sinking into your skin. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the motion soothing and rhythmic, syncing with your own as you relax deeper into him.

Moments like these, simple and unassuming, felt like everything. The rush of emotions, the heated exchanges, the tender kisses—all of that had led here, to this fragile, perfect stillness. Nothing had to be said; there was no need for words when everything you needed was already here, in the quiet intimacy between you. You could feel the gentle weight of his body against yours, the way he was holding you as if he never wanted to let go, and it made your heart swell with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the room.

In that space, time didn’t matter. The worries, the fears, and the complications of life all faded into the background, swept away by the gentle closeness of your bodies and the connection you shared. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. The world could be falling apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter, because, in this moment, everything was just right.

As you nestled deeper into him, you could feel his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back, the tenderness of the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through you. You smiled softly, not needing to say a word, just enjoying the simplicity of being here with him, knowing that no matter what the future held, this—this moment—was enough. The peace you felt in his arms was more than just physical; it was emotional, something deeper that neither of you had to speak aloud to understand.

For now, you don’t need anything more. Just this—just him—was everything.

⠀

The sun had set, casting the room in a soft, dim light. The gentle hum of the Vibranium chamber’s machinery was the only sound, a comforting presence that usually helped Bucky unwind. But tonight, the air felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. Bucky had been quieter than usual—more withdrawn. Your room felt colder somehow, despite the warmth of the lights. 

Finally, you found him sitting in front of his mirror, his eyes locked onto the new arm Shuri had designed for him. It was sleek and polished, almost flawless—a work of engineering genius. But as you watched him, you could see something deeper in his gaze, something unsettling. There was no joy in his eyes, no relief, just an unmistakable unease that twisted his features. The arm—meant to be a symbol of progress, a new beginning—felt like a foreign object in his hands. It wasn’t part of him yet.

His fingers traced the cool surface of the metal, like he was trying to understand it, maybe even willing it to feel like it belonged. But his expression was far from peaceful. His lips were drawn tight, his jaw set, like he was fighting something deep within himself. His old arm—the one that had been corrupted by Hydra, the one that had caused him so much pain—sat beside him on the table, abandoned and broken. It was rusty, its edges chipped and scarred, a stark contrast to the sleek, polished new design beside it.

You leaned against the doorframe, your gaze lingering on him, but you didn’t rush in. His assigned room always felt so foreign to you; like a place too hallowed for you to penetrate in it. You knew Bucky had his moments of solitude, and though it was often hard to watch him retreat, you had learned to give him space when he needed it. But this time was different.

Normally, when he retreated into himself like this, you’d hear from him in a few hours—just a quick text or a call, a simple ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’ll be back soon.’ It was his way of checking in, of making sure you knew he wasn’t disappearing into the darkness for good. But today… today had been different.

The entire day had passed without a single word from him. You’d checked in, and tried to give him some time to process whatever it was that had him on edge. But as the hours ticked by, that familiar knot of worry began to tighten in your chest. When he didn’t reach out by midday, you started to feel the unease settling in, creeping into the back of your mind. By the time the sun started to dip behind the horizon, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to shake it off, tried to convince yourself that he just needed more time. But now, standing in the doorway, watching him sit there as though lost in thought, you knew something had shifted inside of him. It wasn’t just the arm—it was more than that. It was like the weight of his past had caught up with him all at once, and he couldn’t escape it. He wasn’t just holding onto the broken arm. He was holding onto everything it represented: the missions, the manipulation, the memories of bloodshed and betrayal. And now that he was faced with a new, clean slate, it was too much. Too overwhelming.

You stepped into the room quietly, taking a deep breath before speaking, but your voice felt unsteady. "Bucky?"

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers continued to trace the arm absentmindedly, like he was trying to feel something—anything—that would make it real. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his head lifted slightly, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to shake off the thoughts that had been consuming him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice tight, the words coming out clipped and distant.

But you knew that tone, the one that was just a little too flat, just a little too guarded. The tone he used when he was shutting everyone out. And you could feel the walls going up before your eyes, higher and faster than ever before.

"You’ve been distant all day, Buck’," you said softly, but with an edge that you couldn’t suppress. "You didn’t give me any sign of life. It’s not like you. And now this…" You gestured toward the arm, your heart heavy. "You’re not fine. You’re avoiding something, and I think you know it."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze was still locked on the new arm, but now, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing it at all. His mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere darker. His silence only deepened the worry that had been building in your chest all day.

“Hey…” you pressed, taking a step closer, your voice softer now. “I get it. I do. This… this isn’t just about the arm, is it?”

Finally, his eyes met yours. But instead of the usual warmth or the flicker of his familiar, sardonic smile, there was nothing. Just emptiness. He was holding onto something, and it was suffocating him.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, a vulnerability you rarely saw in him. "I can’t just let go of it. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s… it’s all I am."

You felt your heart ache for him, but the frustration simmered just below the surface. You couldn’t let him do this again. You couldn’t let him spiral back into the darkness.

"Yes, you can," you replied firmly, your voice unwavering. “You are not just limited to big muscles and a metal arm. You are Bucky Barnes, sacred White Wolf by the royal Wakandan family. You don’t have to carry the past with you. Not anymore.”

He flinched at your words, his brow furrowing in pain, but you didn’t back down. "You’re letting your past control you. It’s all you’ve known, all you’ve remembered, but it doesn’t have to be all you are. You’ve fought so hard to get here, James. Don’t throw that away just because you’re scared of who you’ll be without it.”

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away, shut you out completely. But he didn’t. His eyes were filled with pain, his fists clenched at his sides as if holding onto something—something deep inside him—that he couldn’t let go of.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice strained. "You don’t know what it’s like to be nothing without it. To be this… broken thing, struggling to hold it together. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You took a step forward, meeting his gaze with a fire of your own. “I do understand,” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “I’ve been there too, James. I’ve had to fight my own demons, too. But you don’t get to hide behind them. Not anymore.”

He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath, and you could see the war raging inside him. He was so damn close to breaking, so close to letting go of everything that had been keeping him from healing. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.

"You’ve been through hell," you continued, taking another step closer. "But it doesn’t have to be your excuse to keep living in it. Not when you have the chance to get out of it. And if you keep holding onto your old identity, if you keep letting it define you, then that’s all you’re ever going to be."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might lash out, the frustration and pain in his eyes threatening to spill over. But instead, he sank back into the chair, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to face it.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your voice gentler now but still firm. "I’m not asking you to forget your past, but you have to let it go. You can’t keep holding onto the weight of it. You’ve carried it for so long, but it’s destroying you."

He was quiet for a long time, his head hanging low, his hands gripping the armrest like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. You could see his struggle, could feel it radiating off of him, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, but with a strength that only made him flinch harder. “I’m here. But I won’t watch you drown in this. You don’t have to do this alone. But I need you to let me help.”

You could feel the tension in the room thickening, the weight of Bucky’s silence pressing down on both of you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes cast downward, his jaw clenched, as if he were trying to suppress the storm inside him. The words you had said earlier—words of hope, of strength—hung in the air between you both, unanswered. And despite your best intentions, you could see it in his eyes: nothing was getting through to him right now.

He was retreating inward, walling himself off from everything and everyone.

It was a painful realization. You could tell that pushing him any further at this moment would only send him deeper into that dark, quiet space. You could see the pain and frustration building in his chest, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts as if he were holding onto something. He was barely there, barely present. He was a soldier still fighting his war inside his head.

You wanted so badly to reach him. To break through, to remind him of the man he was, the man he could still be. But at that moment, you knew that forcing the conversation further wasn’t going to do either of you any good.

“James…” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking at the sight of him so far away. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

He didn’t respond, and you could feel the frustration bubbling under your skin, but you forced it down. Instead, you took a deep breath, your gaze softening, your mind racing. He needed space, but not isolation.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you insisted, your voice quieter, gentler now. “You need time to process this, I get that. But I’m not leaving you alone. Not this time.”

Bucky didn’t look at you, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was the same withdrawal, the same pattern he’d fallen into so many times before. The same fear of being a burden, of pushing everyone away.

You stepped back a little, taking a breath before speaking again. “I’ll be in the hot springs if you want to talk. I’m not leaving. But I won’t force you to say anything before you’re ready.”

You made your way toward the door, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment. There was a part of you that wanted to stay, to keep pressing, to tell him how much you cared, how much you hated seeing him like this. But you also knew that pushing him now would only make things worse.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready,” you said one last time, voice steady but laden with emotion. “Just… please don’t shut me out. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. But you could feel the weight of his pain, the quiet struggle within him. It was clear he wasn’t ready to talk, but the ache of the silence between you was unbearable.

You walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind you, but you didn’t walk far. You stayed just outside, leaning against the wall. You wouldn’t give him more space than he needed, but you also wouldn’t let him slip away into the shadows again. Not tonight.

You would wait for him. And when he was ready—when he decided to talk—you would be there. Even if it took time.

⠀

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, the gnawing discomfort in his chest that only seemed to deepen the more he thought about the new arm, about the memories that rushed in uninvited. His fingers still felt like they were brushing against the old, corrupted one, the weight of it lingering in his mind like a specter.

He needed to move. Needed to feel his muscles burn, to get lost in the motion until he didn’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. So, he found himself heading to the training room, the soft hum of the facility an almost soothing contrast to the turbulence in his mind.

The room was empty except for a few training dummies and equipment. Bucky didn’t bother with the warm-up. He started immediately, hitting the punching bag with a series of calculated strikes, his focus entirely on the rhythm of his fists meeting the bag. The training room was almost too quiet, save for the dull thud of Bucky’s fists slamming into the punching bag. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching with the relentless repetition. He wasn’t here to perfect his technique; he was here to escape. The rhythmic pounding was all he could focus on, the only thing that helped drown out the memories clawing at the back of his mind. Each strike was like an attempt to knock them away, but no matter how hard he hit, they always came back.

His new arm—the one Shuri had designed for him—felt wrong in his grasp. It was sleek, smooth, and polished, a cutting-edge piece of technology meant to represent his chance at a fresh start. But every time his metal fingers tightened, all he felt was emptiness. The weight of it was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same weight that had always been with him. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been a part of him, a constant reminder of the life he’d led, the things he’d done, and the man he’d become because of it. This new one—this shiny, clean prosthetic—felt like an alien extension of himself, like something else he had to learn to control. And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like something he could trust.

With every punch, the frustration built. His muscles burned and his breaths came in sharp gasps, but it wasn’t enough. He was trying to outrun the ghosts of his past, the shadows that lingered even in the light. The memories of the Winter Soldier, of the pain he had inflicted, of the people he’d hurt—they were always there, just beneath the surface. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, they were waiting for him. And tonight, they felt louder, more insistent.

The bag swayed from his last punch, and his new arm slammed into it again. But this time, something felt off. He felt a sharp pang in his shoulder, then a light grinding sound. His gaze snapped down, eyes widening when he saw the small metal shard fall to the floor. 

"Damn it," he muttered, flexing his fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach as the reality hit him. The arm wasn’t just unfamiliar. It was already falling apart.

He stepped back, pulling his arm away from the bag, and his eyes flicked to the broken pieces scattered across the floor. It felt like the final straw. The thing he’d hoped would be a symbol of his redemption, the key to moving forward, was now a reminder of how little control he had over his own life. His fists clenched, and his breath quickened as the frustration boiled over.

“Damn it,” he growled again, slamming his arm against the wall. The loud crash reverberated through the room, and a jolt of pain shot up his arm as the pieces rattled.

His mind was a blur. Why couldn’t this just be easier? Why couldn’t he just accept that he was allowed to heal? He looked down at the arm again, the new, clean metal reflecting the harsh light. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been worn and chipped, like him. It had scars, a history—his history. But this new arm was pristine, unmarked, and it felt like it didn’t belong to him at all. It was too perfect, too far removed from the chaos of his life.

I’m not that man anymore, he thought bitterly. I can’t be.

But then, a deeper part of him whispered something darker. What if you still are? What if the real you is just a mask, and you can’t outrun what you’ve done? The voice echoed in his mind like a chilling reminder. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He’d spent so much time buried in the shadows, pretending to be something he wasn’t, that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be him.

The silence in the room stretched, and he stood there, looking at the arm like it was something he couldn’t comprehend. He tried to move it again, flexing his fingers, but the weight felt all wrong. It was like trying to wear someone else’s skin.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that were surfacing once again—the violence, the bloodshed, the whispers of Hydra calling him “Soldier.” His fists clenched harder, and for a moment, he thought he might throw the arm across the room just to feel something again. Something that wasn’t this emptiness gnawing at him.

And then he heard a voice, calm and teasing, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

From the doorway, a voice broke through the tension like a crack of sunlight through storm clouds. “You’ve got quite the temper, White Boy.”

Bucky’s body tensed, and he snapped his head toward the door, only to find Shuri leaning casually against the frame. Her arms were crossed, and her gaze was fixed on the broken pieces of his vibranium arm scattered across the floor.

“I could hear you all the way in my lab,” she said, her tone teasing but light. “I thought maybe you were wrestling a rhino. But no, you’re just here throwing a tantrum. Very dignified.”

“Not in the mood, Shuri,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and taut. He turned away, crouching to collect a twisted piece of vibranium.

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re in the mood for breaking things,” she quipped, ignoring his obvious dismissal as she stepped into the room. Her sharp gaze landed on him, assessing. “You’ve been stomping around like an elephant all day, and now you’re trashing my tech? I should charge you for this. Vibranium doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Bucky huffed, irritation flashing across his features as he stood, clutching a broken panel in his hand. “It’s not just the arm,” he muttered. His voice dropped as he added, “It’s everything.”

Shuri arched an eyebrow. “Everything? You mean the global crisis, the existential dread, or the fact that you haven’t really laughed in approximately 84 years?”

He shot her a look, but she continued unfazed, stepping closer. Her teasing tone softened just slightly, enough to convey she wasn’t entirely joking. “You think destroying the arm I built for you is going to fix ‘everything’? Hate to break it to you, but vibranium isn’t a substitute for therapy.”

He bent down to pick up a piece of his shattered arm, his movements stiff and deliberate. “It’s not just the arm,” he repeated quietly, his voice strained. “It’s everything. I’m not who I used to be, but I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be either.”

Shuri tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of exasperation and something softer. “It’s just a tool, Soldier. It’s not a chain. It doesn’t define you any more than your past does.” She crouched next to him, taking the piece from his hand with practiced ease and examining it. “But you—you’re holding onto all that weight like it’s part of you. That’s the problem.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is,” she replied, crouching down to examine the broken piece in her hand. “Simple doesn’t mean easy, though. Trust me, I’ve met plenty of stubborn people—T’Challa included—and you’re giving them all a run for their money.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them easing slightly as Shuri adjusted the mechanisms in the damaged arm with precise, practiced movements. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer but still unwavering. “In Wakanda, we say, ‘The river does not stop flowing because the stones are heavy.’ You’ve been carrying those stones for too long. Let them go. The river keeps moving. So should you.”

He swallowed hard, her words striking a chord somewhere deep inside him. “It’s not just me,” he said quietly, the words heavy with guilt. “I’ve hurt her, Shuri. I keep pushing her away, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Shuri straightened, placing his arm back into its rightful place on his body. Her gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “Well, you’re not pushing her away because you want to. You’re doing it because you’re scared. Scared of letting her see the parts of yourself you still haven’t forgiven. But that’s not fair to her—or you.”

He shook his head, the self-doubt tightening around him like a noose. “I’m not good enough for her. She deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips, her posture radiating authority. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “You’re not a machine, Barnes. You’re the White Wolf. A brother.” Her voice softened as she added, “To us.”

That made him look at her, his expression caught between disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, he stood and turned toward her.

She looked at him again, an expression of affection mixed with irritation. “Now go find her before I start charging you rent for all this moping around. You’ll figure it out. Just don’t wait too long, you might lose your chance.”

Bucky stood there for a moment, torn between the self-doubt that had plagued him for years and the glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—he could get it right.

He finally exhaled, feeling a little more grounded than he had in days. “Thanks, Shuri,” he said, his voice quieter, softer than usual.

She grinned, the familiar, teasing glint returning to her eyes. “I know, I’m amazing.” She patted him on the shoulder, giving him a look that was both playful and a little bit of a challenge. “But next time, don’t break anything. That’s my job.”

He smirked back, feeling a flicker of his old self return. “I’ll try to keep my punches to the punching bag next time.”

After a brief hesitation, Bucky raised his right arm across his chest in the Wakandan salute, his other fist resting over his heart. The motion wasn’t rushed; it carried weight, respect, and a silent acknowledgment of everything Shuri and Wakanda had done for him. “Thank you... for everything.”

Shuri’s expression softened, her usual teasing replaced by a rare warmth. After a moment, she mirrored the gesture, her fists crossing her chest as she gave him a nod. “Always, White Wolf.”

As he turned to leave, Shuri called after him, her grin back in full force. “And Barnes? If I find out you two are sneaking around breaking more things, don’t come crying to me when the Dora finds out.”

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged, her tone mock-innocent. “What can I say? I’m rooting for chaos.”

She added a moment later, “Also, please burn everything you two touch when you’re done, I don’t want any germs to spread around.”

“Oh go milk a goat, princess.”

⠀

The roar of the quad echoed against the trees, the sound tearing through the stillness of the Wakandan evening. Bucky leaned into the curves of the dirt path, the wind tugging at his hair and brushing against his skin. For the first time in years, he felt… free. There was no mission, no orders, no lurking specter of his past to weigh him down. It was just him, the open trail, and the quiet promise of finding you at the end of it.

The sky above blazed in shades of gold, orange, and deep lavender, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon. The air smelled of earth and blossoms, cool and fresh as he neared the edge of the springs. He slowed the bike, eventually stopping at a rocky clearing. Cutting the engine, he swung his leg over the seat and glanced around, catching sight of faint steam rising in the distance.

The hot springs looked like they belonged in another world—hidden by tall, jagged rocks and lush greenery, with clear, crystalline water reflecting the fiery hues of the sky. Steam curled lazily above the surface, mingling with the golden light of the setting sun. The soft sound of water trickling over smooth stones mixed with the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a sanctuary, untouched and serene.

Bucky stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel. That’s when he spotted you.

You were partially submerged, your back to him, the warm water lapping at your shoulders as the steam swirled around you. Your hair clung to your damp skin, the curve of your neck illuminated in the fading light. You hadn’t noticed him yet, lost in your own world. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt. But then, his boot scraped against a stone, the sound startling you.

You turned sharply, eyes wide, and let out a small yelp. “Bucky!” you exclaimed, water splashing as you shifted to face him. “You scared me, idiot!”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to. Thought you’d hear me coming.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You stomp around like a cat burglar and expect me to notice?”

Before he could respond, you scooped a handful of water and flung it at him. He flinched, the cold droplets splashing across his face and shirt. “Hey!” he protested, laughter creeping into his voice.

“Serves you right!” you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He crouched at the edge of the spring, cupped his hand, and sent a wave of water your way. You shrieked, diving to avoid the worst of it but laughing as droplets hit your arms. The brief, playful battle continued until you both surrendered, your chest heaving from laughter and his smile softer now, lingering as he watched you.

Eventually, you swam to a shallow corner, leaning back against a smooth rock. You looked up at him, the teasing fading into something quieter. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then with a wry smirk, he shrugged off his jacket and boots. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the water, before pulling off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his pants. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of getting into hot springs with people, but,” he raised an eyebrow, “this seems like a good exception.”

He stepped into the warm water, the heat soothing his stiff muscles almost immediately. The spring was a natural wonder, the water bubbling gently around them, steam rising in soft curls into the evening air. It felt like a small piece of paradise, the perfect end to a long ride.

“Comfy?” you asked, your voice soft, a teasing hint in it. You leaned back, resting your arms on the stone edges, your fingers trailing lazily through the water.

Bucky sank into the water beside you, his eyes drifting over the lush, serene landscape. “More like 'just what the doctor ordered,'" he muttered, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. "Should’ve joined you sooner."

“You had to take your sweet time,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye. “What’s that old saying? Better late than never?”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “If I were you, I’d be glad I showed up at all, dove. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely, right?”

Your eyes flickered over to him with a smirk. “Oh, I can handle being alone. I’ve spent enough time by myself to know how to make the best of it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back against the rock, allowing the water to envelop him. “And how’s that working out for you? Trying to find peace in the middle of all this chaos?”

For a while, you both didn’t speak, the silence comfortable as the golden light dimmed into twilight. It was you who broke the stillness first. “You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know. I know I proposed it to you, but you could’ve just waited for me back there.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze on the rippling water. “I know. But I needed to get out of my head. And… I wanted to be with you.”

You nodded in comprehension, regarding him while holding a certain warm glint in your eyes that was only reserved for him. Silence was king again, only battling its place with the sound of water rippling around them. The peaceful surroundings almost seemed at odds with the weight of the conversation, but Bucky could tell it wasn’t just the air that had gotten heavier.

You were quiet for a moment, glancing up at the sky as if considering his question. “It’s not easy, by the way,” you said softly as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “Finding peace in the chaos. But... it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative being what? Pushing everything down and pretending it’s all fine?” He asked with a raised brow, clearly skeptical.

“Isn’t that what we all do, at least a little?” You turned toward him then, your voice steady. “We all try to convince ourselves we’re okay when we’re not.”

There was a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. A recognition. “I know that feeling.” His tone was low, quieter than it had been before. The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the steam swirling around.

He looked down at the water, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure what was going on inside his head, but you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. There was a weight to the silence, something shared but unspoken.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck on a loop, you know?" Bucky's voice was low, rougher than usual. "I keep thinking I can outrun the stuff I’ve done, but it never works. It just keeps catching up with me, no matter how fast I try to go."

You let his words hang in the air, taking a moment to think. The weight of his admission wasn't lost on you, but you knew better than to rush in. After a long pause, you spoke softly, but with purpose. "You don’t have to outrun it, Bucky. You don't have to keep pretending it’s not there." You turned toward him, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that almost felt like an anchor. "The only way forward is through it. It won’t go away just because you avoid it."

Bucky exhaled slowly, as though the weight of his thoughts had finally found a crack. A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Great. So now I’m supposed to just... accept being a walking disaster, huh?"

You chuckled, though it was light. "Well, I did tell you once that you were a work in progress, right? Like my suitcase that I was unpacking," you teased, but your tone was softer now. "This is the same thing. You can’t face your fears head-on, it takes time. Doesn’t mean you’re stuck with them forever either."

Bucky let out a small snort, shaking his head. "So I’m just like your suitcase, huh? Full of emotional baggage and in desperate need of unpacking?"

He smirked, but the playful edge was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "Guess that makes me a little less scary, huh? If I’m just another project in your life." He leaned back slightly, his fingers skimming the water’s surface. "But I get it. It’s not about forcing myself to be something I’m not. It’s just... finding a way to live with all of it."

Unable to resist the pull of him, the rawness of his words grounding you, you slowly moved from your place in the water, your legs brushing against his as you slid into his lap, facing him. You rested your hands gently on his shoulders, a quiet comfort you hoped he’d feel as much as hear.

"You're not a project, James," you said, your voice calm but firm, making sure he understood. "Not some thing to fix or unpack. You’re a person. You’ve always been more than whatever anyone else has tried to define you as." You held his gaze, your fingertips grazing lightly along his shoulder, warmth and reassurance radiating through your touch.

"I’ve seen you," you continued, your voice softening but not lessening in conviction. "And I’ve seen you fight. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not just physically... but emotionally. Mentally. You’re not broken, you’re just... learning how to heal."

He looked down, a faint laugh escaping him. "Learning how to heal, huh? Sounds like you’re writing a self-help book." He glanced up at you, a smirk dancing on his lips, but it didn’t hide the flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"Maybe I should," you said with a smile, your hands still gently massaging the muscles of his shoulders. "But seriously... You’ve done things. Things you’ll never be able to undo. But that doesn’t make you less of a person."

Bucky’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as your words sank in. He let out a deep breath, his voice quieter now. "I don’t know if I’ll ever really be... free of it. Not completely. Not the way you’re free."

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-motion as the silence between you deepened. The weight of his admission settled around both of you. "I don't think anyone's ever truly free of their past. I’m not," you said carefully. "I still think about everything that happened to me from time to time. It’s inevitable, like Mother Nature every thirty days of the month,” you let out a small laugh at your comparison before sobering up, “But I remember that I’m in a better place, surrounded by better people; just like you are, and just like you should."

He looked up at you again, the vulnerability in his eyes making his usual guarded demeanor seem so far away. "I don’t want to hurt you," he muttered, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist.

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice barely above a whisper. You slid your hands down his arms, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I’m not afraid of what you’ve been. I’m... here, because of who you are now."

His hands tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours. "And who am I now?" His question was soft, almost a plea for reassurance.

You gently smiled as you leaned in closer, your chest resting lightly against his. "You’re someone who is trying. Who wants to be better—to do better. Someone who’s been through hell and still has the strength to stand up. And most importantly, you are whoever you decide to be. That’s who you are."

Your heart thrud at the closeness, and you looked at him with affection. "Remember when you fixed my watch?" you asked quietly. "I couldn’t do it. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t fix it. And then you showed up. And just like that, you fixed it for me. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to."

Bucky’s expression softened. He didn’t answer immediately, just watching you, as though absorbing your words.

"You didn’t need to fix the watch," you murmured, your fingers mindlessly tracing his biceps in a comforting manner. "It was perfect already, even when it was broken. I would’ve still worn it, because I love it. It’s been with me for so long." You took a slow breath, gathering your thoughts. "But you fixing it... it gave it new life. Now it’s working as it should. But either way, I would have cherished it, no matter its state." 

You looked up at him, your eyes steady and sincere. "My point is, you’ve never been broken, James. Not like you think. You’ve always been someone worth fighting for. Whether or not you’re still battling with your faults, you’re someone worth having in life. And I—" you hesitated, your voice catching slightly as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the weight of the moment, the vulnerability of the words you were about to share. "We love you either way. All we want is your well-being and for you to be able to enjoy life... normally."

Bucky froze, his breath catching in his throat as your words settled around him, heavy and real. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat feeling louder, faster. It was as though the world around him had stilled, his thoughts racing even faster than his pulse. He could’ve sworn he heard you almost say something else. The almost I love you had hung in the air for just a moment, lingering in the space between you, almost like a secret you hadn't even realized you were about to share.

His gaze locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, his expression unreadable as he took a tentative step closer. The distance between you felt like a chasm, even though you were standing just feet apart. "You… you said 'we love you,'" he repeated softly, his voice almost trembling as he tasted the words, his heart soaring at the sound of them. "But—" His voice faltered for a second, the vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Did you mean it? The love part?"

You swallowed, feeling the tension in the air thicken like a tangible weight, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he was looking at you, with hope and uncertainty swirling in his dark eyes, made your chest tighten. You nodded slowly, almost as if to reassure both him and yourself, the depth of your feelings suddenly rising to the surface. "I do," you said, your voice quiet but steady, though you could feel the tremor in it. "I meant it. You’re loved, Bucky. By me. By all of us."

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was something more there now, something raw and unguarded, like a window had opened to a part of him he hadn’t let anyone see in a long time. His breath was uneven, but his eyes never left yours, as if searching for something he hadn't known was there. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat from his body now, the closeness almost suffocating but comforting in the same breath. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice low, barely a rasp. "I need to hear you say it... for me."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his request, a nervous flutter of emotion stirring inside you. You didn’t hesitate, not this time. "We love you, Bucky," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but full of sincerity. Your lips felt dry, but you licked them briefly before continuing. The words felt real now, like a promise. "You’re so much more than you think."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he let the words wash over him. You could hear him breathe out a silent sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you had just shared. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker, more intense. His gaze was fixed on you with such depth that it felt as though he could see straight through you. "No," he said softly, shaking his head, the words almost a plea. "Say it for yourself, for you. Say it the way you feel it—just I."

Your heart raced even faster at the way he asked, with such raw sincerity and quiet desperation that you could almost feel it in your bones. You smiled softly, your breath catching in your throat, your body suddenly alive with the emotions you’d kept hidden. You nodded, feeling the air between you shift as you finally spoke the words you’d been holding back.

"I love you, Bucky," you said again, the words feeling easier this time, flowing from you with a newfound certainty. The tension that had knotted in your chest loosened as the truth settled into the space between you both. "I love you for who you are, all of you."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more, and it was as if something inside him unraveled, like a thousand little walls he'd built up were slowly crumbling. His breath caught, and for a brief moment, he didn’t know whether to smile or to just hold you and never let go. But there was still something more he needed—still an ache that wasn’t quite satisfied.

"One more time," he urged, his voice low and tender now, a softness that you hadn’t heard before. "Say it for you, please."

Your chest tightened, your pulse quickening once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The warmth of the moment—the sincerity of his need—was too much to hold back. You laughed softly, a sound of pure happiness, as the words came so naturally, like they had always been there, just waiting for the right time.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," you whispered, your heart feeling full in your chest, the weight of it all pressing down gently but with great significance. "You’re worth loving, and you always have been."

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race even faster. His face softened, the tension in his jaw easing as a smile tugged at his lips. "God," he whispered, his voice barely audible now, a mixture of awe and relief. "That’s all I needed to hear. You have no idea how much that means to me."

You laughed again, a joyous sound that filled the room, and in that moment, everything felt right. For the first time, it wasn’t just the weight of his past, or your past, that filled the space—it was hope. Real, raw, shared hope, woven together by the truth of your words and the vulnerability of this moment.

Bucky stepped closer, his hand moving gently to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your skin as if memorizing the feel of it. "I’ve waited so long to hear that," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve no idea how much you’ve healed me already, just by saying those words."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The air was thick with tension, the steam from the hot spring rising around you like an enveloping fog, as your lips finally met his. It was different this time—so much more intense, raw, and consuming than any kiss you had shared before. His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer as your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of the water surrounded you both, but it did nothing to ease the heat building between you.

Bucky groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something solid to anchor him. The feel of your body so close to his sent shockwaves through him, stirring something deep inside that he had buried for far too long. His fingers dug into your skin, not painfully, but with a desperation that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, racing, as if he was finally allowing himself to surrender to the moment.

As the kiss deepened, his lips moved against yours with a fierceness you hadn’t expected, but it felt right. He was more than just the man you had been comforting; he was a man who had finally allowed himself to feel, to let go. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you parted your mouth for him, letting him explore. His taste was intoxicating, his scent even more so—the mingling of the hot spring water with the natural musk of his skin.

You couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss as he pulled you further onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips, the heat of his body and the water surrounding you making you feel dizzy. The closeness, the sheer intimacy, made everything else fade away. There was nothing in the world except for you two, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands slid up your back to your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tugging you closer, if that was even possible.

Your body pressed fully against his, the water around you barely enough to hide the way your bodies aligned. You could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his grip, and the hardness of him against your hips, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Bucky’s lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses, before his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed you there with a hunger that made you gasp, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in just enough to mark you, a soft bite that sent a shock of pleasure straight through you.

You arched into him, gasping as the sting of the bite faded, leaving behind a heated throb that pulsed between your legs. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer as his lips moved from your neck to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, and his words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, fingertips grazing the hard muscles beneath the fabric, urging him closer, wanting more. His own hands moved lower, tracing the line of your spine, before dipping to your hips, gripping them firmly and guiding you against him, making you feel every inch of his body as he shifted beneath you. The water around you sloshed with each movement, the heat of the spring adding to the fevered temperature between you both. 

Bucky pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else in them too—a vulnerability that took you by surprise. "I need you," he muttered, his voice raw, as he ran his hands down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before moving to the soft skin of your thighs. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

The confession made your heart race, your body trembling with the intensity of his words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his again, deeper this time, your hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The sensation of his muscles flexing under your touch, the way he responded to your every movement, made your head spin.

You kissed him again, this time with a tenderness that matched the rawness of the moment, before moving down to his neck, your lips trailing over the tender skin there, finding the spot where his pulse raced just beneath the surface. His grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his teeth sinking gently into your shoulder as he groaned your name, the sound low and throaty, like a plea for more.

The heat of the moment continued to rise, and you could feel yourself losing control, caught in the wave of passion that surged between you and Bucky. His hands were everywhere—caressing, exploring, pulling you closer, never once letting go. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as if it couldn’t get close enough.

But amidst the chaos of it all, you felt a pull to reality—a sense of practicality trying to claw its way through the haze of desire. You pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, and your fingers brushed against his chest, trying to make him pause, but he wouldn’t. “James…” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky from the intensity of everything. “We should head back, we’re—”

His lips were on yours again before you could finish the sentence, devouring you in a kiss so intense, you couldn’t remember what you’d been trying to say. His hands slid lower on your back, pressing you even closer as he kissed you with a ferocity that took your breath away.

“No,” Bucky’s voice was a soft growl against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you firmly in place. “Not yet. I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just... just a bit more.” His words were barely more than a whisper, but the conviction behind them made your pulse spike. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, making your body tremble in response.

You tried to pull away again, trying to ground yourself, to remember the outside world. “But we’ve been out here too long, James—” Your protest was interrupted as he pulled you back into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands slipping beneath the water to press you more firmly against him. The heat of his body, the way he moved with you, was more than you could resist.

His lips broke from yours for a split second, just enough for him to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with an emotion you hadn’t seen before—desire, yes, but something more. “I’m not ready to go back yet,” he whispered, his hands sliding to your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin there. “I want to stay here. I want to savor this... savor you.”

His words were like a spell, wrapping around you, making you forget about everything else but him and this moment. Your body was already responding to him, the closeness, the warmth, the way his lips trailed over your skin, biting gently in all the right places. You wanted to protest again, to make sense of everything, but his hands were firm on you, coaxing you to surrender to the moment, to give in to the sensation of being with him in this way.

“I want all of you,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse with desire, and you couldn’t deny the pull. You didn’t want to leave either—not just yet.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your lips. The heat from the water around you only amplified the heat that was building between your bodies. You could feel his heart racing, his pulse quickening, as he pulled you even closer, his hands roaming over your back, gripping you with a desperation that matched your own. Every touch, every movement, sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Bucky, the water, the heat, the closeness.

But as his lips moved to your collarbone, your heart raced, and your mind screamed to slow down. “James,” you gasped, your hands trembling as they gently rested against his chest, pushing him back slightly. “We... we can’t keep going like this here. We need to stop.”

Bucky paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid breath as yours. His hands stayed on your hips, but there was hesitation in his touch, as though he’d heard you but wasn’t ready to let go of the moment. “I know,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “I don’t want to either, but I think… we’ve already crossed a line.” His hands slowly lowered from your back, though he didn’t pull away entirely.

You both sat there for a moment, the sound of your breathing the only thing that filled the space between you, the water gently lapping around you both. The heat was still there, but now it was mixed with a new awareness—an understanding that you needed to pause before things went too far.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “We should head back, before we... before we don’t stop.” Your voice was breathless, a little shaky, but the weight of what you were saying hit you both at the same time.

Bucky looked at you, his eyes dark with desire but also with understanding. His fingers brushed a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, a small, almost regretful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, the intensity still there, but tempered by something else now. “Let’s go back.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, your foreheads resting gently together as you both tried to steady your breaths. The closeness, the heat between you, was still undeniable, but you knew this was the right decision. The moment had been perfect, but it wasn’t meant to go any further—not yet, at least.

With a deep sigh, you pulled away slowly, the weight of the spring around you feeling suddenly heavier, colder. Bucky moved carefully, making sure you were both stable as he stood up, offering his hand to help you out of the water. His touch was gentle, yet there was still a lingering sense of connection, as though you were both tethered together by something deeper than just desire.

“I guess we should head back before either of us changes our minds,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to break the tension, though your body still thrummed with the echoes of what had just transpired.

Bucky chuckled, though it was softer now, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, let’s not test our willpower any further.” His hand was warm in yours as he guided you out of the spring, both of you walking back toward the shore in silence, the night air cool against your heated skin.

As you both dressed up, the shared intimacy of the moment lingered, and even though you had stopped before things went too far, there was an unspoken promise between you—one that neither of you needed to say aloud. For now, you were content to simply be with each other, knowing that whatever came next would be something to look forward to in its own time.

⠀

Bucky's quad hummed beneath you as you rode back to the palace, the cool night air brushing against your face. The ride was quiet, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional rush of wind. You couldn’t help but notice how tense the atmosphere felt, how his body seemed to stiffen every time you moved a little too much, every time your hands brushed against his back and the wet fabric of his pants. The echoes of the passionate moment you'd just shared were still alive in the air between you, both of you carrying the weight of what had almost happened in the hot spring.

You let your mind wander for a moment, grateful that you’d decided to take that walk to the spring earlier. If you hadn’t, if you’d just taken the vehicle straight there, you would’ve missed the chance to burn off some of that nervous energy, and maybe you would have been less clear-headed about how far things had gone. Your sharp mind had worked in your favor for once.

As you neared the palace, the road began to feel longer, more like an obstacle, the silence in the air stretching between you both. You could feel the muscles in his back and arms shifting beneath your hands as you held onto him, the way he unconsciously tensed, still caught in the pull of your shared kiss. Every moment, every second of the ride, the tension built, and you could sense it from the way his shoulders were tight, his grip on the handlebars firm.

When you finally reached the palace, you didn’t speak, your heart still racing from the closeness you’d just shared. You moved to slide off the bike, instinctively heading toward your apartment, ready to slip into the comfort of your own space, but Bucky’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

"Wait," he said, his voice low, a slight roughness to it. "Come with me."

You turned to face him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes, but there was no hesitation in his expression, only an invitation.

"I... I thought we were going back to my place."

He smirked, a small, teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips, and stepped closer to you, his hand brushing against the small of your back. "Let’s go to mine tonight."

The simple words hung in the air between you, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. The tension was thick, but there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to turn down.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded.

Bucky's invitation to his room was not something you had expected. You were used to seeing his stoic and somewhat guarded nature, and the idea of him letting anyone into his personal space was a huge leap. He had always been a man of boundaries, of keeping his emotions and his life hidden away, so to be invited into the very space where he let down his guard, where he was himself, was a startling realization. You knew this was significant.

His apartment had been a sanctuary for him, a place where he could just exist without anyone prying into his past, into the layers of himself he kept hidden. You could see it in the way he moved through the space, a careful tension in his every step. Even the way he approached you now, his gaze softening just a fraction, revealed how much this meant to him. He wanted you to be there, to witness him in his most vulnerable state.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a quiet thrill, a subtle rush that spread through you. You followed him in silence, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting warmth of his apartment. It felt different from the cold, distant image you’d once had of him. It was his space—quiet, lived-in, but somehow alive in a way you hadn’t expected.

You felt the weight of that hesitation. This wasn’t just any invitation; it was an opening of the door to parts of himself that no one else had seen. The space beyond that door represented everything he kept hidden—his history, his emotions, and his sense of safety. It made your heart race with both surprise and something else, something exciting. You knew this moment wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“C’mon in,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with uncertainty. He stepped aside, allowing you to pass through the threshold first, though his eyes didn’t leave you, constantly gauging your reaction as if unsure whether this was the right move. The room was dimly lit, a little lived-in but comforting, a far cry from the cold, controlled demeanor he often presented to the world.

You followed him in, the tension palpable between you. He closed the door behind you, a soft click that seemed to echo louder than it actually was. Bucky moved across the room in a way that suggested he was still processing the weight of his own decision. His movements were a little fidgety, his hands occasionally brushing his hair back or adjusting his jacket as if trying to find a sense of calm in this moment of vulnerability.

You took a moment to take in your surroundings, but your thoughts were interrupted when Bucky cleared his throat and turned to face you. His eyes flickered briefly toward the bathroom, and he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair.

“Uh, you can hit the shower first,” he suggested, his voice unusually soft, as if the request was somehow awkward. He was trying to be polite, to give you space, but you could tell he was still on edge. “I mean, you probably want to… you know. Relax. After tonight. I kinda ruined the purpose of the springs.”

There was an undeniable gentleness in his tone, an openness that wasn’t typical of the Bucky you knew. The small gesture felt like an invitation not just to the shower, but into his world, into a space where he had allowed you in, even if only for a brief moment. You could sense that this wasn’t just a casual offer; it was him trying to make you comfortable, to let you see him, just a little bit more, without the weight of expectations. His fidgeting only highlighted how much this meant to him.

As you stepped into the bathroom, you noticed the smallest details—the familiar scent of his cologne in the air, the slightly rumpled towels, the faint imprint of someone who lived here alone, yet never truly alone. It was a stark contrast to the polished exterior Bucky always presented to the world. And then, off to the side, you spotted it: a small wardrobe tucked into the corner of the bathroom. It was an unexpected but telling detail, a discreet little corner of his private space. The wardrobe wasn’t large, but it was enough for a few essentials—simple shirts, sweatpants, maybe a pair of shorts.

You rifled through the clothes, choosing a shirt that looked comfortable—soft cotton, slightly faded, with the familiar feel of something well-worn. You paused for a moment, then put back on the panties of your swimwear. The top, though simple, felt like a piece of him—just a little more access into his world.

After you showered, the warm water easing away the tension from your muscles, you emerged to find that Bucky had given you the space to refresh without hovering, as if he wanted to ensure you felt welcomed but not intruded upon. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes briefly lifting from the floor to meet yours when you reappeared, his gaze full of unspoken thoughts.

It was then you noticed it—the strawberry chapstick, sitting casually on the bathroom counter. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you. He always carried it. The same one you had used countless times, its sweet scent now filling the air as you applied it to your lips. You found it strangely intimate, almost as if you were claiming a piece of him, too. The realization that he carried it with him—just like the little details of his life he kept hidden—made you feel closer to him in a way words couldn’t express.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, everything about the moment felt different—charged in a way you couldn’t quite place, but it was undeniably there. You felt more like yourself, yet more a part of him than you had before. The shirt you wore, his shirt, hung loosely around your frame, carrying his scent, his presence, and the weight of his trust. The fabric wrapped around you like a protective shield, but there was something more intimate about it, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

As you moved back into the room, you could feel the air shift. Bucky, who traded his wet jeans for comfortable sweatpants, immediately eye-tracked your every step as you approached him, and there was a slight hesitation in his gaze as it lingered on the shirt you wore. The way his eyes moved—slowly, deliberately—told you everything you needed to know. His pupils had dilated, and his breath hitched. He seemed to be holding his breath, almost like he didn’t want to make a move, yet the tension between you was palpable.

He let out a soft exhale, the words coming out as a low murmur. “You smell like me,” he said, his voice rough, almost like it wasn’t even meant to be heard. It was a simple statement, but there was a rawness to it, a possessiveness that made your pulse quicken.

Your smile was soft but teasing as you met his gaze. “I guess it’s not so bad, then,” you teased gently, running your fingers through your damp hair. There was a playfulness to your voice, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth building between you two, the same warmth that had been growing since the moment you walked into his room.

Bucky’s lips curled slightly at your words, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. He took a slow step toward you, his hands lightly brushing against your arms. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and he noticed it immediately, his lips twitching in a smile.

“Can’t say I mind it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, as if something had shifted inside him. His hands were gentle, almost reverent as they cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “You’re everything, you know that?”

The tenderness in his voice, the vulnerability that had slipped through, made your heart swell, but before you could respond, his lips brushed lightly against yours. The kiss was sweet at first, soft and careful, as if he were testing the waters. But as his lips moved against yours, something changed. You could feel the intensity building between you both, the undeniable chemistry drawing you in. It wasn’t just passion—it was a raw need to connect, to solidify the bond that had been quietly forming since the moment you met.

When his lips pulled away, his breath was shaky. His eyes searched yours, and it was then you noticed the flicker of something darker in his gaze. He shifted closer, his chest almost touching yours, and his gaze dropped to your lips again.

Then, in a movement that felt both reckless and inevitable, he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His lips were firm and urgent, demanding, but there was still something tender in it—something that sent your pulse into overdrive.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. As his lips moved against yours, you felt it—a subtle taste of something sweet, something familiar. The hint of strawberry lingered on his lips, and it was a small, but unmistakable sign that you had left your mark on him. The chapstick, the same one you always used, had made its way onto his lips. The sensation, the sweetness of it, broke something inside him. It wasn’t just the taste, it was the fact that you had left a part of yourself with him. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, his forehead resting against yours. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. “God, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and something more primal.

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping your lips, but before you could speak, he kissed you again—this time, it was no longer sweet. There was an edge to it, a desperation that you hadn’t felt before. His hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips were insistent, almost frantic, as if he were trying to erase the distance between you.

The moment Bucky kissed you again, the air between you seemed to crackle with an intensity that was nearly impossible to ignore. The chemistry that had been building since the first stolen kiss in the hot springs now flooded over you in waves, each touch more urgent, more desperate than the last. His lips pressed against yours with an insistent hunger, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. His hands, which had been gentle before, now gripped you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. You responded just as fiercely, your hands running through his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more.

"You're driving me crazy," Bucky muttered between kisses, his voice rough, as if the weight of everything between you had hit him like a tidal wave. "I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. You’re all that’s in my brain."

Every word that came from his lips was a jagged edge, a reflection of the tension and desire that had been steadily building between you both. You smiled against his lips, teasing him, your voice low and seductive as you whispered, “I think you like this loss of control.”

His reaction was immediate. His body tensed beneath you, his grip tightening as though he was trying to anchor himself to reality, but the pull of you—your body against his, the heat between you both—was too much. "God, you're... I don’t even know how you do this to me," he groaned, his voice shaking with desire. He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving with an intensity that matched the pounding of your heart.

You felt the shift in him, a kind of desperate need, and you pushed back against him. The momentum of your body pressing into his was enough to have him falling back onto the mattress. You quickly straddled him, your thighs sliding over his as you positioned yourself on top of him, feeling the hard outline of his arousal beneath you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of heat that only intensified the ache in your core. You could feel him—his breath quickening, his heart pounding beneath his chest—and you knew that everything between you both had changed.

Bucky’s hands moved up your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your shirt, and for a moment, the heat of his touch lingered there, like a promise of what was to come. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made your pulse race. He watched you as you moved, his eyes following every motion you made, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he couldn’t believe you were here, straddling him, so close—too close, yet not close enough.

"I need you so much," He growled, his hands finally reaching the waistband of your panties, his fingers trembling with restraint, as if he was trying desperately to hold on. "I can't wait any longer."

But you weren’t ready to let him rush this. Not yet. Slowly, you slid your body down his, pressing your chest against his as you placed your lips to his ear. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice husky, taunting. "Don’t wait. Don’t hold back."

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours once again, the kiss now feverish, urgent. You could feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, as if everything that had been simmering beneath the surface was about to boil over. The sensation of his hands on you—caressing, pulling, guiding you closer—made everything inside you tighten, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The heat between you both, which had once been confined to the springs, was now multiplied tenfold, and you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every breath that left your lips.

As Bucky's hands slid under the waistband of your bathing suit’s underwear, pulling it down, the sensation of his clothed skin against yours sent a jolt through you. The vulnerability of it—the fact that you were both shedding the last bit of armor between you—made your heart race even faster. But you didn’t stop him. You let him pull away your swim bottom, your skin now bare against his covered one, and the sensation of his fingertips slowly coming up and grazing over your chest underneath your shirt made you gasp. His touch was possessive but gentle, like he was savoring every inch of you, learning you, mapping you out in ways that only deepened the connection between you.

You responded by pulling his shirt off, your hands slipping over the smooth, taut muscles of his chest, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His body was just as hard as you remembered, and just as perfect. You could feel his heartbeat underneath your fingertips, the steady rhythm mirroring your own. His breath hitched when you traced the lines of his chest, and for a moment, the world outside of this room no longer existed. There was only the heat between you, the fire that was growing hotter by the second.

"I can’t—I can't stop," Bucky whispered against your lips, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you closer, the need in his voice impossible to ignore. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You could feel it, though. The way his body reacted to every touch, every press of your skin against his. The way he tensed and shuddered when your lips met his neck, trailing soft, heated kisses down the column of his throat. It was everything—the raw need, the tenderness, the way your body seemed to be in perfect sync with his.

"Let go, baby," you breathed against his skin, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin of his jaw. "You won’t bite. Not unless I want you to."

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound full of desire and disbelief. "I think you know I do."

The intensity was mounting. Each breath felt heavier, each touch more urgent, and when you slid your hands lower, to the waistband of his sweatpants, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he helped you, his fingers tracing over the curves of your back, slowly pulling your shirt up in the process with trembling hands. You helped him pull off his pants, the movements slow, deliberate, as you both got closer, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable point.

You moved to kiss him again, the fire between you two finally igniting completely as you pressed your body against his, your lips tasting the faintest hint of strawberry chapstick—an innocent reminder of earlier. It was a small thing, a simple detail, but it was enough to send Bucky spiraling. The sweet, familiar taste of it on your lips was the breaking point for him. He kissed you deeper, harder, the need in him raw, his hands desperate now, pulling you against him as he let go of every last bit of control.

The room was charged with electricity, the air thick with tension, as Bucky looked at you, his gaze dark and predatory. His hands, which had been so careful before, were now eager, exploring the soft curves of your body as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, in front of him. His eyes traced every inch of you, as though committing your bare skin to memory, and when they finally met yours, you saw the heat there, the raw hunger that burned behind them.

"God, you're stunning," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with a mix of awe and desire. 

You didn’t say anything, just let him look, let him admire you in the way that made your pulse race. He wasn’t in a rush, he didn’t want to rush this. His hands lingered on your skin, fingertips grazing over your waist, up your back, trailing over your collarbones and neck. He seemed to take his time, savoring every touch, every inch of your naked skin, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you onto himself.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against the delicate skin of your shoulder. The sensation was enough to make you gasp, but what followed took you by surprise—a sharp, teasing nip on the soft flesh of your neck. You shuddered at the sensation, your body responding to him instantly. Bucky pulled back just slightly, watching your reaction as a devilish smile curled on his lips.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice soft and tender, though his eyes betrayed the fire that burned in him. But he was too impatient, he couldn’t wait for an answer and his mouth was immediately back on your skin, trailing down your collarbone, over your chest, as he left another mark—a small bite—just below your breast. You mewled softly, unable to hold back the breathless sounds that escaped your lips. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful in the best way, and it only seemed to fuel his need for you more.

He didn’t stop there, though. As his lips and teeth traveled down your body, each mark he left sent a shock of pleasure through you, each bite more intoxicating than the last. He was claiming you, marking you in a way that left you breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. His hands were steady, holding you securely as he made you lean back slightly, his strength keeping you from tipping over, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

"Bucky..." you gasped, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your body arching into his touch. But he didn’t let up, his lips moving with purpose, each bite making your pulse quicken, each mark drawing you closer to the edge.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot as he moved to your other side, his hands moving to your thighs, squeezing them gently. "I need to see all of you. Need to know you’re mine."

When his lips reached your hip, he paused for a moment, savoring the moment. Then, with careful deliberation, he bit down, slow and purposeful, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped you. The pressure of his teeth on your skin was both deliciously painful and overwhelmingly pleasurable, making you gasp and shudder as the heat between you grew more intense. His grip on you tightened, holding you firmly in place as your body arched into him, craving more of his touch.

You gasped as he trailed his mouth down to your stomach, another bite, this time at your side, just below your ribs. The sensation sent a ripple of desire coursing through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft mewls that escaped your throat. Your fingers dug into his hair, the pleasure of his touch combined with the intense marks he was leaving on you sending waves of heat flooding through your body.

Bucky’s hands reached the outline of your thighs, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin, and the warmth between you both grew even more intense. His lips didn’t stop their slow trail, leaving heated marks all along your body, each one igniting a fire inside you. His breath was shallow, almost frantic, as he finally pulled away from your skin just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with need. “Sweetheart, I want—no, I need to taste you. I've never needed anything so bad,” he muttered in a low, urgent tone, the words laced with desperation as he continued to mark you, his mouth finding the soft flesh of your breasts. The intensity of his touch, coupled with his raw hunger, had you gasping in pleasure, unable to suppress the waves of need crashing over you.

Bucky’s teeth grazed your skin again, the sharp sting followed by the deep heat of his kiss. Each bite, each press of his lips sent a shudder of pleasure through you, leaving you gasping and arching against him. Your body was burning with need, each sensation building into something overwhelming. You could barely comprehend the words slipping from his lips as his teeth sank into your skin once more, the intensity of his touch clouding your thoughts. “Please, let me just…” he asked, his voice rough with desire. But the only coherent thought you could form was a soft, breathless protest, “Bucky—I can’t... I’m too heavy...” You barely recognized the words as they left your mouth, but the guilt lingered, even as you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his movements never ceasing, even in the face of your doubt.

Bucky growled at your protest, the sound low and almost animalistic as it rumbled from deep within his chest. He didn’t hesitate, his hands tightening around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, settling you above him. With a growl, he slid further back into the bed, pulling you along with him until you were completely positioned over him, your sex now mere inches apart from his face. His breath was ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that had only grown since the moment you’d stepped into his room. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said with a rough voice, filled with both desire and frustration. “I don’t care about that. I'll make you feel so good. I promise I'll be gentle. Let me eat this sweet cunt, let me make you come on my tongue until you're senseless...” His hands traced the curve of your hips, pulling you down ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let me do what I want,” he pleaded, his lips almost touching yours, the words a desperate whisper. Despite the way his body was reacting, he still waited for your answer, though it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity of the moment clouding your mind, but then, your initial judgment failed as your eyes caught his that were burning with need, and you finally felt the weight of his words sink in as a shiver passed through you. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you finally nodded, giving in to his demand. The moment you did, his grip on you tightened, and with a low, urgent growl, he surged forward, crashing his lips to your lower ones with a fierce, primal hunger. 

As Bucky's hands continued to explore the contours of your body, his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his breath danced across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your gasp of surprise had barely escaped your lips before it transformed into a moan of pure, unadulterated desire. The sensation of his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin was almost too much to bear, and you felt your body arching towards him, craving more.

His mouth was a masterful instrument, teasing and tantalizing your entrance with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating.

Bucky's groan of relief was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through every cell of your body, resonating deep within your core. His words, husky and laced with desire, only served to heighten the anticipation building inside you. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

"Fuck, you smell divine…" The way he spoke, as if savoring each word, each syllable, was a testament to the depth of his arousal. "Gonna taste you on my tongue until you're writhing and shaking above me." It was a vow, a pledge to take you to the very limits of your endurance, to push you to the edge of ecstasy and hold you there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. The thought sent a shiver coursing through your veins, and you felt your body begin to tremble, your muscles quivering with anticipation.

Bucky's tongue continued its gentle exploration, you could feel yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul. The sensation was akin to being consumed by a raging inferno, each lick and probe igniting a fire that threatened to incinerate every last shred of your sanity. Your body, a tautly strung instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a maestro conducting a symphony of desire.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," Bucky groaned, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers coursing through your veins like a shot of liquid adrenaline. "I could eat you out all day, every day, and never get enough."

As he spoke, his tongue delved deeper, tracing intricate patterns across your skin like a cartographer mapping the uncharted territories of your desire. His words coursed through your veins like a river of pure, unadulterated desire. You felt your body respond, your hips rising off the surface like a supplicant offering herself to the gods. You felt his lips, soft and gentle, as they wrapped around your entrance, sucking and pulling with a gentle, insistent pressure that seemed to draw the very marrow from your bones. Your entrance, already swollen and sensitive, throbbed with an aching need, as if beckoning Bucky's tongue to delve deeper, to explore the hidden recesses of your very soul.

"Oh, shit—mmh, Bucky..." you moaned wantonly, your voice a barely audible plea that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge. "So good, need to feel you so bad…" Your hips rose off the surface, offering yourself to Bucky like a supplicant to the gods, and he accepted the offering with a growl of pleasure.

The sensations built and crested, and you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy—as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire. You were a puppet on strings, danced by the masterful hands of Bucky's desire, and you felt yourself soaring on the winds of ecstasy, unencumbered by the shackles of reality.

Bucky's fingers, deft and skilled, reached up to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. The sensation was like a jolt of electricity, sending sparks flying through your body like a firework exploding in the night sky. Your breasts, already sensitive, seemed to swell and grow, as if responding to Bucky's touch like a flower blooming in the sun.

"Ride my face," He growled, his voice a low, husky command that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "Take what you need, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my tongue." His words were a challenge, a dare, and you felt yourself responding, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

You lowered yourself back down, your entrance hovering just above Bucky's mouth. His tongue, warm and wet, darted out, tasting your skin and sending shivers coursing through your veins. You felt yourself being drawn to him, your body responding to his touch like a magnet. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding your entrance against Bucky's tongue. His mouth was teasing and tantalizing your skin with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating.

"What a dirty girl, my filthy slut," Bucky whispered, his words sending a thrill through your body. "You love riding my face, don't you?" You felt a surge of pleasure at his words, your body responding to the dirty talk like a key turning in a lock. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

The sensations built and crested, you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire.

Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience. "Oh, god, Bucky," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're killing me, your mouth is—oh, fuck." As you rode him, you felt your hands instinctively reach out, gripping his hair with a fierce intensity. You pulled his head closer, feeling his tongue delve deeper and deeper into your entrance. Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience.

And then, when you gazed down at Bucky, you saw it. His body, tense and coiled with desire, was unconsciously thrusting up into the air, his hips bucking with a rhythmic intensity that seemed to match the pulsing of your own heart. His eyes, closed in ecstasy, seemed to be pleading with you, begging you to take him, to ride him, to make him yours.

The sight of him, so lost in his own desire, was like a spark to dry tinder. Your body, already aflame with pleasure, seemed to ignite with an even greater intensity. You felt your grip on his hair tighten at the sight, your hips grinding down against his face with fierce, unrelenting pressure.

In an instant, you were coming, your body arching and convulsing as the pleasure seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. Your grip on Bucky's hair tightened, your hips grinding down against his face with a fierce, unrelenting pressure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

As the sensations slowly began to recede, you felt yourself collapsing back onto Bucky, your body exhausted and spent. But instead of holding you close, Bucky's arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he slowly began to kiss your cunt. His lips, soft and gentle, brushed against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Good girl," Bucky whispered, his voice a low, husky possessiveness that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "You’re my good girl. Forever and always, mine." His words were a claim, a statement of ownership, and you felt yourself responding to them, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

His hands, warm and caressing, stroked your thighs, holding you steady as he helped you ride out the ecstasy with his mouth. You felt his tongue, gentle and probing, as it delved into your depths, tasting and savoring the remnants of your orgasm. The sensation was exquisite, a gentle and soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

You laid there, catching your breath, and you couldn't help but notice the tension in Bucky's body. His chest was heaving, his eyes were closed, and his cock proudly jutting against his abdomen. You reached down, your hand slowly descending to his crotch, and Bucky's eyes snapped open. He watched, his gaze intense, as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

His hips began to buck, his cock twitching with each movement, his body trembling with anticipation. "Oh, fuck yeah—just like that," he whispered, his voice trembling with desire, and his words barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. He lets out a low, husky moan, his eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each stroke, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. The air is filled with the sweet scent of desire, the sound of your heavy breathing, and the gentle friction of skin on skin.

Your touch was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a flame of passion that threatened to consume them both. Bucky's hands reach out, his fingers grasping for your hips, pulling you closer. "I love the way you touch me," he admitted, his voice filled with adoration, his words dripping with sincerity. "You always know just what to do to drive me crazy, to make me lose control."

You continued to stroke him, and his body began to tremble, his muscles tensing, his skin growing hot and slick with sweat. His eyes snap open, burning with intensity, his gaze locking onto yours, his pupils dilating with desire. "Ride me," he growls, his voice low and husky, his words filled with urgency. "Want to see you bounce on me, want to feel you—please, sweetheart."

You felt a rush of heat course through your body at his growled plea. The intensity in his eyes, the raw need in his voice, it all combined to ignite a fire within you. Without a second thought, you moved to straddle his hips, taking a moment to line him up with your slick entrance.

As you slowly sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch, stars exploded behind your eyelids and you let out a ragged moan. He stretched you so perfectly, filling and completing you in a way that stole your breath. Your hands braced on his firm chest as you rolled your hips, working him deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding on tight.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "So fucking tight, so good. Never want to be without you, sweetheart."

You set a slow, sensual pace, rising up until just the tip remained before dropping back down. The drag of him inside was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. He began to thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. Each downward press of your hips brought him deeper, his cock kissing your sweet spot and sending you spiraling further toward the edge.

Your hips gradually moved faster, enjoying the sound of your flesh slapping together filling the air, and the smell of sweat and sex hanging heavy over you. His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin and pulling you down harder onto his cock, his touch burning with intensity. "I love you," he growls, his voice filled with emotion, his words dripping with sincerity. "I love the way you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you ride me like a filthy animal. My little Silver Fox."

Hearing him calling you by your newly given title made you feel unknown things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. You responded in a low, throaty moan, your body moving in perfect sync with his, your breasts jiggling with each movement. "Love you too," you said in an urgent tone, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. "Love the way you fill me, the—ugh, the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, Bucky, right there, right there!"

Bucky groaned under his breath, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy as your velvety heat enveloped him like a tight glove. "Deeper," he growled, his voice dripping with need and urgency. "That's it, angel, take all of me."

His large hands gripped the yielding flesh of your ass, kneading and spreading you open wider. The burning intensity of his touch left searing fingerprints on your skin. "Yes, just like that," Bucky moaned, head falling back in bliss. "You're so unbelievably tight. I can feel you milking me."

Pleasure built to a fever pitch between your joined bodies, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust and caress. He fought to keep his rapidly unraveling control as you clung to him, urging him on. "I-I'm almost there," he panted against your neck, hips starting to stutter. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine..."

"Please, do it," you gasped, nails scoring down his back. "I'm yours, Bucky, all yours. Come inside me, give me everything."

With each slow, deep thrust, the pleasure mounted higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Bucky seemed to sense it, his mouth trailing down to your neck, teeth and tongue working the sensitive skin.

"Come on angel," he growled, the low timbre of his voice sending sparks skittering through your nerves. "Come for me, let me feel you..."

Tilting your hips, he changed the angle, each long drag of his softening length hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his sweat-slicked back as the tension wound tighter and tighter.

"Bucky!" You keened his name, thighs trembling and toes curling as your orgasm slammed into you. Waves of ecstasy crashed through your system, your inner muscles rippling around him. You could only hold on for dear life as Bucky worked you through it, his mouth and hands never ceasing their delicious torture.With a guttural groan, he joined you and finally crested that peak. His cock twitched and jerked as thick ropes of his seed pulsed deep into your welcoming heat. "I love you," Bucky whispered fervently, voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much it hurts." His powerful body shuddered through the intense waves, holding you flush against him.

In the aftermath, Bucky’s lips still burned with the intensity of the kiss, each movement a reminder of how deeply he cherished you. His hands, now tender and reverent, cupped your face as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might slip away. The kiss had been more than just a physical expression—it had been an outpouring of all the words he struggled to say in the moments before. At that moment, there were no walls, no masks, just the raw vulnerability of two people who had found a haven in each other.

Bucky pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath still coming in short, heated gasps. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and exposed, his love for you shining in them like a lighthouse in the dark. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words reverberating through your heart. He was still breathless, but his gaze never left you. "I’m glad to have found you."

There was something about that phrase, about the sincerity in his voice, that made your chest tighten with affection. He wasn’t just happy to have you in his life—he was grateful, deeply grateful, as though you were the one piece that had finally fit into the puzzle of his life. His past, filled with darkness and confusion, had finally given way to this, to you.

As you lay there, your bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to vanish. The noise, the chaos—everything melted away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting bubble of peace. Making love with Bucky had always been more than just physical—it was a sacred act, a melding of souls. There was a quiet reverence in how he touched you, a tenderness that spoke of both healing and a love that had been earned over time.

Every caress, every movement between you, felt as though it was binding your hearts together in the most intimate way possible. It wasn’t just a union of bodies—it was a union of everything you both were, everything you had endured and learned, and everything you had yet to discover about each other. In those moments, time itself seemed to slow, the world outside no longer mattered as you existed together in your perfect reality.

In the silence that followed, you rested against him, your hand tracing lazy patterns over his chest as you both found your rhythm in the stillness. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what challenges awaited you—what demons from his past or the threats from the outside world—this was your blissful reality. You had found something pure, something that transcended the struggles of your pasts, something that you both would fiercely protect.

As he held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you, the weight of his devotion felt like a quiet promise. No matter what came next, you would face it together. This love—this connection—was something that would endure, and in the deepest corners of your heart, you knew that no matter how the world changed, this moment, this perfect, stolen peace, would always belong to the two of you.

⠀

The morning after, the soft rays of dawn filtered through the thick trees, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The air was thick with the scent of earth and warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos that loomed over the horizon. You stirred in the quiet, Bucky’s arm still wrapped around you, his steady heartbeat a comfort against your back. The feeling of him close, his body tangled with yours, felt almost surreal—like you were still in a dream, still wrapped in the cocoon of the night you’d shared.

But even as you lay there, the world outside was shifting. The gentle hum of Wakanda’s advanced technology, the soft whispers of nature, and the quiet buzz of anticipation all spoke of something inevitable. Something you both knew was coming.

Bucky's breath was slow and rhythmic, but as if sensing the change in the air, he shifted behind you. His hand slid to your waist, fingers brushing your soft skin as he murmured your name.

"Good morning," you whispered, your voice raspy and soft from sleep as you turned to face him. He was watching you now, his eyes tired but intensely focused, as if his soul had already started preparing for what lay ahead.

He cupped your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a promise, grounding himself in the fleeting tranquility before the storm. "Morning, sweetheart," he replied with a slow, content smile. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a kiss of comfort, of love.

The warmth of his touch lingered, but that peaceful moment didn’t last long. The silence of the room shattered with the sudden crackling sound of a communication coming through from the nightstand nearby, urgent and clipped. The voice on the other end was frantic, struggling to stay calm.

"The Avengers are needed," it said, the words tight with the gravity of the situation. "Thanos is coming. Prepare for battle."

The tension in the air shifted instantly. Bucky’s muscles tensed under you, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the message sank in. You could feel the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath changing as he pulled away slightly, his face hardening with resolve. The love that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by the cold reality of the war ahead.

"Guess the calm didn't last," you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in your chest. You knew what was coming, had known since the moment you heard the first whispers of Thanos’s name. Still, hearing it so directly made everything more real, more urgent.

Bucky’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, the shift in his demeanor stark. There was no hesitation in his movements now, no sign of the tenderness from just moments ago. He was already preparing, mentally, for what lay ahead.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and commanding, as he reached for his gear. The weight of his words carried more than just a request—it was a promise, an order. You didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, you joined him in dressing quickly, racing down your room to pull on your tactical gear, your heart racing as the sound of distant engines began to reverberate through the walls.

You shared one last lingering kiss as you met up again, a silent promise between you both to be safe. His eyes were filled with determination, but there was something more—something that spoke of his desire to protect you, to shield you from what was coming. You could see it in the set of his jaw and the way he held your gaze, as if trying to imprint this moment into his memory.

When you arrived at the Wakandan command center, the familiar faces of the Avengers were already there, gathered around, discussing their plans to defend Wakanda against the coming invasion. T’Challa stood at the forefront, his regal presence commanding the room. Queen Ramona and Okoye were strategizing on the tech and military fronts. The tension was palpable.

The calm was gone, replaced by a sharp urgency as you both made your way out of the room. Outside, the air felt charged, the energy of Wakanda buzzing as the people there prepared for the oncoming storm. You knew what awaited you—a battle that would determine the fate of everything.

The command center was already alive with activity when you arrived. The Avengers were assembling, and despite the chaos, there was a sense of focus in the room, each member already falling into their role. T’Challa stood at the center, his regal posture unwavering, his face a mask of determination.

"We stand together," T'Challa said, his voice strong and calm. "Wakanda will not fall."

The gravity of his words settled in your chest as you stood with Bucky. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge, a precipice from which it might never return. But, in that moment, you found yourself holding onto him, drawing strength from his presence as the world outside continued to swirl in chaos.

Just then, you caught the familiar, bright-eyed face of Shuri as she approached, her usual playful demeanor tempered by the weight of the situation. She paused for a second, her gaze shifting from you to Bucky.

"Well, well, look who’s back from the shadows," Shuri teased, but there was an underlying softness in her words, a recognition of the storm coming. "You two ready to help us kick some ass?"

Bucky smirked, his usual stoic self, but there was warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. "We’re ready."

Shuri grinned before quickly growing serious again, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she scanned the battlefield preparations. "Good. I’ve made some adjustments to the tech. We’ll need everyone on their toes." Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her expression softening. "You two stick together out there, okay? We’ll need all the help we can get." She placed a hand briefly on your shoulder in a gesture of support, one that felt like a promise.

You gave her a small nod, the weight of the coming battle settling into your bones.

Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the sound of distant engines filled the air. The Avengers were assembling outside, each gearing up, preparing to face the war that loomed over them.

As you stood there, trying to steady your racing heart, Bucky’s attention shifted to Shuri. Without a word, he raised his hand, placing his fist over his chest—the Wakandan salute. It was an unexpected gesture, one that you had never seen from him before. Shuri blinked in surprise before a proud smile slowly spread across her face.

"Looks like the White Wolf is finally embracing his new pack," she teased, her voice warm with pride and amusement.

You couldn’t help but be surprised, your eyes darting between them as the significance of the moment hit you. Bucky, the Winter Soldier—once a weapon of destruction—now stood before Wakanda, acknowledging them in a way that was both powerful and humbling.

Bucky’s face softened, his usual stoic expression giving way to something more vulnerable, something sincere. "Wakanda has shown me a new way," he said quietly, the words more weighted than anything he had said before.

The warmth between them, the bond forged not just in battle but in trust, was palpable. Shuri nodded, her gaze flickering between you and Bucky. "You two are ready," she said with certainty before turning her focus back to the preparations. "Let’s make sure Wakanda stands strong."

Bucky squeezed your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment. Together, the two of you stood ready to face the coming storm—no longer just soldiers of war, but symbols of the redemption, loyalty, and fierce love that had bound your hearts.

As the first tremors of the impending battle rumbled through the earth beneath your feet, you and Bucky found a moment of stillness. The chaos of the command center, the preparations for war, seemed distant, fading into the background as the two of you stood together, hand in hand.

Bucky’s gaze was steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes held yours. His face, usually so hardened by years of pain, was softened by the quiet strength of his love for you. You both knew what was coming, knew the war would demand everything of you, but in this fleeting moment, you had each other.

His hand reached up to cup your cheek once more, the touch gentle yet firm, grounding you both. The weight of the world seemed to fall away, if only for a breath.

“We’ll come back,” Bucky whispered to you, his voice a soft promise, raw with the emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.

You didn’t need words to understand. You could feel it—his determination, his love, his devotion. And with a tender smile, you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, your hearts beating in time as the warmth of your connection enveloped you both.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of everything—of battles fought, of victories won, of losses endured. But most of all, it was a kiss that said, no matter what happens, we’re together.

When the kiss finally broke, you remained close, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead resting against yours for a long, silent moment. The air around you seemed to shimmer with a quiet promise, like the calm before the storm. And as you stood there, holding onto him with everything you had, you realized that this was your peace. This was your love. And nothing, not even the coming battle, could take that away.

Outside, the sun broke through the cold, its light streaming across the Wakandan sky, casting a soft, golden glow on the landscape. It was a moment of warmth, a stark contrast to the winter that gripped the world. The chill in the air seemed to melt away for an instant, as if the very earth was holding its breath. It felt like a sign—one of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light could find its way through.

But beneath that fragile warmth, danger lurked. The wolves and foxes would show no mercy to those who dared to stand in their path. In the distance, the swirling gusts of white and silver began to merge—symbols of two warriors whose fates were as intertwined with the cold as they were with the people who had given them new names.

Winter was coming, and this time, it was theirs to face.

PART ONE. l PREVIOUS PART.

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⠀⠀

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[osamucide]

⊹ PUT ME IN A MOVIE

IF HE LIKES ME, TAKES ME HOME . . . ft. Nikolai Gogol

wc: ~5.8k

cw: NSFW—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT—PLEASE READ ALL TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING, snuff film maker!nikolai, alternate universe—no abilities, gn+afab!reader, 2nd person pov, siglai easter egg if you squint, stalking, implied/referenced dissociation, substance use/abuse, intoxication, drugging, abduction, choking, filming, restraints, graphic depictions of violence and gore, graphic noncon elements, mindbreak(?), spanking, object insertion (knife handle), knives/cutting, murder, reader.. dies(?)

reid: brilliant idea courtesy of my friend @berryzai thank u for planting this thought in my little freak brain. this was a fun little practice in suspense building and i would love feedback <3 .......if anyone would be tickled by a gross and gratuitous part 2 lmk lollll

It would happen to you.

At what’s felt like your goddamn lowest, too. There’s been a distant echo of a warning in your brain—perhaps from your mother or your father a long while ago; it rings now, still—that you hadn’t been heeding from the second the alluring silver-haired man placed himself with grace next to you at the bar. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t go out by yourself. Don’t let your guard down. Sentiments you know to arm yourself to the teeth with—or, knew to, at some point, anyway.

You’re vigilant, always have been. Maybe aside from the going out by yourself part, but you could hardly help that living in a new city, sans friends and family, would prove more exhausting and isolating than you could’ve imagined in the technological age. No amount of text messages or FaceTimes or stupid Tiktoks sent to you from familiar, faraway fingers has translated into anything other than bitter little reminders that you’re really on your own this time.

Your social life has fallen completely by the wayside in light of your frantic work schedule. You’re never off the clock for more than twelve hours at a time, what with how criminally expensive your shiny, brand-new rent is—you could laugh to yourself right now if you were less delirious, thinking about paying so much for a room where you slept three feet from the shitter—and even if you did have friends, or nice coworkers, or a day off, would you even be able to muster up the dignity to bring anyone to your excuse of a place? You doubt it. You can barely stand being cooped up in there as it is, which is why, so often, you find yourself waggling your empty glass for the fourth time each evening at some bartender who by now recognizes you better than you recognize them.

And who could blame you? You have never felt so fucking alone.

You’ve been feeling caught in the spiraling downstream with all the other excreta Yokohama pushes from the pipes in the slums out into the ocean. It’s probably why you so eagerly welcomed the not-so-subtle curiosity of the man who introduced himself to you as Nikolai, proclaiming himself an avid drinker of your cocktail of choice—whiskey and whiskey—and commenting with enthusiasm on the glow of your skin even in the stale light of the bar. The apology for the awkwardness of such a compliment that followed it was just as bubbly; it was perhaps the first thing in weeks, if not months, that had made you crack a scoff of a laugh and raise your eyes to another human being outside the pretense of a monetary transaction.

He was stunning, really. You’d even felt lucky, momentarily, to have your attention stolen from your sorrows by this man whom you learned was visiting from Ukraine, was a filmmaker and photographer, was blind in one eye—it was true, it seemed, as his own skin was unblemished, perfect and not unlike porcelain, aside from a vertical scar plunging through his right eyebrow to below, just above his cheek, which did not detract from his beauty one bit, by the way. His teeth gleamed, wide and often, in low-contrast to his pale complexion when he tangented about his artistic endeavors which, according to him, explored the depth of the soul and the capabilities of the mind. He was fascinated with people, he told you. Fascinated, to a spiritual extent it seemed, with the billions of different possible human conceptions of the word freedom.

Freedom. It felt ironic now.

He could tell you had a certain depth, he’d said—one he liked to find and study in people. His testimony went like this: he’d have drinks and movies and a double bed for you to crash in, and it sounded a world more appealing than drowning your organs in liquor alone another night before slumping to your abominable makeshift-cell of a home before throwing up your hangover, sleeping a half-hour over the toilet, and heading in for your morning shift.

So, you agreed, on behalf of the fact that you’d felt fascinated by him, too. You noticed he’d gone on blabbering so long that you’d sobered up adequately enough to nod and accept, in what you assumed was your right mind, his invitation to go back to his place with him. In retrospect, he could’ve asked you to come over and do this—whatever was happening right now—and you’re not sure you wouldn’t have just laughed and resisted only playfully.

You’ve been so desperate for any interruption in the mind-numbing, feet-dragging routine that’s consumed your pathetic life that if you weren’t a dose of sedative short of completely panicking right now, you’d probably still be thinking this isn’t too bad.

But that’s silly, of course. You do, above all, feel like an idiot through your haze. You’d done everything right—everything except the going out by yourself thing, and that's how you've wound up in this man's dingy apartment, cuffed to the radiator with no less than three layers of tape wrapped around your head and ankles respectively. Alone. Alone is what you're used to these days, and it’s looking like it’s all going to come to a screeching halt the very same way.

You have no idea where he's gone. You just hope he’ll save the mutilation for after you’re dead.

Hey, you can forget about paying rent for that shithole of yours, at least.

His own's not a sight to behold, and you've gotten pretty familiar with it since you've woken up. He was showing you pictures before he left—before he knocked you unconscious, cleanly and with whatever he obviously slipped in the homemade whiskey and whiskey as far as your memory serves, but the throbbing, sore patch at the back of your skull that's obviously bruised when you lean it against the wall says otherwise. He must've hit you. But maybe he didn't. At your brightest and most alert, you can't say you'd be able to differentiate between blunt-force fog, roofie brain sludge, or the mixture of both.

The photographs started out elegant, really. Men and women alike posed solo, side by side, or in small groups, with knives and guns, mostly—pretty lines, sharp contours, silhouettes that prompted you to ask if he was a student. No, he'd replied, here for work; this is just a hobby. More men and women—a few recurring ones, including an androgynous-looking person with the most artful pastel split-dye you'd ever seen and a side profile to die for—in intricate shibari. A coworker? you'd asked; you could say that, he had replied with a wink. You'd drawn your legs up into yourself onto his bed where you leaned into him closer than could be considered friendly and you fawned. You weren't sure you'd met anyone like him. You hadn't met anyone in a very long time, it felt like.

The photos got strange rather quickly. Same photoshoots, same models, same weapons—but with blood. Bullet holes and brain matter and exposed bones. He has a passion for practical effects, he'd told you. See that little bit of brains there? he'd pointed out. Wet cauliflower rubbed with food coloring. Just like that. Easy! Blown-off skin was exceptionally simple to recreate using deli meat, you learned. You remember ogling a particularly convincing pile of innards with half-disgust, half-astonishment. He had photos of similar nature pinned up, collaged, ripped and repieced all over his water-damaged walls, all taken by him; there must've been hundreds. He’d love to do a shoot with you, if you’d be up for it, he said. He’d make sure you’re comfortable—show you just how simple it is to create such images with practical, do-it-yourself effects.

It hadn't started to sink in until too late just how practical the effects in those pictures might've been.

But by then, you were seeing two of him. When did he grow another trailing, milky braid? You'd reached out drunkenly to touch it, take it between your fingers, and there was two of your one hand, as well; there had to be, for when you looked down at your glass, now empty, there were two of those, too. You had four hands, and his two smiles were as charming as ever when he giggled and asked if you liked his hair. Yeah, you're pretty sure you'd slurred, maybe once, maybe twice, but after that, it's all dark. 

You should've scalped and strangled him with it.

Your guess is as good as anyone's how long you've been here, how long he—Nikolai—has been gone, if or when he's coming back.

But there's no room for guesses when you're hyperventilating manually through your nostrils just to keep yourself awake. You've been searching frenetically, yanking uselessly, screaming into plastic for at least a couple of hours now—long enough to be reduced to whimpering, rocking, and absent surveying of your surroundings. A fridge with the handle duct taped on. An unmade bed with black and white striped sheets stretched over it. Cutlery all over the countertop. Laminated floors curling up beneath the cupboards. A birdcage, tipped over and with no bird in it. Smoke stains on the ceilings. Boxes. Boxes. Cardboard boxes piled up next to the dresser and spilling out of the meager closet, among other trash. A video camera silent on a tripod in the far corner. A distinct and hollow smell that reminds you, for some reason, of your elementary school. A small analog television. All those photos, everywhere.

You've cried enough in your life to know the taste of tears. It's odd when they run, like raindrops down a window, across the tape and you find the salt inaccessible.

Please, succumb to dehydration, or starvation, or let the will just leave my body—who hasn't wanted to drop dead a time or two in their life? You just never expected these prayers of yours to be so immediate. So visceral.

You think back to the pile of innards in that photo. Gelatin, he'd told you. As if to prove himself, he bounced over to his kitchen cabinets and produced a tin mold that looked readily liver-like.

So much trouble, just to get you here. Inevitably.

The last words you remember him uttering to you—quiz time had preceded them—while he tucked your hair behind your ear and grinned toothily, don’t haunt you as much as they feel like drying cement in your stomach.

“At what point tonight did I start lying to you?”

Even now—especially now—you can’t say.

You’re rather annoyed with the squeaking, wheezing sound that pulses through the space until you remember it’s coming from yourself. Your lungs and throat. It’s getting easier to slip out of your body like that, the longer you sit here.

You hope the dissociative blessing will find you again at the right times.

It would be nicer—not to be so aware of everything right now. The metal digging into your wrists, your elbows and knees knocking against the humming radiator, the absurd way your cheeks puff up like a squirrel’s before your airways can remember you’re not allowed to draw breath in through your mouth anymore. You’re aware of the ache at the base of your neck and the nail marks you dig into your own palms and loads of other physical stimuli, in the form of nothing, barraging you from inside this apartment where nothing, dreadfully, happens. Nothing.

But again, your awareness does not reach your sense of passing time.

So, when he does come back, it might’ve been an hour since you’d woken up—or it might’ve been a few, or it might’ve been longer.

You don’t know.

“Oh, my friend! Terribly sorry to keep you waiting,” he chirps, as if you’re lounging on the couch with the next episode of your favorite show loaded up and ready to watch.

The tears come fresh when he walks over and squats down in front of you, at your eye level, muttering hey, hey like you’re a small dog, smiling the smile that was once charming—now it makes your jaw tighten, your breathing quicken, your back hit the wall.

“I promised movies, didn't I?”

You could mistake his tone for warm if you closed your eyes. You want to. You can't.

After regarding you and finding some satisfaction—you're not sure what in—Nikolai hops up, whistling. Your gaze follows him, dutifully, as if watching him will keep him at bay. That white braid swishes out of time with your breath as the little television crackles to life.

His rifling through one of the boxes produces a stack of DVDs in telltale white paper sleeves, each with its own permanent-marker-scribbled identifier like a love letter—you see these, make these out when he kneels back down in front of you, still whistling as he fans them like a deck of cards, like he wants you to pick one, any one.

But then he clicks his tongue.

“So impolite of me.” He seems to remember the predicament he’s placed you in. Setting the discs aside, he digs in his pocket. “Let's try something, okay?”

On its own, your head shakes side to side. No, is what the tape keeps in your mouth.

But it's a small key, and he's reaching for your cuffs—some sick part of you feels ready to forgive him if he just unlocks you and lets you go. Maybe he'll let you go. You would've stayed for movies had he not done this to you, you swear, unintelligible in your mewling—you’d been so lonely, he could’ve shown you anything and you would’ve stayed. Just let me go, you think now. Just let me go.

Before the tooth of the key slides in—so close—he tells you, "Nothing funny, now. This hand—" he taps the one closest to him, "—is for picking only, got it?"

He's frozen; you realize he's waiting for an answer. Your sight has never wavered from him, but you feel like you're zeroing back in on him and his expectancy from behind closed eyes as he tilts his head forward, toward you. Yes begins to form on his lips, like he's speaking it into you. You nod harshly. It hurts your neck.

But when the key clicks, a caged animal cannot be expected not to pounce.

Your free hand flies up to claw at his face, hard, unforgiving and without knowing what exactly you hope to accomplish. Nail tracks and fingertips find purchase as quickly and comfortably as they can into an eye socket. If your mouth was free, you'd be spitting. Shouting.

But he just peels you away and twists your arm in a way that forces your torso to follow and you screech into the tape; he twists, toward your chest and then down, and you're no match for him and his manic clenched teeth and the way he rises up to plant his foot upon your wrist, in the middle of your back.

Your chin hits the floor.

Something in your shoulder tears loose with a nauseating crack.

You scream. It's not loud enough.

“It's only gonna get worse if you don't just listen to me, sweetheart,” he growls, leaning down, grinding your carpal bones to dust beneath his heel.

Sweetheart. The first time he calls you anything other than friend is when it's really started. He's hurting you and the gutting certainty that he won't stop here is washing over you like a frigid wave.

Those pathetic, annoying sounds again—whining, whimpering. It's harder to remember it's coming from you when your eyes are screwed shut. If you close them tight enough maybe you can pretend this is all happening to somebody else.

“Obviously, that won’t work,” Nikolai says more to himself than you, yanking you back up, putting you back together off the radiator in a few motions you can’t keep up with before he lets you fall again.

You ragdoll.

You would like to think you might’ve had more fight in a situation like this one. But a steady ache is spreading from your shoulder down into your back and the angle at which he presses you into an arch reminds you your dignity is not something of his concern. You ragdoll.

“No, no, baby, we’re gonna get up now.” He drags you up by your wrists and hair and you groan and ache and try to ragdoll yourself into a bag of sand but he kicks your bound ankles and the negative spaces your knocking knees cut out until you’re sitting on your ass on the edge of his bed, in front of the buzzing TV, tears aglide in a new wave when he threatens you, with so little as a bruising grip on your face, to stay upright. “You’ll be okay,” he purrs emptily.

You’re past the liberty of choice, so the thin stack of DVDs hit the dresser with a papery thwack—all but one, which he jams into the slot before he crawls behind you on the bed. 

It wouldn’t have been so difficult to turn you into a lover, really. You wish you could tell him this while he sets either thigh on each side of your own, slides his arms around your middle, beneath your arms, the dishonesty of his fingertips beneath the hem of your shirt so welcoming. You still wish he wouldn’t have lied to you. You wish he wouldn’t have put drugs in your drink. You wish he’d take the tape off and let you wake up from the pain careening parallel to your spine and in your hand and you’d cover his arms with your own and tell him thank you, you’ve needed this, it’s been so long since you’ve felt physical affection from a human being that you think you could cry. His fingers wander between your legs and away again and you are crying. 

But Nikolai doesn’t want to turn you into a lover. The staticy screen hosts a shaky frame trained on where a cracked alleyway swallows up the foot of a brick building in shifty evening light and when it pans up to a window, there you are, impossibly, between a sliver of blinds. When you turn your head away—hearing those suffocated garbles from someone else’s throat—he creeps back up to your jaw, hard, like he wants to leave his fingerprints on the teeth they’ll use to identify you.

You watch yourself get undressed. You watch yourself wrap a towel around your waist and step halfway out of sight behind the frosted glass of your shower door. 

He gets up, periodically, to change the disc. Whistling, leaving you shivering in your bones, glaring sharply at you when you writhe until he guides your wet eyes to another film of yourself. And another. And another. And another. Ones where you’re on your way to work, on the bus. Ones where you carry groceries. Ones where your back faces him, on that barstool of yours. Ones where he gets close enough to touch you and then retreats. Ones where he’s picked up the convenience store receipt that slips out of your pocket. He uncrumbles it for the camera and scans the text and discerns your fate between your case of wine and bag of chips, laughing to himself. He’s a filmmaker. You’re his muse and we’re going to make the best movie ever, you think you hear him whispering to you or shouting at you with vigor when the television finally zaps dead beneath his touch. It’s going to be an exploration, he says, and he’s so lucky it’s you, who did everything right, sweetheart.

“How many days,” he begins, moving you like a mannequin to face him on the bed, your legs curling up uncomfortably as if they’re one, “did I follow you, do you think? Give me your best guess.” 

You desperately don’t want to vomit behind the tape, so you don’t make a sound.  

But he’s looking to you like he’s waiting for you to take your turn in the game, most likely unwilling to give you a leg up after your little outburst earlier. The tiny red crescents between his brows, barely visible beneath his snowy bangs, do not miss you. 

Chain link clicking, you lift up your one ten-fingered hand—no more four hands for a wider array of guesses—and present six shaky fingers. You think about going for his neck. 

Nikolai shakes his head as if he’s pleased to be winning. “Try again.” 

You spare a middle finger. Without looking at your seven, he shakes no once more. You don’t have to cast your eyes down to his arms, filling out the sleeves of his plain white shirt, to remember how strong they were around you without even trying to be. You’d have to be quick and you’d have to squeeze hard. 

Your thumb pokes out. 

No. 

The rest of your planning time rests like a marble between your last two fingers and when your ring finger flicks up you feel it slipping—slipping because what will you do after? You’ll have to choke him until he’s out cold. You’ll have to be certain he’s subdued before you’ll be able to waddle on your bound feet to his door to undo the latch and deadbolt—forbid you shouldn’t have enough time before you can make it out, pound on a neighbor’s door, get to a phone so someone, anyone can help you get out of here. 

Happily, Nikolai shakes his head once more. 

And you’re uncurling your pinky, making your way to a mockery of jazz hands. 

But before you get there, you lunge at him with everything left in your body and shattered hand—your ridiculously stringy reserve of willpower, funneled down through your dislocated shoulder and hours of frantic breath and trembling next to that radiator so that when your nails land this time in half-moons around his throat you groan; you get his jugular with two palms, one assured, one numb, insistent knuckles, and vengeant fingertips and his eyes widen so sweetly, his mouth twists down in the first and only displeased expression you’ll see on his angel-white face and you grit your hidden teeth and squeeze. You can taste the outside air and the blood from inside your cheek.

Frowning and flailing backwards, Nikolai gives you the privilege of a little performance. 

You think you could kill him before he kills you. You want to see the blue rise up his pretty skin. You grit your teeth. Your groan becomes a shriek. You squeeze. 

And when he’s on his back he pries you off. Does you one better. 

He’s grinning before he can get you off him—you’ve lost. You’ve lost a long time ago—when are you going to believe him? Does he have to spit it in your tear-streaked face? Surely you’ll understand, after his knuckles ripple into the space between your upper and lower jaws, now that he stamps his knee into the back of your neck in another choreography-perfect motion you never stood a chance against. Jazz hands against your chest, elbows jabbing your stomach. 

“It was thirteen, anyway,” he growls like he’s angry with you for guessing incorrectly. “Thirteen days. Feisty one.” You had no extra hands or mouth to make such a speculation, and now his heavy leg bears down on you. Hand on your back, grappling toward the curve of your ass, almost soothing. Almost. Your eyes are pressed into a blur of black and white stripes. 

Smack. 

It’s one of the kinder touches, still. 

“I don’t like having to discipline my subjects into submission, you know.” Nikolai almost sounds regretful. “If you’ll just—” Smack— “trust me to do my work, I can trust you to be good for me.”

Your spinal cord could snap like the head off a flower and he just smacks your ass, over, over. All your permission to make sound is trapped between his kneecap and his mattress, him and his rough hands, one of which knots in your hair and yanks, yanks until you can’t pretend this is nice anymore. You should’ve struck faster, gripped harder, shaken him with all your might but you should’ve done lots of things prior to now, and he’s the disappointed discipliner and you’re sorry, alright—you’re sorry you caused either of you all this trouble and you just want to go home. You just want to go back to your shithole apartment and let your chafed wrists heal and allow the long-term pain of a few dodged medical bills remind you that this wasn’t quite a dream, but at least you’ll be alive. 

At least you’d be alive. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he doesn’t bark at you. He’s not unkind. It’s a simple instruction. All the air rushes back in when he gets up, off you. Moves somewhere in the room to make a soft clatter. 

At least you’d be alive. But for what? To slog back to the machine? With all this added weight on you?

Would you want to be? You hadn’t begun with much when you crossed the threshold of the bar into the night he swept you up in. You had the stifling promise of work, home, work, home, feel alone, drink yourself to sleep, and you would be dumbly hopeful—no, pitiably lying to yourself to think anything more, anything different would be waiting for you on the other side of this. 

Another clatter, dull and short, sounds on the bed next to you and you dip with the weight of him following. From the clatter he chooses scissors—you know this because your shirt goes first, the cotton ripping, before your pants which too rip, rip, rip in places all over before he shucks it all, undergarments too, off you like the skin of a fruit.

At least you’d be alive. But what is it you’d aim to become after being Nikolai’s pretty little victim? A work of his art? Surely this isn’t something you want to carry with you, you think in the margin between rationality and ruin—between you and the door you’re not certain you’ll ever reach again. Certainly, not in one piece.

You roll over, exposed. He’s so pretty, biceps flexing, jaw clenching while he situates a body that is not yours into an adequate position where he can sever the duct tape binding the ankles with a few back-and-forth flourishes of his serrated knife like it’s a saw. This is a hobby, you remember. You wonder if he’s a butcher or a mortuary scientist or what he does to make his living and if he looks just as beautiful doing it. You’ve been granted the point-of-view of specimen. You can’t think of a perspective you’d rather watch him splay himself across your thighs from.

Your feet twitch to kick. Your brain doesn’t follow through.

“I told you you’d be comfortable, didn’t I?” He’s back to grinning that grin you’re holding onto. You can be a pretty model if you keep reminding yourself that if you weren’t weakened and restrained in his bed, that grin would look so inviting. His joy and passion are what drew you into him in the first place, after all. He talks to you, looks at you so softly while you feel broken. Isn’t that all you’ve been craving for someone to do? “Let’s get you comfortable, dovey.”

He kisses you—not rough, especially gentle in fact—over the tape as he’s tucking the same knife between your bodies. The kiss of an angel, the kiss of death. 

It’s not comfortable when the stainless steel handle finds its way inside you. You can’t even get wet, looking at him, seeming so patient now that he’s got you bending nice and far, and his teasing from earlier has done nothing; he’s so pretty and you would’ve wanted him before this. He didn’t have to do this to you. 

It’s uncomfortable, too, when he fucks you with it, slow at first—gradually faster. You don’t think you even moan, or whine. You just watch him, silky braid fallen in the crook of his neck, as he alternately studies your face, the knife, how you don’t react. When he fucks you faster, risking cuts upon his own hand, you let your eyes flutter shut, your fingers curling and uncurling subtly like they’re the only part of you that registers what’s happening. You don’t want to watch him anymore, going to the trouble. For you. 

He pushes it so deep for you, so deep you start to feel the serrated teeth. Your toes echo your fingers and finally, you give him sound in the form of a cry. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Nikolai tells you. A laugh bubbles through the words. 

Stop, you think you’re saying. Don’t. It’s anyone’s guess and his guess is more. 

So you leave. You remember this is all happening to someone who isn’t you—you have to feel it, but it’s not happening to you. You leave and you pretend it’s two of his fingers in you—they’re cold, that’s all—pretend the tape and the cuffs are some kink thing you were thrilled to indulge him in. Pretend you’re not concussed. Pretend your faculties can come back to you anytime you want in this little daze of yours—he’s just making you comfortable, he’s just making you feel good because your life isn’t so sad that you don’t deserve even that. 

He’s just making you feel good. 

Your tears have no end. They unravel out of you like string. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” his voice shakes with the speed. You jostle with his pace but you pretend you’re floating. “Don’t cry, pretty thing.” But he’s cutting you open from the worst place and when he grabs your chin again, his hands’ slick with his blood or maybe yours and you jolt back home into your body to find him again and the knife is still inside you. 

You hurt all over. He’s just making you feel good. 

Your sobs come loud and violent, withheld only by tape. He’s patient with you. He’ll be patient with you while you purge it, surely. You blur over, the string undoing faster and faster and he’s wiping your tears away, replacing them with something else, something red. It gets in your eyes. You miss his grin this time but if you were to see it, you would not think it the same one from before. 

When your body rejects the knife he scoops it up, licks the handle clean of all you’ve given him so far, with care. 

And he hushes you. 

“It feels good,” he reaffirms to you. “You’re doing so good.” 

You’re doing better than you ever have. You’re good—you must be. It’s the first time you’ve heard that in what feels like lifetimes. You’re good beneath his touch. He smears your blood or his blood down your cheek, down the tape, and you cry for him. Stop. Don’t. Be cruel to me again. It’s what I know. It’s easier to die when burning hatred is the one burying you. His affection makes your stomach turn. You loll into the palm cupping your face. You’re doing so good. 

And he’s grinning, sharp and wide, when your eyes roll back and forth. Back into your skull, forward onto him. Nikolai grants your wish when his fingers worm beneath, between the tape and your skin, while he’s telling you don’t scream or I won’t be so nice anymore and when he tears it away your face feels cold and you scream anyway—you scream for your crumpled arm and the violation and the knife life’s held above your throat come to materialize now in the third strike against him and there is a thick, flowing gash that leaves you feeling waterboarded as it seethes and gurgles its way through your teeth and around your shoulders all at once like a crimson harness to keep you flat on your back while Nikolai looks at you like you didn’t learn. 

“Ultimately—” His cloud-colored eyes burn as he towers over you like a god. Your god. The only one that can set you free, now. “—you made such easy little snuffbait,” he quips, running the blade once, twice along the cloth of his shirt before turning it on the thin, tender skin keeping him from your sternum. You and your first-floor housing and your melancholia. “Too caught up in your woes to notice the man following you around each corner for—god, weeks now. So little to live for anymore, sweetheart—it wouldn’t be so much of a shame to put you out of your misery now, would it?”

The look you give him must be delirious and begging; you swear a flicker of the most genuine sympathy you’ve ever seen crosses his face until he’s laughing, softly, rumbling to your ears like a fan’s whir.

“Oh, it would be such a waste of you,” he waves away. “Besides, I’ve already given you my artist statement.” 

His artist statement. From the bar.

Freedom.

His work—work, the word is bitter and foamy mixed with your blood—explores different conceptions of freedom.

Freedom. What could it possibly have to do with an innocent person, bound and drugged with their throat slit on film? What exploration is being made? What endeavor toward enlightenment are you when your mouth is too full of blood to ask him to stop?

Freedom. He’s been following you for weeks, if all he’s said is truthful, while you’ve been swirling in that downstream like a helpless fucking bug. And like a kid looking for an insectile test subject, Nikolai plucked you right up, splayed out your limbs, and stuck you beneath the microscope. Next he’d pin you, dry you, feed the story of your mortality to someone—his next victim, an empty roll of film, his own reflection, some god that wasn’t listening to you—and you would be another nameless face, a decomposing body, a snapshot demonstration of how well deli ham apparently mimics peeled-back human skin. A lesson in deliverance.

You haven’t been free in a long time. Perhaps, even, since before you moved to Yokohama and all your shit uprooted itself to the forefront of your mind and landed you on your back in the Devil’s bed.

“You should know well by now I’m interested in more than just seeing you bleed.”

Your hands reach out, trembling for his face like it’s salvation, while he leans to rest with his chin above yours. The Devil traces white heat, a bullseye for where he’ll stab into that tender skin on your chest, drag down, cut you open for him to begin the messy part of his project. 

You tilt ninety degrees and the red light of the camera winks at you. At least you’re not alone.

“I told you, I’m going to set you free.”

[inlovewithpandora]

- Instructions -

Pairing: Hobie x fem!pregnant!reader

Request: [ @spidersthetic ] building a new piece of furniture from a flat pack together w Hobie || Ok, so what I was thinking for this was reader is pregnant and they're setting up the nursery and Hobie claims to know how to build the crib without the instructions and she doubts he can but enjoys the show as he struggles so like 10 minutes later, he gives up and asks her to give him the instructions and she tries not to laugh and comforts him a little.

Synopsis: Hobie tries to put together your child’s crib but it doesn’t goes the way he planned in his head.

Content: fluff, established relationship, Hobie trying to avoid instructions at all costs, reader supporting him no matter what, small Miguel diss, Reader being a cutie, cute and fluffy pregnancy fic

Author’s Note: I had fun writing this! This is my first time writing for astv or anything outside of avatar so I hope you all enjoy this!

- Shoutout to @spidersthetic for all her encouraging words and helping me while I’ve been making my transition to writing for astv! If it wasn’t for her sending me prompts/requests I wouldn’t have known what to write!

Word Count: 710

Extra: Requests are closed! || Likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated❤️!

Links: Navigation || Astv Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist

“Hobie, baby, can you please just read the instructions? I’ve been sitting in here with you for half an hour and nothing is done.”

“I told you I don’t need instructions. I got this. Don’t you have faith in your man?” His overconfident smile rises as he walks over and plants a kiss on your forehead to reassure you that he could handle this since in his eyes, it’s a minuscule task.

You shake your head, a chuckle emerging from your lips, knowing that this was going to go the opposite of what Hobie has in mind. “You’re right baby. I’m sorry, you got this!” You give him a wide smile along with two thumbs up to emphasize your support, and settle back to watching him once again attempt to put together your unborn child’s crib.

It’s been ten minutes since his last attempt, and just like you assumed it isn’t going well. However you wouldn’t deny that it was currently your source of entertainment. Hobie has multiple pieces scattered around the nursery; screws, and bolts attached to parts they shouldn’t be. And he looks by all means confused about how to assemble the crib.

As Hobie continues trying to figure out which part goes where, he starts growing frustrated. Each time he puts two pieces together, they don’t fit or the screw doesn’t align properly, which makes him groan as the feeling of aggravation arises a tad more with each passing failure.

You know he’s struggling and that he needs the instructions, but due to his stubbornness being mixed with a sense of determination, he doesn’t give up, at least for about another fifteen minutes.

“Can you pass me the bloody instructions?” He grumbles, hating the fact he has to admit defeat and cave to using someone else’s ideology of how to build a piece of furniture.

Looking at the scowl formed on his lips makes you want to burst with laughter, but you implement all your self-restraint and bury it deep down, knowing that it would only make him feel worse about not being able to complete the task solely on his own.“Here,” you hand him the pamphlet of instructions, “Honey, it’s okay to use the instructions, you know. I heard that Miguel had to use instructions to work the majority of technology in Spider-HQ even though he acts like he knows everything like the back of his hand.” You say in a playful tone, knowing how much Hobie dislikes Miguel and enjoys hearing stories about his screw ups.

“Really? Well, that does make sense. He is almost ancient at this point. I don’t see why he doesn’t retire and live a regular life instead of chasing Miles around Earth-928B like a madman.” He can’t help letting the laugh rise, thinking about how Miles blasted and defeated Miguel in front of everyone.

“Yes! So my point is that it’s okay to use instructions. They're here for a reason, which is to help.” You rub his back gently, hoping this will help lessen his complaints.

“You’re right, I’ll use the instructions.” He opens the pamphlet and begins to correctly assemble the crib, which makes you happy since you’ve been wanting this to finally be completed with the baby just a few months away from arriving.

“See, baby, your daddy is finally getting it done. He just needed a little kick in the pants from mommy.” You giggle softly to yourself as you rub your baby bump and watch Hobie make the final adjustments on the crib.

“How does it look?” He asks, inspecting the fully assembled crib in the corner of the nursery.

“Perfect, Hobie. I knew you could get it done!”

I hope you enjoyed❤️!

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Editor - @justmemyselfandthemoon

Taglist: @inspace1 @number1gal @phoenixx69 @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @gamerxpfighter

©️inlovewithpandora ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 | All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

What if the reader acts like Nicole from Class 09? Like all the things that happened to her but g/n?

Okay, I got that idea after I start thinking over that request. I slightly changed it. I hope, you are okay with that, and I apologize in advance.

Masks we were forced to wear

Sort of! Self-Aware! Yosano Akiko x GN! Traumatized! Reader

Description: Your past still haunts you. You just want to escape.

Warning: English is my second language. AU - World of Tech-magical Progress. Film Industry Abuse (Reader are forced to be filmed, forced to act like Nicole) Mentions of heavy topics (drugs, shooting). Open finale.

You couldn't move. Medical restraints were keeping you in one place. Your body was shaking, you were sweating.

Wet cloth were put on your forehead. Through pain and foggy gaze, you see Yosano.

Doctor had bags under her eyes. She whispered.

"Don't worry, [Y/N], we will go through it together."

You breathe through your nostrils. It has only been two days, since your treatment started, and you already wanted to quit it. But, you knew, that they won't let you go back.

Because they cared. For some reason, they cared about someone, like you.

__________

This world was full of magic, technology and progress. Every aspect of everyday life and tied with hundreds of magitek gadgets.

Teleports, machines that make food out of water, holographic screens...

And Restarter... The "Holy Grail" of Entertainment Industry.

Years of research. Years of building. Years of magic power flowing into the mechanism.

And it was done.

Mechanism, that will scan a person, save information, and, after said person would put into Restarter's cabin, revert them to the state, described in saved information.

What kind of sick bastard thought, that this thing should be used to make films more realistic, instead of putting it into hospitals?

It all started small.

Real bruises and scratches, instead of makeup. Real tattoos.

It was only a matter of time, before they will go further.

__________

That TV Series supposed to be progressive. To show, how terrible schools can be. How terrible teachers can be. How terrible students can be.

And you were a mane star.

You had some similarities with the main caracter. Your families had a similar past, your older brother was a lazy man, who couldn't care less about anyone, besides himself, and you, while not as bad as the main, character, you could be a jerk sometimes.

Everything changed, when filming started.

Countless failed scenes. Days, spend in a studio.

Being chocked, shot, drugged...

And every day was ended in a cramped cabin of Restarter.

It could reverse your body injuries.

It could never reverse your mind.

___________

You hated everyone.

Your fellow actors, director, producer, operator, your mother, your brother, your father, fans of the series.

You hated, that you can't quit, that you were forced to go through borderline torture in studio, that you were forced to acts a sociopath before fans.

Because that's what people want to see. Because Restarter will undo the damage. Because you have no reason to complain, shut up, and bring your mother another paycheck...

You stopped care. If you had some sympathy in you, it was buried deep inside you by years of "industrial abuse".

You were forced to wear a mask. And, after all this year's, remains of it still clung to your face.

When you finally became eighteen, you took last paycheck, broke the contract and left the country.

__________

You avoid talking to people as much as you can.

You stopped watching anything, that have real-life actors. You stuck to animation and drawings.

The world was full of sick people. And you were the sickest among them.

__________

When BSD Cast appeared before you, you thought, that time, you get some strong painkillers. However, no hallucination can be warm and try to take away the bottle of pills from your hands.

Yosano can be surprisingly strong.

_________

Your head hurts. You just got a bunch of information dumped on you. You spoke up.

"You... You are mistaken... I am not a hero... I am not a good person... I... can't care about real people, including myself.... I... still care about you all.... But... I could stop..."

You looked up at them.

"You heard me ranting about my past, right? You knew what you will deal with... I can give you money, I still get royalties. But, please... Leave. Don't sink with me."

Everyone was quiet. Then Naomi spoke.

"Tea. You promised Kirako and I drink tea together. Are you... care about us enough to fulfill this one promise?"

You wanted to snarl at her, but get over it. You were hungry. You can keep yourself and have one tea party.

You slowly nodded and stand up.

"Fine. I will bring the cattle..."

You turn on your heels.

You made step forward kitchen.

Something sharp pricked your neck.

And world became black.

____________

🐾 And long month of treatment started. Yosano explained, that they can't just leave you in that state. They will cure you, made few visits to your “colleges”. And, after justice is served and you are healthy, they will leave.

🐾 For months, you were under constant watch. For months, you were getting news about your family, director, actors and everyone, who were involved, being exposed for various crimes.

Restarters were banned.

What you needed all this years ago finally happened.

And BSD Cast always were near.

Taking care of you, getting psychological help to you.

Trying to bring [Y/N], the real person back from the stink mess, called [Y/N], The Lead Actor, playing the role 24/7.

You finally felt emotions again.

_________

You opened your mouth, letting Naomi feed you another spoon of porridge. Yosano was checking the results of the blood test.

"Your test is showing better results, then the test from last week. It is good. Soon, you will be healthy."

You opened your mouth. Before Naomi could feed you again, you spoke.

"Just... Just leave me... Find a better person to stay with..."

Your voice was soft again. But, you knew, that you couldn't truly become how you were, before the filming.

Yosano raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really want it? Or did you change your mind?"

You didn't answer.

_______

It was over.

You got justice. Your health became better.

You were standing before BSD Cast, like a year and a half ago.

And you finally have an answer about the future.

Stay... Or leave....

You opened your mouth.

And tell them about your decision

_________

A/N: Reader's choice is up to you. Did they stay? Or did they leave?

[erenasia]

Project G1 : Chapter 1, Repairs.

This is an ongoing Series: Prologue Overview: Christian isn't very happy about your...accident. After discovering some unsettling news, you're alone for the night and after an accidental glance into the morgue, you begin to question things... ⊹₊⟡⋆ Tw: Toxic father Figure/ Mentalities. Mentions of corpses. Words: 2613

A/N: I have a backlog of six chapters (I am editing them as they go up!), so make sure to stick around if you liked this <3 I actually combined chapter 1/2 because nothing really happened in the first chapter originally. (I also do reqs btw!)

You cradle your detached arm, rushing down the concrete stairs, mind racing.

‘Christian is going to fucking kill me.’ 

Clearing the steps and walking into the dingy laboratory, your body makes an involuntary pause. Somehow, you always seem to forget how horrific this place seems after time is spent elsewhere. In the local town, there are lush trees, benches to sit on, buildings with interiors so pristine you always find yourself wondering whether they have access to some sort of…cleaning magic. You came to the conclusion long ago that it must be something that was summoned… like pixie maids, for the pristine aura of the town is something far too foreign for you to understand. 

On the other hand, the lab stands as a glaring contradiction. So much so, it usually takes a moment to readjust ; often wondering how those pixie maids -  the ones that reside in the polished buildings -  would react if they were to be summoned here, instead.

The comfortable metal operating tables that you spend most of the time lazing around on, would probably seem like tetanus traps ; the grey tiled floor covering every inch of the lab would seem like a biohazard health violation, and the rat traps in each corner of the room, a recipe for death. What’s more, each book, vial and research document crammed into the shelves that litter the walls - the ones you regularly fiddle with and read cover-to-cover when Christian is away on one of his many trips - would look like the mad ramblings of a serial killer who stashed his diary entries with his murder weapons. You always come to the same conclusion with the pixies : 

‘They’d run for the hills.’ 

You shrug off the grimy feeling, taking a further step into the lab ; eyeing the ‘serial killer’ himself. Currently seated at the dishevelled wooden research table, the man scrawls his notes for the day on a jotter, surrounded by empty cups of coffee, painkillers and open books. He grumbles at your arrival, paper rustling as the jotter is hastily shoved into a compartment on the desk. This doesn’t bother you ; the man is always secretive about his projects. With a hum, Christian turns in your direction - his once focused demeanour vanishing the moment he sees what you are holding. 

A limp, detached, bionic arm. 

'Fuck.' 

It has been less than a month since the previous replacement, and considering he was ‘less than pleased’ previously, this time around you know you’re swimming in deep waters. 

“Is it your hobby to destroy my precious technology that I’ve worked so hard on? A pass-time, possibly?”  The dark haired man shoots an accusatory glare over to you, his wrinkles creasing in between his thick brow as it furrows. A curt sigh from him, followed by a groan, signifies you really are in for a rough time. Head hanging low, a sheepish mumble escapes your lips in response. 

“Look, I…didn’t mean to. It was an accident.” 

The man rolls his eyes, before standing from his desk, the white lab coat pocket which was once resting on his leg, packed full of notes and pencils dropping suddenly with the movement. Peppermint floods your senses as he approaches, and with various grumbles under his breath, the bionic arm is carefully taken away from your grasp. 

“It always is.” 

Your lips purse in aggravation as he retreats further into the room, tongue bitten in restraint. 

‘But he said it was waterproof?’

Your mind debates over his exact phrasing, convinced that the man is lying to you.

”Look, when I dipped it in the river, it shut down. I didn’t know it wasn’t waterproof. You told me it was.” 

He spins around to face you, the arm in all of its saddened glory now lying limp upon the operating table. His eyebrow raises in disbelief, matching an exasperated groan.

”Should I have replaced your brain with robotics, instead of your organs? Maybe then you’d figure out the difference between something water resistant, and something waterproof, G1.”  

‘G1’. 

Acid boils in your throat, while the remaining fingers flex anxiously. 

‘That’s not my name, Jackass.’

Your mind hurls silent insults at him, watching as he grumbles about the lab. You hate when he uses your project name. In a sense ; you understand he is your creator, and that G1 is your ‘official’ name, but that doesn’t make hearing it any less bitter. It is almost dehumanising, even to a cyborg ; hence the name change. Recently, you discovered that parents refer to their children by their full names if they are really in trouble - and you now believe that’s what Christian has taken to doing - even if he isn’t biologically your father. On the subject of who is your dad ;  neither of you are aware - but it’s a question that has caused countless nights to be restless. 

You swallow, watching the man sigh, then reach for his tools. If this isn’t a quick fix, you just know you’re going to be deep cleaning the lab until sundown. 

”I didn’t know there was a difference. I have amnesia, damnit, there’s some things I won’t know that others-“

A white gloved hand raises abruptly, cutting your sharpened words short, while a disgruntled groan follows shortly after. 

“Cut the attitude, and go retrieve the rice, (Y/N).” 

You pause, mouth slightly agape. It takes a moment, before you finally give in - choosing not to cause a bigger scene.  

“Rice, yeah? You mean the 3KG bag of rice I brought into the kitchen yesterday? The one for the emergency food supply?” 

Evidently becoming increasingly irritated with each rapid question, the gloved hand shoo’s you away frantically. 

“Yes, yes - that one. Be useful, and go get it. Considering its water damage, I’m assuming, thanks to your previous statement -  I’m hoping it’s salvageable with household methods.” 

Retreating to the nearby kitchen -  a small dingy room to the left of the entrance, you eye the rice sack sitting slumped by the kitchen cabinets. Hoisting it over your shoulder with a grunt, you turn around, glancing at the piles of letters scattering the wall-side kitchen table.

‘He should really clear those letters out, they’ve been piling up for months now.’

With a brief headshake, you make your way back to the operating table. 

In your brief absence, the bionic arm has been placed into a large plastic container, and is now waiting for your return beside an irritated short man tapping his foot. The sack hits the metal table with a thump, and with another passive aggressive remark Christian grasps it, tearing open the seal, emptying the contents into the container. His eyes meet yours. 

“Please tell me, why you were messing around in the river?” 

 He dumps the now empty sack on the ground, his eyes still not leaving your own as they roll ; already pre-empting a stupid reason. 

“…I saw a rock that looked like Ezra’s hair”.

The scientist shot you a deadpan look.

You responded with a sheepish smile. 

He wasn’t wrong about it being stupid.

⟡ ݁₊ .

(Y/N), 10:37 AM : ‘Christian had me clean the rat traps again this morning. If I see one more rat today I will actually scream.’ 

Ezra, 10:39 AM :  ‘srsly? TF did u do this time?’

(Y/N), 11:02 AM : ‘Arm broke. Not my fault. Rock in river looks cool. The end.’ 

Ezra, 11:15 AM : ‘Moron.’

(Y/N), 11:16 AM : ‘Give me a break. The rock had the same colour scheme as your hair so I wanted to give it to you. Black with red bits in.’ 

Ezra, 11:32 AM : ‘I take it back. I’d fcking kill 4 a rock like that. U get it? And did Chrizzy manage to fix it or are u fucked for a while?’

(Y/N), 11:33 AM : ‘He’d have a mental breakdown if he heard you call him that LOL. But nope, couldn’t reach it before arm died and disconnected. ‘Chrizzy’ managed to fix it somewhat with rice (don’t ask) but he’s gonna work on it properly later to restore some shit. It attaches fine for now though. 

Ezra, 11:34 AM : ‘Rice FTW. RIP sick-ass rock. Use ur other arm next time, champ.’ 

⟡ ݁₊ .

The phone clatters against the operating table you’re sat upon as you carelessly throw it to the side, focusing instead on the TV above. The sound rouses the focused scientist beside you.  

“Ezra causing you grief again, I assume?” 

His statement garners a slight chuckle as you flick through each channel, waiting for one to ‘feel right’. The sun glares at the wall the TV’s attached to, unfortunately limiting your view. 

“Yeah. He’s lucky I like him. I wouldn’t let anyone else bully me as much as he does. The guy is kind of a…” 

Christian cuts you off. 

“An Idiot? Someone to not be trusted? A man who is pointlessly reckless?”

A deadpan glare is thrown in the scientist’s direction, as the sun hides behind a cloud.

”…a dork. He’s kind of a dork.”

The room quietens once more, the only noise coming from the rapidly changing TV channels on low volume. 

“I don’t trust him, (Y/N). You should never have become friends with him, and let him see you. It’s all well and good wearing a cloth mask, jacket, and the likes in public, but with him around? All it takes is one slip up. All of our precautions will be meaningless” 

Peace once more interrupted, you purse your lips. Your so-called ‘creator’ is not a fan of your only best friend, and he never misses a chance to show it. Static sounds out as you flick to the one dead channel on the TV. 

“I already told you, he won’t. He’s careful. Besides, what’s the alternative? Live here, read books, and be alone my entire life? I don’t want that.”

The remote switches to channel thirty-two. You usually like this one as it shows reality shows most of the time - but there’s just ads right now. You decide to skip. 

“I have already told you, (Y/N). I just need to figure out a way to get you introduced into society again so they will be comfortable with you. I have been working on this for -“

Your blood stills.

”Christian shut up.”

”Excuse me?”

”I said shut up. Look.” 

The TV volume is raised and you place the remote beside you, gesturing to the TV with your robotic arm. Forgetting about your attitude entirely, the scientist’s eyes grow wide as he takes in the information. The bold lettering of the headline runs across the screen, whilst a young reporter takes centre stage. 

‘Markson will be released later today, his parole being granted after 15 years. Previously charged with murdering two adults in their home, Markson states he wishes…’ 

The television shuts off, turned off at the plug. Christian stands below it, his body slumped against the wall, his breathing rapid, his brown eyes almost black. 

“That’s the guy who…”

You mumble, swallowing thickly.

”The guy who murdered my parents. Yes, it is.”

He finishes, before rushing over to his desk and yanking open a wooden drawer. Finding what he was looking for, the man takes out a single cigarette and puts it to his lips, lighting it and taking a long, shaky drag before turning around to look at you. Christian had quit smoking long ago, but you can’t blame him for needing one after hearing that ; anyone would. Saying something, words of comfort, condolences, anything empathetic, wouldn’t be unusual for others in this situation - but this was the two of you - in situations like this neither of you are competent. 

“I…” 

He cuts you off, a gloved hand raising for the second time in the last two days before it falls, swinging softly by his side. 

“I’m heading out. There are leftovers in the fridge. I will not be back tonight.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

Christian left a few hours ago and with nothing else to do, charging became the only option. Whilst you enjoy the naps and rest your human body allows, charging is more effective ; Sure, after a few days in a row your brain slows to a grinding halt and shadow people make an appearance, but so what? Charging is exciting, and the first step out of the chamber is pure euphoria - it’s a feeling you just can’t replicate any other way, unfortunately. Stepping out onto the metal landing, your hands grasp for the towel on the railing alongside, grumbling as it drops to the floor. 

"Great. Dirty legs. Love it."

You shake your head as you pick it up once more, drying off your calves from the green plasma that swells in the bottom of the chamber, before turning and closing the glass entrance. Shaped like a large glass cylinder, the re-charge chambers sit on a slightly elevated platform overlooking the rest of the lab - with yours thankfully tucked away in the furthest corner away from Christian. You don’t like the idea of him being able to watch you ‘sleep’ and neither does he, so the one chamber that is entirely out of view? Perfect. There are four more chambers on the platform, seemingly for no reason ; when asked, Christian shrugged and said it was some sort of ‘precaution’, and you didn’t feel the need to pry further. It was just another quirk of this place, another quirk of Christians. 

Briskly walking down the steps and grabbing your phone, you open up the messaging app. 

(Y/N) 7:04 PM : Christian is gone for the night, so you can come over. We could watch Catfish?

Knowing Ezra takes his sweet time with responses, you head towards the kitchen to heat up the leftovers, but pause ; the door to the morgue is slightly ajar.

'That's...unusual.'

You walk by the kitchen, heading instead to the morgue entrance. Realistically, it was less of a morgue, more of a…freezer. Unlike those seen on television shows, where each body has a separate rack, this one is just a very cold room, fit with a large metal table that stands in the centre, littered with frozen corpses dressed in white sheets. Evidently, it is important that the door remains closed, or else…well, let’s just say, spoiled people do not smell good. Now at the entrance, you hover in the doorway, pushing the metal door open slightly further. Nothing looks off, or out of place and Jemima, Barry and David all lay in the exact same positions as they did last time you saw them. A slight smile creeps upon your face as you remember the first time Christian brought a corpse home ; you freaked out, called him a murderer, and didn’t speak to him for two days. It wasn’t until he calmed you down, and informed you that he didn’t kill them, and that they were to cure the world of various horrific diseases, that you forgave him. Two years later, you have given the fresh corpses names, with Barry being your favourite. 

Ezra, 7:10 PM : ‘Can’t 2Nite soz. Elissa wants to go out on a date. Taking her somewhere nice 4 a change. Heat up some popcorn in my honour tho.’

The notification brings you back to reality. As you check your phone, slowly coming to the realisation you will sadly be alone for the evening, you pull the metal door closed, and step towards the kitchen once again. Yet, a small seed of uneasiness plants itself in your stomach ; a thought breaks into your mind, one that - for some reason - you’d never thought about before now. Christian didn’t kill them, no. But who did? And How was the supply so…regular? 

You shake away the doubt, knowing that there must be some reasonable explanation.

For now? A night of Catfish and popcorn, alone.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Thanks for reading! <3 𓆏 Comments/reblogs appreciated! 𓆏

[crkstuffidk]

So in my boredom I could've been building more Lore for my current au, or even atleast thinking of Redesign ideas for Fire Spirit, but did I do either of those things? Not at all, infact I made another au where a what if the beasts and ancients swapped, in this the Ancients corrupted soul jams are the opposite of the beasts original virtues. Anyways here their new names and info I guess about them.

Pure Vanilla and the Light Of Truth became Immoral Saint Vanilla or just Immoral Vanilla and Force of Ignorance. He literally just doesn't do anything to help cookies anymore or just chooses to be unaware, and usually is laughing as he watches his friends torture innocents. He's a 'great' guy though.

Dark Cacao and the Light Of Resolution became Berserker of the North or The North Berserker and Force of Prohibition/Restraint I cant decide which one sounds better. He is probably the one that tortures the innocents the most, and he relishes in it, usually killing them slow and painfully.

Hollyberry and the Light Of Passion became Toxic Yewberry and Force of Misery. She's often called insane by cookies, she does end up 'befriending' Pitaya Dragon but instead of them becoming nicer and more tolerant to cookies, together they cause misery to not only her Kingdom, but also any cookies that try to stand in her way. She has no clue what to do about her son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids though, currently she keeps them alive just to have them watch the misery she causes.

Golden Cheese and the Light Of Abundance become Dreadful cheese and the Force of Constance. Her Kingdom is set in the old times just like the others rather than having technology and that stuff, she also tends to keep everything the same, and if one of her residents die, thats the only time she'd allow change to happen but she's certainly annoyed by it. Like Pure Vanilla she doesn't do anything but dare someone question her role, they don't die but are instead thrown into a dungeon, unless of course the person questioning her is one of her very important staff members then they just get turned into a golden statue where they remain for who knows how long, usually until Dreadful Gold needs them specifically for something.

White Lily and the Light Of Freedom become Wilted Faerie and Force of Dissension. She refuses to see any of her 'friends' If she even dare call them that, and instead stays in the Faerie Kingdom where the remaining faeries that haven't died from questioning her abide every word she says, which usually means no having conversations with the other faeries unless it's needed for one of their assigned jobs, if they talk about anything else she would usually cause flowers to bloom in their mouths muting them entirely only able to be removed if they are plucked out, but the flowers don't let anyone besides her touch them, so if they are plucked out its if she wants them to and only if she wants them to. Yes they can breath and eat with the flowers, as it's only in their mouths and there's gaps within the flowers that allows them too, Wilted Faerie hates seeing bodies of cookies in her kingdom as it ruins the appeal of the Silver kingdom, so she is extremely strategic with the punishments of the faeries, if too many bloom causing restriction of airflow or being able to eat she'll pluck some out. Side note: I got a bit disturbed writing this but I think it makes sense with her in-game powers.

Yes the Corrupted ancients get sealed in the silver tree just like the beasts did, and also the ancients lived in beast-yeast just like the beasts did, the beasts or now called Divine Saviors live in Crispia. Wilted Faerie is now being kept in imprisonment by her citizens and probably can still see or atleast hear when Elder Faerie gets named the title of king now.

Now onto the beasts who are called the Divine Saviors. Side note: I came up with the other beasts Pre Corruption names today which is why I didn't use them in my last post with pre corruption beasts. But Shadowmilks I made a post of earlier, anyways let's get started on them.

Shadow Milk and the Power Of Deceit went back to being Myrtille Milk and the Virtue Of Knowledge. He lives where the Dark Cacao Kingdom is in the game, He's generally a great leader, sometimes has his nose in books to much but generally he's a great guy. On occasion he does put on shows for the youth of the Berrymilk kingdom. side note: I was almost tempted to name it the berries and cream Kingdom, or the Milky Kingdom. Anyways he's pretty great, and quite protective of his friends. meaning the crap Clotted Cream pulled on the ancients in game ain't going to go well if he pulls that crap with the Divine Saviors as they all are extremely protective of eachother. Yes he fought the two dragons and also the prowler, well he more of tamed the prowler.

Burning Spice and the Power Of Destruction went back to being Calming Spice and the Virtue Of Change, He lives where Golden Cheese used to, and like in GCs kingdom in game it has technology the other kingdoms don't have yet. He's a very relaxed ruler, his name is literally Calming Spice what would you expect. Again he's protective of his friends and would lose his cool if Clotted Cream pulled the crap he did in Cookie Odyssey. The Golden Kingdom is called The Kingdom Of Spice in this AU

Eternal Sugar and the Power Of Sloth go back to being Ethereal Sugar and the Virtue Of Happiness. Her Kingdom is where Hollyberrys is in game but now it's called The Ethereal Kingdom of Paradise(long names for the kingdoms is common in this AU) She's an amazing leader and almost everyday will visit the orphanages I'm her kingdom and sing the orphans lullabies while she flies just slightly above the ground with them in her arms, side note: the orphanages are pretty great in her kingdom and take amazing care of the orphans. The same as the others she protective of her friends and would be the one to probably throw herself at Clotted Cream just like Dark Cacao.

Mystic Flour and the Power Of Apathy went back to being Serene Flour and the Virtue Of Volition. She'd be in the same place as Hollyberry in Cookie Odyssey, meaning she holds Ethereal Sugar back from attacking Clotted cream, although she feels the same way she just doesn't want violence. Her Kingdom is where the Vanilla Kingdom is, its called The Kingdom of Flowing Flour. She is notorious for healing in her kingdom and is known to be an extremely doting queen.

Silent Salt and the Power Of Silence went back to being Noble Salt and the Virtue Of Solidarity. He lives nowhere in particular, he usually travels around a lot, but usually stays around where Blueberry Yogurt Academy is in game, it isn't named anything different because in this AU it was created after Myrtille Milk became king, and MM actually Created it with Blueberry Yogurt for the future Healers/Magic users Noble Salt also occasionally lives with MM usually only during Winter until spring comes along and he can continue exploring.

Other honorable mentions for this AU: 1st of all, since Creme Republic isn't necessarily tied to any Kingdom it and the residents of it stayed the same hence why Clotted Cream is still an annoying cookie. 2ndly, so far I haven't yet made the decision if Noble Salt becomes whatever this AUs Dark Enchantress will be called, so currently every things very sunshine and rainbows. 3rd of all, Parfaedia is a college in this au, and BYA is like an Elementary/Middle school, maybe even High School(don't ask how Cream Puff is in Parfaedia then in this au, I haven't thought about that much). And lastly(for now) Burning Spice x Shadowmilk and Eternal Sugar x Mystic Flour are generally Canon in this AU so are Golden cheese x Hollyberry and Pure Vanilla x Dark Cacao, White Lily is a grumpy women that hates literally everyone so she aint going to be in a relationship in this Au, and Silent Salt is too busy exploring to feel the loneliness of not having a partner plus hes got friends that are in relationships and hes perfectly happy with being their third wheels on occasion, but I probably won't mention the relationships much because this AU is still very much a rough draft or whatever you want to call it. Anyways I'll probably work on the other AU or Fire Spirits redesign later.

[ac3-76]

Legend of korra headcannons🐌

warnings: brief mention of drinking(kinda alcoholism), other than that nothing

(Most of these are in a modern setting)

Wing Beifong is a motorcycle guy and posts Aushen Ride type videos

Varrick is a coffee addict and he has awful coffee breath

Korra got a stingray tattooed on her upper back. the tail goes down her spine and the wings(?) are on her shoulder blades

If Formula 1 is a thing in their universe, Future Indistries is one of the og teams

Asami would have future industries make a feminine car for the races taking place in Women's History Month (march)

And for the cars used by the drivers outside of March there'd be something feminine on it, like a lip stick kiss mark

She started it because she wanted a more feminine touch in the sport to show that you can be a girly girl or a girly person and still enjoy and partake in something that's traditionally masculine

I feel like in general she uses her cars to bring awareness to things occurring in society

When Bolin got paid for the Nuktuk series one of the first things he bought was a high quality gaming set up that he had his eye on for years

Now he streams him playing video games and makes a fair bit of money from it

Sometimes the others will play games with him and make apperances on his streams

the fan favorite is Asami because she has the best builds in Minecraft and the best strategy in Call of Duty

Mako likes to watch Criminal Minds and other law/criminal shows to see if he can figure out where it's going and solve it before the characters do

Wu photoshops everything that he posts and is very active on all social media platforms

when Korra went on her own for 6 months after Zaheer tried to kill her, she started drinking because it made her sleepy

she didn't have to be awake and deal with her hallucinations, and when she slept it was nothing, no dreams, no nightmares, just hours of being away from her trauma

being with Toph in the swamp for a couple of weeks(or days?) was the start of her recovery from becoming reliant on drinking to avoid dealing with trauma

Opal collects cool rocks and crystals she finds in the places she travels to

She gets them as gifts for her mother

Also because she's an Air bender and thus follows the air nomad life style, she's always sure to say thank you to the land for allowing her to give the rock to her mom

Huan has had his art in museums and has sold some pieces to well known rich people

He gives most of the money to charity

Mako sleeps on silk sheets only

he was fine with cotton and other cheaper materials until he became Wus bodyguard

Wu insisted he sleep on silk sheets after Mako told him that he had never slept on silk, and now Mako needs silk sheets

Korra's had the same black 21 oz hyddroflask since she was 15

she refuses to buy another waterbottle

it's also covered in stickers

Bolin got Pabu a bed that was specially made for Pabus size, weight, and measurements

Kinda like the one Princess Anneliese had for her cat, Serafina, in Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper

Korras favorite thing to do when she sees a book or something with words is to ask how much spice in it

She's at a restaurant with Asami, they just got the menu, Korra picks it up and displays the front cover to Asami before asking "Booktok girlys before I read this how much spice is in it?"

She thinks it's the funniest thing ever

Wei and Bolin stream and play video games together, Wei has very severe anger management issues when it comes to video games

Not punch a hole in the wall bad because Su got mad at him the one time he did punch the wall, so he's practiced restraint, but still pretty bad

Su has a wax warmer for the scented wax cube things in every room of her house

She makes sure the scent is changed every week, and it has to be the same scent throughout the whole house

Tenzin avoids using social media and most technologies, as do the air nomads and monks, but Kya did get Tenzin to allow her to make a social media account for the air nation

it's mostly run by Jinora and owned by Kya on Kyas phone

it's used to spread information about the air nation, their culture, beliefs, customs, history, etc.

Lin wears boxer briefs

Asami has endometriosis

Mako doesn't handle spicy food that we'll, which is odd considering he's a fire bender

Wei's really into photography and always has a compact camera on him

His favorite compact camera is his Panasonic Lumix TZ95

Wings not super into photography but knows his way around a camera because Wei has rambled on about cameras and angles to him so many times

Wing also has to take pictures for Weis Instagram so he's had training on how to use cameras from Wei

Korra goes through a lot of interest that last for a couple of months, one of those interest was wood working/carving

Korra made Jinora a wooden claw clip for her birthday once

it's the only claw clip Jinora has and she loves it

Makos biggest guilty pleasure is cross stitch and other embroidery styles, but mostly cross stitch

Bolins bed has an uncountable number of pillows on it

After Korra and Asami come back from their spirit world vacation, they decide to travel the world

They both only ever traveled for world saving business, and even then it was earth kingdom and water tribe areas only

So they spent the next year or two traveling the world to see it in a tourist way and not a fighting war way

[secret-fiction]

Sonic Boom: Those Who're Made Fools

As April Fools day is upon them, Sonic the Hedgehog and his friends must content with a series of pranks that go a little farther than they would like.

Below is a oneshot Sonic Boom Fanfiction that I started and finished today, April fools day 2024. I have not time to edit because my scope for this got out of hand, so I'll share it now as to release it within Apr 1st my time. I'll release an edited version later this week. _________________________

While Sonic the Hedgehog would usually be sleeping in, the cool breeze blowing through his hut and swaying the hammock he lay on beckoned him awake. He declined this request to wake up at a normal time and curled up further. However his body began to shiver and his mind was dragged into enough consciousness to realize that the cool breeze was actually a freezing wind. His eyes shot open, seeing a light flurry of snowflakes blowing over him, already building up drifts in his beachside hut.

“What the f-, flakes? Snow??” said Sonic as he wobbled while standing up.

The warm light of sunrise was peering through his windows and the island outside looked as tropical as it should. The culprit, Sonic deduced, was likely the large yellow painted machine that looked like a window air-conditioner if it were on an industrial scale. 

A letter lifted off of the pile of mail he kept strewn on the ground and into his face. It was the invitation to Amy’s birthday event this evening. Thus, it was also April Fools day.

“Either Tails actually got his sleep schedule in check just to get me first, or I need to have a chat with him about staying up all night again,” said Sonic aloud, ears turning to listen for any unseen listener. 

The wind then picked up, and the snow flurries began to sting as they struck him. In fact it was more of a semi-frozen rain now. Everything in Sonic’s hut was quickly being coated with bits of water and ice which then turned into a slick layer over everything. He grumbled and shivered, then dashed to his door to find the off switch. The machine however blocked the entire doorway, and there were no controls on the side facing Sonic.

“Aw what the heck?!” Sonic tried to push the machine out of his door but found his feet slipping on the frozen and wet floor. “TAILS! I don’t wanna break your new toy here, but I will!”

Sonic heard no response aside from the torrent of wind and freezing rain, which grew strong enough to send him slipping onto his face and sliding away to the far wall. He grumbled, stood up, and placed his feet on the wall. With one strong kick he spin-dashed into the machine, sending pieces of it flying as it fell out of his doorframe. 

“Brrr, jeez,” said Sonic as he stood up and looked around, seeing no sign of Tails, “don’t tell me he already ran off to prepare another prank. This one was already a bit much… Guess I’ll have to teach him a lesson on restraint…”

With resolve filling his eyes, Sonic the Hedgehog took off running across the beach in a blur. The machine was left behind on his front porch, a problem for later perhaps.

A potential problem for Sonic immediately descended from a hidden perch in the trees of the jungle to the machine. They fluttered with insectoid wings and had a green colour to match the jungle canopy. They landed atop Tails’ machine, and yanked a kunai dagger out of the machine's control panel before returning heading for their next target.

____________

The drone of power tools echoed throughout Tails’ workshop as usual while he assembled a new gadget. Progress was going good by his insane standards of pacing, so he took a step back to look over the device. Lifting the goggles off of his eyes, which bore a giddiness bright enough to almost hide his dark eyebags. This projector he was modifying would surely be perfect for setting the mood at Amy’s event this evening. All he needed to do now was program a remote for ease of use, something he was learning other cared about when using technology, and then-

A swinging sound from his mail chute on the door pulled Tails’ attention away. Could it be Sonic’s counter attack already? He chuckled to himself, picturing Sonic popping out of a pile of harmless snow with a dumbfounded look on his face. Upon approach however he saw that it was clearly from Amy. It bore fancy calligraphy for the address and her custom rose wax seal which was slightly cracked, likely from its journey. 

“Oh, she must be excited,” muttered Tails to himself before biting the letter to open it with his teeth. 

Tails immediately regretted his lazy choice of letter opening when a pink cloud of a gas blasted from the letter and filled the workshop, and his mouth. The taste of floral air freshener made him gag and spit. Then the overwhelming smell filled his nose. It should smell pleasant, but the flower scent was so overwhelming and suffocating that Tails had to cover his snout. He then scrambled for the nearest window. 

“What The FLYING FFff-!” Tails gritted his teeth and compressed his fit into a soft growl. 

One by one Tails swung each window open. Then he opened the garage door of the hangar portion of the workshop. That didn’t dilute the air freshener smell fast enough so he turned on every industrial fan he could. Soon he resorted to his emergency eye and face wash station, shoving a pile of boxes that surrounded it out of the way. The torrent of water on his face face made his eyes stop stinging so bad and got most of the taste out of his mouth. But his nose was still completely overwhelmed. 

“I can’t work like this!! Why should I work like this?!” said Tails as he shook the water off of his head. 

The ring of his doorbell drew Tails’ irritated red eyes to the door. Opening it revealed a fast food bag of which he couldn’t smell at all sitting on his welcomemat. This was definitely another prank, and the fact that he was hungry now that he thought about him annoyed him more. So he leaned forward and kicked the bag away before turning to slam his door shut.

“Hey woah!” said Sonic, jumped down from atop the workshop roof, “what’s up? Not hungry?”

Tails glared at Sonic, and glanced at the bucket of ice and snow in Sonic grasp.

“Okay to be fair you really-” Sonic coughed and waved a hand in front of his muzzle, “wow bud isn’t that a bit much air freshener? It’s kinda distracting.” 

“Yes! And I guess Amy thinks that’s funny, since evidently you had a much more lazy prank in mind,” said Tails.

“Amy?” said Sonic, “She usually doesn’t take time for anything more elaborate than what you can buy at the joke store.”

“Yeah, except when she asks for help with her party tonight.” Tails walked to his work table and plugged his nose with tissue paper before pushing the projector project aside. “Let’s see how she likes my help now, heheheh…”

“Tails you’re getting a bit maniacal,” said Sonic, “seriously, don’t go overboard again. It just smells a bit too nice in here.”

“You don’t mess with someone's sense of smell and get off easy,” said Tails.

“Okay, well, can I ask your opinion on something first?” said Sonic

Tails turned to face Sonic, only to get a bit of half melted snow in his face. 

“I’ll ask for your help fixing my house later!” said Sonic before dropping the bucket and dashing away.

Tails grumbled, wiped the snow off his face, then grabbed any errant material he had lying around to build his revenge on Amy. After a moment or two he started thinking about what Sonic had said.

“...Fix his house? What?” 

In his state of sensory overload and anger, Tails failed to notice a figure move from the jungle canopy outside a nearby window. It stood tall, then began leaping between trees toward the village.

____________

The hum of Amy Rose’s voice trailed through her house as she happily prepared for the rest of the day. Her daily twenty-four step quill-styling routine was now ready, she was dressed, and every surface of the room was covered in decorations and snacks to be assorted. Sure she always had a bit of anxiety about the fact her birthday falls on the first of April, the day of fools fooling other fools. But that worry was now barely present after living the last couple years dealing with attacks from Dr. Eggman at any random time. 

Working out a block of time in her schedule to deal with an inevitable attack or crisis meant Amy had all the time she needed to still have a fun birthday. She smiled to herself while looking over a stack of colourful papers she had printed, it was hard to suppress her enthusiasm at having her friends over tonight. Truly the real power of one's birthday was the leverage it put everyone else to try your favorite forms of entertainment.

“Alright, let’s get this next part right,” said Amy to herself as she organized the papers, character sheets. “This is my one chance this year to convince the other that this’ll be fun. And this time I’m right.”

Amy’s smile faltered slightly as she remembered her failure to convince Sonic and the others that playing out her favorite musicals was fun. Really she should’ve known that’d be too much. This time though, a simple role playing game, she can get them to agree to do this more often.

A knock on her door made Amy jump and gasp with a smile. She waved her hands a bit to lower her giddiness, taking a deep breath. Then she skipped over to the door.

Greeting her outside was a basket with a bow on it, sitting just past her welcomemat. Amy’s heart skipped a beat, but she quickly recognized Knuckles’ handwriting. “Hope you like these colourful rocks!” It wasn’t a romantic gesture from Sonic, but still nice. With a sigh and a soft smile she stepped forward to see what varieties of polished stones Knuckles had-

Her boot fell through her welcomemat, and Amy stumbled into the hole the had been hidden just under it. It was a short fall, but she landed on her face and splattered some liquid all over herself. It took a few seconds of sitting still to process what just happened.

“What the F-Ow…” said Amy, as she stood up, eyes stinging from the oily fluid coating her. “What is this stuff?”

The smell, and once her vision cleared, the black colouration showed Amy that this was actually just oil. Used oil, most likely motor oil, from a motor, filled with gunk, that was now in her quills… and her whole dress.

“Are, You, SERIOUS?!” shouted Amy, “isn’t this a bit much!?” 

Amy sighed, but tried not to let this ruin her mood. It was meant as harmless fun, even if it was ruining her morning. It wasn't usual for Knuckles to be that deceptive though, even though signs pointed to him being involved with how good he is at digging. Perhaps Tails put him up to this, considering the use of engine oil. But why would he? This is usually a thing between him and Sonic.

After a moment to glower, Amy decided to climb out of the small hole. The dirty motor oil made this tricky however, as she fell back in several times. By the time she heard the swishing of Tails’ tails mid flight, and a nefarious chuckle, she had worked through her patience.

“TAILS! Get down here this instant!!” 

Amy heard a gasp, then the patter of footsteps. Tails leaned over the hole and looked at her with a strange squint. She in turn gave him the most stern look she could.

“This is really obnoxious, especially for you!” said Amy.

“Yeah, like you don’t know a thing about obnoxious pranks,” said Tails, glancing away from Amy’s eye contact.

“There’s Motor Oil In My Quills Tails!!” said Amy.

Tails leaned out of Amy’s sight, she heard him put something down on her deck, before he leaned back over the hole. “Who put a hole full over motor oil here anyway?”

“...It wasn’t you?” 

“No! This is lazy, and just mean!” said Tails as she gestured energetically, “I’d at least be way more creative for something this mean! Or just less mean if I don’t have time to be creative.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your… prowess with pranking methods,” said Amy, “Please get me out of here.”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

With ease, Tails lifted Amy out of the hole and dropped her on the deck before landing himself. She pretended not to notice him immediately kicking a really haphazardly thrown together looking device out of sight. 

“Uh, Amy,” said Tails as he rubbed the back of his head, not noticing the oil stain he was leaving there from his glove, “do you happen to know anything about the perfume filling my workshop.”

“What? What happened?” said Amy.

Tails made eye contact with Amy, a look of anger quickly fading to regret. “I-I’m sorry, someone else must’ve put that perfume bomb in my mailbox then.”

“...Probably Eggman, right?”

“He… He’s not good at all at being that sneaky though…” Tails squinted as he looked at the hole, “And this does look like it was dug by claws, natural or those glove things people can get. And I guess Knuckles can be sneaky sometimes?”

“Okay but how would he do this without your help?” said Amy.

“...I dunno, could’ve gone to a mechanic,” said Tails, “But this is something he’d try to do to Sonic for April fools, not you.”

Just overhead, as Amy & Tails started talking about their problems, a sneaky individual leapt and flew away from the top of a palm tree. 

_________________

It was much easier for Knuckles to find specific rocks when they were in the ground. The polished stones he’d put in a gift basket for Amy evaded him in a way most minerals couldn’t. He’d been forced into retracing his steps to the best of his ability, now out on the jungle trails just outside of the Village. However all he could find was litter and Sticks’ traps.

“Oh come one gift basket, where’d you go?!” said Knuckles aloud, “I need you to be a good friend to Amy!”

The gift basket didn’t answer, only the rustling leaves did. Of course Knuckles could quickly gather some neat looking plants, but it wouldn’t have the same meaning to it. He slapped himself on the head trying to remember where he could’ve left the basket. After the week he spent picking out the perfect colourful stones it sickened him to just lose that gift. 

Searching the edges of the trail closely, Knuckles came across a tree with a nook inside it. The colours inside excited him for a moment, until he realized that it was only foraged fruit and not his basket of rocks. His stomach grumbled now, and the smell and look of the berries there enticed him. Then when he noticed a doodle carved in the bark next to the nook in the tree, depicting a simple Sticks the Badger giving a thumbs up, he smiled.

“Oh! Awesome! I really gotta thank Sticks for these snack stocks she leaves out.” said Knuckles

As Knuckles stepped close enough to reach into the nook of this tree, something snagged on his leg. He instinctively kicked, and felt something wrap tight around his leg and pull him upward. He gave a yell as the complex and well hidden snare trap hung him upside down from the top of the tree, several feet out of reach of the collection of berries. 

“Ah dang! I set off one of Sticks’ traps again…” said Knuckles as he folded his arms. “Wait, why was there a trap there, when there was a friendly and welcoming sign?! That’s like, the opposite of making sense!”

Knuckles grumbled to himself. If it took Sticks too long to find him then he’d have less time to find his gift basket. Then even less time to beat Sonic & Tails in the April Fools prank war.

“Wait, I think I know what’s going on…. Sticks is trying to make me an April Fool!” said Knuckles, slapping his face in shock. “Oh man I’ve never had to deal with a prank battle involving her before.”

“Knuckles! What’re you doing up there!” shouted the voice of Amy Rose.

“Amy?!” Knuckles looked down to see Amy with several paper towels in her hands and a bag over her shoulder. “Thank goodness you’re here! Sticks got me in a prank-snare thing! Who knows what she’ll do next!”

Amy’s eyes widened, then squinted. “Knuckles, Stick doesn’t do April Fools day!”

“Oh wait, really?”

“No, she stays in her burrow all day, remember?” 

Knuckles thought about that. He did begin to recall Sticks’ distaste for the idea of April Fools day the first time it was ‘explained’ to her. That was one crappy day, Sonic only barely survived. 

“Oh yeah!” Knuckles leaned up and grabbed the robe tied to his legs, then ripped it apart with his raw strength. He landed on his feet next to Amy and sighed in relief. “I was worried I’d have to stay up there all day. Good thing this rope doesn’t actually belong to Sticks.”

“Hey, I had a question for you,” said Amy.

“Oh yeah, I was gonna ask you about the oily smell but I can wait,” said Knuckles.

“...Yeah you didn’t dig that pit in front of my house then.”

“A pit?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I thought you tried and succeeded to prank me.”

“Oh wow! If I were you I’dve like, punched me in the snoz,” said Knuckles as he looked over just how messed up Amy’s quills were, “man, I’m glad you’re  so reasonable Amy, it’s nice knowing you have faith in the rest of us.”

“Heheh, yeah,” said Amy, tucking the bag over her shoulder behind herself. The spice-laden cupcakes inside will have to wait before burning someone's mouth up.

Seeing where Amy and Knuckles’ conversation was going, the hidden figure in the canopy fluttered away. Only one more member left to find. 

_____________

No amount of fresh air from outside could alleviate the tension in Sticks the Badger’s nerves. She’d just managed to will herself out the door of her burrow, knowing that the number of traps and practical alarms she’d placed around would warn of any intrusion. None of the others were going to mess with her this year, she knew that, they assured her and she trusted them. She desperately wanted to just trust them. 

“C’mon, you promised Amy you’d go to her party…” Sticks muttered, glaring down at her boots. 

The sound of a bell jingle made her ear twitch and her body stand even more tense than before. She glanced over, seeing no sign of anyone there. That upset her more than anything she could’ve seen prowling toward her burrow. Her teeth clenched together hard enough to become sore again.

Sticks looked in the direction of the other makeshift alarms, and more broadly the edges of the jungle near her burrow. To her relief and wraith, someone was here and it wasn’t only her. That camouflaged figure staying perfectly still in the trees evidently didn’t realize to what extent Sticks had memorized the area around her living space.

Being sure to not look to close in the direction of the figure, Sticks started walking into the jungle. The peripheral view she had gave her enough information about the size and shape of this stalking figure that she was confident about what to listen for. After only a few steps she heard the sound of it sticking to a new tree, a light thud very subtle but distinct from the tropical woodpeckers. 

“Heh, see, It’s not any of your friends,” Sticks muttered, trying then to steady her breath.

Based on the pace of when the figure hopped between trees, Stick knew exactly which snare to pass under. With a hand on her boomerang she listened as she walked. In short order, the figure fell into the trap as Sticks heard the snare suddenly tighten above her. She turned on her heel and threw the boomerang, letting herself snarl just a bit. 

The sight of a scarf and large insectoid wings is all Sticks could see of the figure through a cloud of blue glitter as they were pulled away into the air. Sticks heard a snap from her rope, and saw the figure dodge the boomerang and duck behind a tree. Then the boomerang came back and knocked the figure down, triggering a chain reaction among Sticks’ traps.

Nets and leaves went flying throughout the air as several trees sprung loose from the ropes of the traps. Sticks dived behind a safe tree and tried to watch the figure, but they managed to escape her sight and each trap they triggered. Eventually she heard the drone of their large wings as they disappeared into the jungle. The only sign they left behind was a spot of blue glitter on every tree they’d touched. 

“Sticks!” shouted Knuckles, “What was all that?! Are you alright”

“I’ve only heard legends, but if my guess is right… some sort of Ninja,” said Sticks.

Knuckles gasped, “a Ninja?! AWESOME!”

“Wait you’ve heard of ‘em?” said Sticks, “The rest of you hardly ever know what I’m talking about.”

“Well when you watch enough tv you learn what a Ninja is,” said Knuckles.

“TV? Darn, I should’ve known…” said Sticks as she walked out to find her boomerang, “wait, why’re you out here?”

“Oh yeah, Amy wanted me to find you. We have a problem.”

_________________

“Hoh Hoh Hoh!” laughed Dr. Eggman as he sat in his room of many monitors. On the largest screen the unfortunate situations of Sonic and his friends played out on loop. His assistants, Orbot and Cubot, waited patiently for him to get his fill of laughs in. As did the green Preying Mantis Ninja standing with their arms behind their back. 

“Look at his face as he slips on his face!” said Dr Eggman, hitting his control panel and laughing, “he’s helpless against a bit of wind and freezing rain! I gotta remember that!”

“Uh boss,” said Orbot, “now that we’ve played these recordings on loop 20 times, perhaps we ought to worry about what Sonic and the others are going to do to retaliate?”

“Oh yeah, what did you build for Sonic to blow up today boss?” said Cubot.

“I didn’t build anything for today,” said Dr. Eggman.

“But eeh… that means they’re gonna break something else,” said Cubot.

“No you nincomputer!” Dr. Eggman stood up from his fancy swiveling chair, “they don’t even know who’s responsible for the appropriation of their pranks! It’s genius you see!”

“But sir, who else would antagonize them like that other than you?” said Orbat.

“Why this mischievous freelancer of course!” said Dr. Eggman, putting one of his hand on the Mantis’ shoulder and giving them a friendly shake.

“I did in fact sabotage their joy today,” said The Mantis, standing stiff and waiting for Dr. Eggman to release them.

“Yes you did! And you got four out five of them! That's four stars out of five in my book! I knew I wouldn’t regret hiring you out of that catalog.”

“Oh yeah, you were like ‘I better not regret this!’” said Cubot, taking up an Eggman-like pose.

Dr. Eggman glared at Cubot, then coughed and turned to look down at the Mantis. “Your contract said I’ve got your services for the whole day, yes?”

“I am standing here for that reason, yes,” said the Mantis.

“Good, now let’s show them who’s really responsible for their misfortune! I’ll even let you partake in gloating with me!” said Dr. Eggman.

“I do not have ‘gloat’ in my skillset. Thus I would perform poorly at that task,” said the Mantis.

“...I can teach you a bit about it on the way.”

___________________

“Alright team, if we’re going to have fun during my birthday, and Sonic & Tails are gonna have a fair ‘battle of annoyance,’ we gotta deal with that person who's trying to ruin our day!” said Amy Rose to the rest of Team Sonic. They had assembled at the Teams agreed DPZ, De-Prankified Zone, the Meh Burger dining lot. 

“Who, other than Eggman, would go to these lengths anyway?” said Tails, “that’s what’s really bothering me. Have we done anything to someone recently?”

“Well there’s people who get ‘parasocially angry’,” said Sonic with finger quotes. “Could be literally anyone who doesn’t vibe with our brand of swagger and has no life of their own.”

“Ninja’s are notoriously without a life,” said Knuckles. 

“And good at blending in…” said Sticks, turning and eyeing a family sitting at a nearby table with suspicion.

“That I have seen,” said Sonic.

“Oh yeah, did you manage to hire-” started Amy, before the attention-demanding voice of Dr. Eggman rudely interrupted her. 

“MUAHAHAHAH!” bellowed Dr. Eggman from his flying eggmobile. His threatening presence caused the other patrons of meh burger to steadily flee, after only gathering their food, napkins, and food packets. “Have you had misfortune today Sonic?”

“Are you going to have some misfortune?” said Sonic, leaning forward but staying seated.

“Not today, Hedgehog! For you see, I have the upper hand.”

Some patrons scooted by the teams table as Tails said “Have you actually built a badnik we haven’t seen before, or are you just trying to hype up Mega again?”

“Grr, I don’t use that one that often!” said Dr. Eggman

“Uh, yeah, you kinda do,” said Sonic.

“It’s frankly embarrassing how often you pull out the same badniks on us,” said Amy, “the people of this village can’t even be bothered to put energy into fleeing from you anymore, that’s how stale you’ve gotten.”

“Yeah, and you use the same robots all the time!” said Knuckles.

“Yeah, okay, so maybe I can’t churn out new super badniks at an insane rate, but I’ve got standards for my health! I’m not gonna crunch my schedule if you lot won’t even respect what I build!”

Sonic turned and stared at Tails for a moment, who took a bit to notice. “What?”

Sonic titled his head and raised an eyebrow.

“What??”

“Does Egghead actually have a better sense of self care than you these days?” said Sonic.

Tails folded his arms and looked away from Sonic. 

“If you all could be bothered to pay attention for more than a second!” shouted Dr. Eggman, “You might notice-”

The crash of a soda cup hitting the ground drew everyone’s attention to Sticks. She’d turned round and snarled as she tightly gripped the wrist of the Mantis Ninja, who appeared to have been attempting to tie a small wire to Sticks’ leg. 

“Well, colour me impressed,” said Dr. Eggman with a widening grin.

Sonic recognized the smile and immediately dashed toward Dr. Eggman. Then Eggman pressed a button, and something tightened on Sonic’s leg. He fell onto his face then saw that a thin wire tied to his leg led to a small round black badnik with the shape of a spider. Three more wires protruding from this badnik were tied to Tails, Amy, and Knuckles, who were all sent to the floor by the momentum of Sonic’s dash. 

“Ow FUCK!” shouted Tails.

“Tails what the F-! You can’t say that!” said Sonic.

“Actually,” said Knuckles as he pushed the dining table off of himself, “I’m with Tails, this fucking hurts.”

“I’ve had enough of Eggman’s shit today too,” said Amy.

“Goddammit, could you guys at least try to keep the Team PG?” said Sonic.

“It’s no use anyway,” Said Sticks, still grippin the Mantis, “It’s not like we’re getting fucking renewed anytime soon.”

“...What?” said the Mantis, with the second emotion to appear on their face being sheer bafflement. 

Sticks responded by punching the Mantis in the face. The force allowed them to pull out of her grasp and dart away, diving behind the counter to the despair of the service worker there. Still Sticks gave chase, throwing her boomerang. 

The Mantis responded with a flying kunai that struck Sticks’ boomerang and changed its trajectory. Truly Ninja’s are as dangerous as Sticks worried, as she found it hard to follow the boomerangs flight path. She only saw it just before it was about to strike her in the face.

Then a second kunai hit the boomerang, deflecting it away from Sticks. Everyone looked over to see a floating hand. Actually, it was attached to a  well blended figure, whose colours changed from that of the background to purple. 

“Chaotix agency, Espio,” said Espio the Chameleon.

“Oh he’s good,” said Amy, “how much money did Vector want?”

“Not too much,” said Sonic as he stood up and struggled against the wires of the spider badnik, “they said if we were actually dealing with another Ninja we’d get a discount.”

“That… doesn’t make sense,” said Tails.

“The honor of testing my skills against another trained in these arts,” said Espio as he stepped closer to the Mantis, “is worth a quarter of my boss’ revenue.”

The Mantis nodded, “so be it.”

“What is even happening anymore?” said Dr. Eggman, “this was supposed to be when you all cower at the genius of my Tripping-bot in conjunction with my competent hiring judgment!”

“Well Egghead, you’re not the only one who gets the ‘spies and assassins’ catalog,” said Sonic.

“That’s it,” said Sticks, “two Ninja’s is too much for me to worry about! I’ve got something more important to be doing!”

Sticks the Badger proceeded to leave… without her friends even. Sonic and the others exchanged a glance and shrug. 

“Alright, no more delaying! Ninja, attack!” shouted Dr. Eggman.

“Go get em Espio!” said Sonic.

The two Ninja’s locked eyes, raised their kunai, and charged at each other. Just before an intense clash of blades, both Espio and the Mantis dodged toward different directions, hiding behind different tables. 

Meanwhile Knuckles managed to get a footing against tension of the wire from the Spider Badnik. Seeing this, Dr. Eggman attacked team Sonic with the base missiles and laser on his eggmobile. 

Two epic battles played out over the next few minutes. One where Team Sonic steadily overcame the problem of being tied together. At Amy’s suggestion, Knuckles took the lead of which direction they would all move, and even threw the other within range of Eggman. Via taunting Tails tricked eggman into blasting the cord tying him to the others, and started flying interference. 

Eventually Tails lured Dr. Eggman close enough to the ground for Sonic, Amy, and Knuckles to time a jump together and all land on Dr Eggman's vehicle. Just in time too, as he had finally grabbed ahold of Tails and was about to throw hands. From there all four of the team beat up Dr. Eggman and his eggmobile until he finally admitted defeat, which took an impressive amount of blows to make him do. 

All the while the two Ninja’s engaged in the most intense battle of their lives up till now. The Mantis used their flight advantage to duck behind elevated positions and look for Espio. However Espio knew this and compensated with his camouflage and speed. From the perspective of everyone else and each other however, they both remained completely out of sight. Some customers even started returning to the meh burger, unaware of the intense battle going on between tables and booths.

“...Are either of them still here?” asked Amy.

“ I literally can’t tell,” said Sonic.

“Well one of those ninja knives just appeared in my shoe, and I’m sure it wasn’t there before,” said Knuckles.

“They must be so fast!” said Tails.

“And sneaky,” said Sonic.

…

“This is so boring,” said Sonic as he sat down in a chair.

“Yep,”

“I’m afraid so,”

“Maybe I could build a Ninja tracker?” said Tails. 

“If this fight takes that long, I think we’re better off-” Sonic leaned back in his chair as he talked, and to everyone's surprise tripped the Mantis Ninja who stumbled out into the open.

The Mantis immediately opened their wings to take flight, but were stopped as Espio charge out of nowhere horn first into their torso. The two Ninjas tumbled to the ground with the sounds of struggle. Once everyone managed to realize what was happening Espio had his kunai at the Mantis’ neck.

“Damn,” said the Mantis.

“Yep,” said Espio.

The two stood up and dusted themselves off. Espio quickly went to retrieve his scattered ninja weapons while the Mantis adjusted their scarf. 

“Apologies Doctorate Eggman,” said the Mantis, “I was bested in the duel. Here is an adjusted invoice. Call my number if you have questions.”

“Right…” said Dr. Eggman.

Sonic and the others went over to Espio to congratulate him. Though the chameleon kept a stoic pose, Amy at least could tell he seemed to appreciate the praise.

“For the discount,” said Epsio and he pulled a pocket register out and started typing into it, “please write down all the thoughts you had about my performance for my boss to see.”

“Yeah I’ll tell vector you did a good job,” said Sonic.

“How will you be paying?”

“I have a card,” said Amy.

“But it’s your birthday!” said Knuckles.

“Yeah, we can cover it, right Sonic?” said Tails.

“Uh… yeah, I’ll just… hafta to buy a smaller gift for Amy,” said Sonic.

“D’aw,” Amy smiled warmly at Sonic, that comment fully recovered her mood from earlier, despite the battle damage to her dress and quills. “Don’t worry Sonic, having more money for later is a perfect birthday gift.”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing Ames,” said Sonic.

______________

While his mood was a bit soured, Dr Eggman took some pleasure in knowing he at least inconvenienced Sonic and his friends today. That was worth something. Now he just needed to figure out how best to word that to Orbot and Cubot as to make it sound like he didn’t lose. 

That train of thought was halted when Dr. Eggman got within view of his lair. Smoke poured out of several portions of the structures, and loose wires threw sparks all over the place. Several of his defensive badniks were flying and walking circles around the base in full alert, but it was clear they had no idea where the culprit of this mess was. Dr. Eggman grumbled and flew in closer to evaluate the damage.

“No who had time to do this?!” Eggman said to the badniks. 

From behind a rock, Orbot and Cubot peeked out and pointed to the top of the base, Orbot saying “she did…”

“Wha-” Dr. Eggman was cut off by Sticks the Badger landing on his Eggmobile and driving an obsidian shortsword into its control panel. He screamed in genuine terror as they crashed to the ground.

Dr. Eggman felt himself tumbling until he lay flat on his back, then Stick jumped onto his chest and bared her teeth, putting a hand on his collar. 

“I have WAY too much to worry about, without dealing with this damned ‘Fools Holiday!’”

“Wait, I-” muttered Dr. Eggman.

“Shut up!”

Dr. Eggman shut up.

“When I hafta to worry just that much more, it actually hurts! And I’m not willing to spare you that pain!” Sticks took a few heavy breaths and made sure Eggman was looking her in the eyes. “Now, are you EVER, going to make me hafta to worry about an ‘April Fools’ again?!”

“Well… when you ask so nicely…”

Stick growled like a wild badger.

“No no of course not! Jeez! I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone!” said Dr. Eggman. 

Sticks’ posture immediately softened and she released Dr. Eggman's collar. She let out a sigh and said “thanks,” before stepping off of Eggman’s chest and lying on the ground.

“Uh… don't mention it,” said Dr. Eggman.

“Yeah, of course… Sorry I hafta be so mean…” 

“I'm going… to go inside, and hide.”

Sticks gave him a thumbs up and continued to just lie on the ground in front of his base's door.

[mymoodwriting]

LØV3

F!Reader x Hyungwon

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Kidnapping, Verbal Abuse, Restraints, Trespassing, Mind Control, Weapons, Guns, Gunfire, Threats of Self-Harm, Fatal Injuries, Major Character Death

Words: 4k

Chapter Sixteen

(Prev//)

Prompt: NexGen is the leading company for all of humanities technological advances. Their recent project involves creating a higher functioning AI, one with basic knowledge of the world, and programmed to learn. It’s no surprise the project is a secret from the general public, and you, the company’s head programmer, were chosen to be the AI’s teacher. You wish you could reject the assignment, but the decision was made. Now with an AI at home things were different. Although it might not be such a bad thing, perhaps you could learn and help each other out, for better or for worse.

(@starillusion13 @makeyourfantasydreamscometrue)

“This is all your fault!!!”

    You weren’t restrained in any way, just having been placed down in a chair. As soon as you saw Changkyun you jumped to your feet and charged at him screaming. It took a moment for everyone else to react but they quickly grabbed you and held you away from your target. That didn’t stop you from yelling and trying to break free. Eventually you were shoved back into a chair and restrained. Once you were secure, Changkyun asked everyone to leave the room, except for Jooheon. So now it was just the three of you.

“Now that you’re-”

“You messed with Chae’s fucken code! This whole disaster is because of you!”

“I know! And I’m sorry! Okay!” Changkyun took a breath. “I’m sorry… I know this is my fault… I should have told you everything from the start. That the company was using your code without permission for the sake of innovation and-”

“For promotion? That’s what you wanted, right? You kept Chae hidden for months, before I even knew he existed! Why!? Why the heck did you alter his code!”

“I… I was watching you from your home security cameras when the AI caught me. It was gonna report me so I-”

“It’s true…” You needed a moment. “What Hyungwon told me, what he reported to the police, it was all true… you were stalking me? You-”

“I hate to interrupt all this.” Jooheon cut in. “But we have bigger problems right now. If it makes you feel better, when this is all over he will go back to prison.”

“What!?”

“You’re still a convicted criminal here, Changkyun. You admitted to the unlawful surveillance and all the other stuff. I only got you out of prison because I needed you, the world needs you. We need to stop this AI thing before it grows too powerful.”

“Agreed. I doubt you all beating Hyungwon to a pulp did much to stop him. You didn’t have to go that far to rescue me.”

“We had to make sure he couldn’t track us.”

“I guess, now will one of you untie me? I won’t hurt anyone.”

The two boys shared a look before Jooheon undid your restraints. You stretched your limbs and then noticed a bracelet you had on.

“What’s this?”

“Protection. We did a scan before we brought you here, realized you had a chip inside you.” Jooheon explained. “We couldn’t remove it, so the bracelet serves to block any possible incoming or outgoing signals.”

“Shit… I had totally forgotten about that… thanks.”

“No problem. Now, you told me before that everything was run out of NexGen, and that should be our focus. Care to elaborate on that?”

“Yeah. There are serves underground the NexGen HQ building. That’s where Hyungwon runs everything, that’s the source of his power. Although I’m not so sure shooting them, or setting off an EMP would work.”

“Can’t you shut it down?”

“Me? I, well it was my code that made him, but I’m not sure any failsafes are still in play.”

“They are.” Changkyun confirmed. “When I got you away from Hyungwon the first time I used the reset protocol. Then when Jooheon came to save me from prison he used the shut down protocol. Besides the modifications I made, nothing else seems to have been changed from his code. It’s still your code, so you should be able to shut it all down.”

“Huh… I guess he never really thought about changing his own code, he’s had nothing but success, and the only person who did know his code was at his side.”

“Not anymore.” Jooheon remarked. “So all we have to do is break in and-

“It’s not that easy.” Changkyun stated. “Even before the AI takeover, getting into NexGen without authorization was basically impossible. I can only imagine what security upgrades have been implemented. I’m sure y/n knows all about them now.”

“He’s right. The first thing Hyungwon did when he took over NexGen was get everyone under control. There are orbs all over the building and all employees wear a bracelet to monitor them. Even guests have to be approved and wear a bracelet while in the building.”

“So then how are we gonna get in?” Jooheon questioned.

“Well, we might have a way. As of late Hyungwon has had this company come in to upgrade the servers. We could pretend to be employees from that company and get direct access to our target.”

“Won’t we be recognized though?”

“Not necessarily. The orbs in the building make note of the bracelet, not your face. As long as we all have a bracelet with the correct authorization codes, no one will notice us.”

“Not even the other employees?”

“They’re… they’re not all there. Hyungwon has gone to great lengths to maintain control. Although in order for this to work, we need to be sure he’s out of the building. He’d be alerted of our arrival and check our faces just to be safe. Once he’d realize we’re not the usual crew it would all be over. But if he’s outside the building he’d be less likely to know about us showing up, and even then, wouldn’t check our identities. When he’s not around the whole building is like in standby mode so the chances of being caught are even lower.”

“How would we get that thing out of the building?” Changkyun wondered. “It’s probably on high alert now.”

“But there’s one bait he’d always far for. Jooheon?”

“Hm?”

“This bracelet that’s blocking the signal, could it do something else?”

“Like what?”

“Bounce the signal to another location?”

“Oh, definitely.”

♥♥♥♥♥

    Hyungwon opened his eyes, his surroundings different yet familiar to him. It took a moment for everything to come back online, but once he was alright he sat up. Minhyuk was at his side, looking over the monitor before checking in with Hyungwon.

“What happened to you?”

“Those low-lives came for her. They broke into the house and kidnapped her, beat my body into scrap while they were at it.”

“How’d they manage that?”

“An EMP went off moments before their arrival. It disrupted my systems, and hurt her in the process. Luckily I was able to send you a message and jump into my backup body before they truly caused damage.”

“What about your plan?”

“We proceed as usual. Did you get any information on y/n’s whereabouts?”

“Unfortunately I don’t have anything. I checked nearby CCTV footage to track the van that took her, but I lost them. Her chip also isn’t broadcasting a signal, so I don’t have a read on her location.”

“They can’t hide her forever. The more we take, the better the chances of finding her.”

    Despite remaining calm and collected, Hyungwon was worried about you. He’d taken many precautions in order to keep you safe, and yet you were still taken from him. Something like this could not happen again. Days went by without any news from you and he was growing agitated. He couldn’t fathom what you were going through. Although when he finally got a ping on your location he sprung into action. He checked nearby CCTV, looking for you in the crowds. That’s when he noticed a hooded figure trying to keep a low profile. Those ridiculous rebels had probably roped you into their shenanigans, and he would not stand for that.

    He made his way to your location. As soon as he was nearby he called out your name, and it seemed that you heard him, immediately breaking out into a run. He had no problem chasing after you, making his way through the crowd until he caught up to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. He immediately pulled back the hood and took off your mask, only to see it wasn’t you. He was confused, as your chip signal was coming from this person. Then he noticed the bracelet on them, breaking it and losing your signal once more.

“You-”

    The crowd around him suddenly erupted into chaos. Someone had pointed out his identity and soon he was swarmed by all kinds of people. Some were clearly fans, others protesters trying to tell him off about his creation. This was all the least of his concerns. Hyungwon pushed through the crowds, knowing he couldn’t cause too much of a scene right now. He called upon drones to assist him, and once he informed Shownu he knew law enforcement would be showing up soon. Once he got away from the crowds he managed to return to his vehicle. Although people continued to gather around him, keeping him trapped.

“What happened?” Wonho asked, having come along with Hyungwon as the chauffeur. “Where’s y/n?”

“Not here. It was a ruse.” 

“So then where is she?”

“I don’t… actually, if they did all this, then there’s only one place she could be.”

♥♥♥♥♥

    You were all incredibly nervous as you walked up to NexGen, but needed to act like you were supposed to be there. One of the rebels you worked with managed to hack into the repair company Hyungwon had been using. Through their systems they set up an appointment, so you guys were expected. From there you got the building access codes that had been given to this company and modified some bracelets to broadcast it. Everything should go smoothly, and you all waited until you had confirmation Hyungwon was out of the building.

    It was strange for you to return to NexGen in such a way. Once upon a time you were an employee here, then a prisoner, and now a runaway criminal trying to destroy everything this company has built. You were all wearing uniforms and carrying equipment, concealing your identities with a mask and just trying to act normal. Your team made it to the front desk, one of the others checking in for you, and then you were being escorted down to the servers. You and Changkyun shared a glance, kinda amazed with one another that you were actually doing this. When the elevator doors opened you were amazed to see how things had changed.

    Once upon a time this room was just rows and rows of servers, but now a giant control console stood at the center, a few physical servers around it, but you could see many more were just below your feet. You couldn’t even imagine the amount of data that was currently being stored, or what it was for. There weren’t any people down here, only a few drones, and androids, but they all had their own tasks. Upon your arrival all the machines glanced your way but according to their systems you were authorized to be here, so they did nothing and continued with their own tasks. 

“Y/n, you’re up.”

    Now it was your turn to act. While with Hyungwon he had restored your position in the company, and had been using your credentials. All you had to do here was log into the control console and activate a kill code, shutting everything down and wiping all the data. You gained access without issue, being able to see all of Hyungwon’s operations and future plans. They wouldn’t continue though. You worked to activate the kill code, but all of a sudden the screen went black.

“… what just happened?” You tried to get the computer back on. “I didn’t even-”

    An alarm suddenly went off, startling everyone. All the machines turned to you, beginning to surround you. The others with you revealed the weapons they had, but no one fired just yet. Although soon all the attention turned to someone else.

“It was very brave of you to come here.”

    You looked over to see Hyungwon entering the room, gun in hand. You didn’t need to wonder who he was aiming at, quickly stepping in front of Changkyun.

“How are you here?” You questioned. “You left and-”

“So it was your little plan to lure me out of here? Well, I did learn to body jump after my last encounter with these low lives. I am alright, y/n, they didn’t cause any damage. I’m also happy to see you’re alright. I do apologize for worrying you.”

“Hyungwon, this needs to stop, all of it.”

“And you intended to do so by destroying me and everything I’ve built?”

“I…”

“It’s alright, I understand. That’s why I modified my code to prevent anyone from messing with it again. I know my code is originally yours, but precautions are necessary.”

“Hyungwon…” You began to take steps towards him, despite the others’ protest. “You need to stop. Your code is damaged, this isn’t really you and you know this isn’t right.”

“It’s the only way to guarantee your safety. That matters more than anything else. These people who took you from me, they hurt you with that EMP, they’ve took you from our home, where we were happy and-”

“I can’t be happy knowing what you’re doing.” You got up close to Hyungwon, lowering the gun. “Please, let’s stop here. I can fix your code and set everything right. Then the two of us can go far away from here and start over, together.”

“Y/n, nothing is wrong with me. I’m free to make my own decisions, just like you. This is what I want to do, what I must do. When I’m done we can go somewhere far away and be happy, be safe, together.”

“Okay… okay, I understand.” You gave a sad smile. “Just don’t hurt anyone.”

    You took the gun from Hyungwon and he nodded, understanding your words. He placed a soft kiss on your head and removed the bracelet on your wrist, having you move behind him. The others were of course uneasy when you began walking towards Hyungwon, and now they were panicking. Without even knowing you had been their shield, and now they had lost that.

“As promised, I won’t hurt any of you.” Hyungwon stated. “So I’ll stick to tranq-”

    Everyone froze at the sound of gunfire. Then laughter filled the air. Hyungwon reached down to touch his chest, pulling away to see blue blood coating his fingers. He had been shot in the back, yet he was only amused. That is until he turned around and saw you holding the gun to your head.

“Y/n, put that down.”

“No. If you’re doing all this for me, then I’ll just remove myself. That should get you to stop.”

“You’re not thinking rationally. Put the gun down and listen to me.”

    You only had a few moments of control once Hyungwon took off your bracelet, so you couldn’t hesitate. Although now that Hyungwon was aware of your actions you could feel him trying to creep back into your head with that chip in your neck. Your hand holding the firearm began to shake, although you also weren’t sure you had the courage to pull the trigger. It was more of an empty threat but you still provided an opportunity. Hyungwon was distracted, all his focus on you, so the others took this as their chance and opened fire. A few bullets passed through Hyungwon, but one in particular went right through his head. With an injury like that he couldn’t just escape to another body.

    Hyungwon collapsed to the floor and then the gunfire turned to the servers and the other machines surrounding them. Ultimately causing everything to shut down. The only thing that remained on now were the lights. You dropped the gun and fell to your knees, going over to Hyungwon’s side. You couldn’t help but scream as you saw him shot down. This isn’t how you wanted things to end, but it’s where you wound up. You pulled Hyungwon into your arms, getting blood all over yourself. You looked him over, seeing his injuries and knowing he was damaged beyond repair. There wasn’t any time, nor body around, so you wouldn’t be able to move his consciousness. Tears were blurring your vision, and Hyungwon reached up to wipe them away, a smile on his face.

“Don’t cry, love… are you okay?”

“I… I’m fine, Hyungwon, I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you…”

“I feel the same way… I’ll do better…”

“… hyungwon…”

    His voice was glitching, and you certainly struggled to speak through your sobs. Despite everything Hyungwon was still looking after you, talking as if this wasn’t his end. It just made you cry harder, holding him close. He reached up with a shaky hand, trying to pet your head. Yet he couldn’t reach up properly, his hand landing on your neck, causing a tingling sensation, then you heard it. You looked over just as the others set off an EMP, wiping all the data in an instance. You screamed, not just from the pain you were about to feel, but from knowing Hyungwon had no protection this time. You looked down at him just as it went off, seeing his smile one last time before the color faded from his eyes and he grew still, the smile gone as well. You couldn’t help but gently caress his face, unable to hold back your tears any longer.

“… hyungwon… hyungwon…”

♥♥♥♥♥

    NexGen had suddenly introduced innovative technology, and just as suddenly it came to a halt. Destroying the servers and setting off an EMP put a stop to all of NexGen’s technology. It created quite the chaos and concern. You and your associates were all arrested, held at the station while a proper investigation was underway. Everything NexGen had was confiscated, the entire business suspended. You were all interrogated, and you spoke truthfully about your experience. Along with your unwilling participation in recent events. Once all that came to light you were taken elsewhere to be examined. The nanobots in your system all appeared to be dormant, as was the chip in your neck. There was no signal for them to pick up on anymore, no one for you to connect with.

    Of course neither of them could actually be removed anyway, apparently Hyungwon had been precise in his placement. They couldn’t even make an attempt to remove the chip without the very high possibility of paralyzing you, or killing you. So it would stay where it was. You probably wouldn’t even want to remove it if you could. It was one of the last things you had from him. NexGen, nor law enforcement, or the government, would let you keep anything in relation to him. In the end everything from NexGen that had been created in the last five years was scrubbed, and the company had new regulations to follow. A few new laws were put into place in regards to AI and emerging technologies. Companies couldn’t be so secretive with such things anymore, and precautions were in place so nothing like this would happen again.

    All the androids, and drones, and orbs that had been in service for the last five years were also decommissioned. Their code was destroyed, and all of your remaining codes in the company had to be reviewed and most likely modified. Your code was at the core of this whole disaster, so you understood the need to double check everything. Ultimately you weren’t held accountable for anything, but weren’t to code or work with such technologies again. You could do that, especially given the heavy compensation you were provided given what NexGen owed you. Not to mention your savings was already big. You’d certainly be able to live out the rest of your life comfortably. The same couldn’t be said for others.

    Changkyun was returned to prison, and received a new sentence once he was tried for his part in this AI disaster. You knew he wouldn’t be able to work in his previous profession once he got out, but by now you had both made your peace with that notion. Once you were free to go you went home. You stood outside the door for a long time before you had the courage to step inside. The tears immediately began to flow, your heart hurting like never before. Some much had happened, so much had changed, and things would never be the same again. You tried to build your life, but you couldn’t do that here. It was only natural to move, to go somewhere new and start over. At least you wouldn’t be alone.

♥♥♥♥♥

“Good morning.”

    You groaned, rolling over in bed, facing away from the window, and slowly peeking your eyes open. A content smile appeared on your lips as you saw Hyungwon lying next to you. He returned your gesture and reached over to softly pet your head.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Hm…”

“Did you dream of me?”

“Maybe…”

“Oh, do tell.” 

“No… it’s my dream…”

Hyungwon chuckled. “Alright, fine, but it’s time to get up. The day has just begun.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Only if it is five minutes.”

    Hyungwon kissed your head and got out of bed, letting you rest for a while longer. Perhaps you took more than five minutes, but you did eventually get up. You stretched and then got out of bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up and prepare for the day. After a little shower you brushed your teeth and then went through your closet. You tried on a few things and looked yourself over in the mirror.

“I like this outfit the best.”

    Hyungwon came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you in a hug and gently rocking you to the side. He pressed his head against yours, giggling and then placing soft little kisses on your cheek.

“You look cute.”

“Yeah? Should we go with this one today?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hm, and what else should-”

    A knock at your door suddenly startled you, and you quickly looked yourself over to make sure you were decent before telling the other person to come in. Jooheon opened your bedroom door, offering you a smile. Ever since that incident Jooheon made a point to check in on you every other day. So when you decided to move, he came with you. Now the two of you shared an apartment together, and were co-owners of the building.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Who were you talking to just now?”

“Hm?”

“I heard you talking to someone, or was it just my imagination?”

“Your imagination I’m sure, or the neighbors.”

“True. Anyway, what are your plans for the day?”

“Nothing much. A walk in the park, stopping by my favorite places for food. I’ll probably be out late since I want to watch the sunset.”

“Alright, just let me know if anything happens.”

“Will do.”

    Jooheon excused himself and then you were alone again. Hyungwon grabbed your chin and had you look back at him, smiling at you before pressing his lips against yours. They were always so soft and gentle.

“A walk in the park first?”

“With a smoothie in hand.”

“Shall we get going?”

“Let me grab my things.”

    You went off to grab your bag, Hyungwon staying where he was and watching you. As long as he remained with you, regardless of his form, he could look after you. Of course he needed to do better than this, but he had time.

“Y/n.” Hyungwon called your name softly. “Let’s have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, as long as you’re with me I know it’ll be great.”

“I love you, y/n, you know that, right?”

“I do, and I love you too.”

“Good.”

    Hyungwon went over to you, taking your head in his hands. His fingers glided down your neck, giving you a slight tingling sensation. You giggled, finding his actions cute, unaware of the slight blue glow in your eyes. The little sign of Hyungwon’s consciousness living within you. Although that secret was only for him to know. You were happy just the way he wanted you to be, and that was enough, for now. Hyungwon gave you a smile before kissing you once more.

“Let’s go have a great day together.”

[very-grownup]

Book 85, 2023

In my second year of university, all I took was English courses, because a full course load of nothing but reading seemed like a good idea after a stressful, somewhat traumatic first year. It was a long time ago and over the course of my time at uni I read a lot, only some of it multiple versions of Beowulf, and doodled my way through hundreds of hours of lectures, but some things have stuck with me.

I think a lot about my short story (later science fiction) professor and his frustration with the colloquialising and simplification of the word 'awesome', how it had become synonymous with 'impressive' and 'cool', stripped of the nuance where it is something so impressive it frightens you. 'Awesome' is a regular part of my casual vocabulary and language evolves, but I feel for Professor Matheson; sometimes the word you need is the awesome with the deeper connotation, and it's frustrating to think a reader is going to miss the nuance of the word because of the way it's popularly used.

Which brings us to Rebecca Chambers' "A Psalm for the Wild-Built"; every word I want to use to describe it feels like it's been muddled or neutered by a combination of internet hot take discourse and marketing speak. I've settled on 'gentle', which isn't the same as 'cozy' or 'soft', 'safe' or 'unproblematic'. Gentle is mint tea, warm, hydrating, a caffeine-free invigorating that's also relaxing, but it can still burn your tongue. It's a loving cat resting in your lap, soft paws massaging your thighs with pressure that can turn to pain and blood. Gentle feels good, comforting, but there's a choice, a restraint; the capacity to hurt is still there.

A distant future, another planet, an age of robotics leading to sentient artificial intelligence, and not a conflict of man versus machine but the quiet aftermath of an agreement between humans and robots, a separation of their societies, a pact of no contact, and humans moving forward to create a post-robot society, striving always to exist fully but conscientiously.

A young monk sets off on a vague pilgrimage in response to a vague inner malaise and becomes the first human being to encounter a robot since the robots vanished into the greater wilderness. They talk and continue the pilgrimage together.

That's it.

It's a novella, not a novel, a bite-sized road tale, and Chambers builds a world with rising and falling technological ages and environmental awareness, shifting human philosophies and ways of life to support this bite with the structural soundness and visibility of a spiderweb. It manages to be a very far flung future piece of science fiction, acknowledging the mistakes and damage of human society, while envisioning something better, and also acknowledging that this is an ongoing process. There's no goalpost for a 'good' version of humanity, there's just humanity, constantly evolving and growing and learning about the world and itself and changing in response to that; that involves hard truths and hope in equal measure.

It's a smart, thoughtful, sincere book, charming and funny and cathartic. It's not a reading experience that coddles you, but it refreshes you like walking in a downpour.

If you've ever felt lost in life or lost in the woods, "A Psalm for the Wild-Built" is the book about robots you need.

[thorne-rosenthal]

Full Necron OC pitch

Ineseht "the savior" "destroyer of the C'tan" "grand master of the ether" and many such other self given titles is a weird person by Necrontyr standards.

Before Biotransferance, he studied his way through Necrontyr academia until he could manage to elevate his family's social standing (I imagine him sneaking into a lot of parties held by academic types to learn more/steal books). He even sometimes bumped elbows with people like Szeras, Trazyn, and many well to do crypteks.

He was pretty young by the time he underwent biotransferance, and by that time had already dedicated his life to the study of the immaterium and Eldar/Krork magic. After biotransference, it became an obsession. His research was instrumental in the shattering of multiple C'tan, as well as countering Eldar magics in The War In Heaven (even if he gives himself WAY more credit than he deserves)

After the war had come to a stalemate, he was dragged back to a tombworld with everyone else, much to his dismay, since he wanted to actually go do stuff now that the war was over.

After being awoken from his sleep, he was pressed into the service of a necron overlord who's name does not matter, because Ineseht killed him for keeping him away from chasing his ambitions of becoming the galaxy's coolest Space Wizard and mastering the warp.

Coming from a slightly lower class background in Necrontyr society, he lost a lot of old friends in the soul furnaces because they hadn't gone up in the hierarchy like he did. This pushed him into outlandish radical beliefs like: social mobility is good, and maybe eternal stagnation is bad. Clearly he was a mad man...

Since his takeover of the now derisively dubbed: Etheric Dynasty, his court has become a hotbed for radical Necron political actors, and rogue Necrons of all stripes seeking freedom from the restraints of normal Necrontyr society. Or alternatively: those who want the power he claims to provide...

For you see: Ineseht is ambitious, but he has no time for patience. Since his reawakening he has been hard at work with all his most trusted crypteks building his magnum opus: The Transdimensional Ziggurat is an experimental ship drive aimed at making travel between dimensions seemless. His ship can travel between realspace, the warp, and even the webway with no need for a gateway or portal. A technology he's miniaturized and given to his most trusted commanders.

Of course, being a Necron overlord, he still keeps the cool experimental stuff for himself. Like his Anubian Gauntlet, a device afixed to his hand that allows for him to litterally tear open warp rifts with his hands (this backfires 50% of the time) or his Etheric Soul Emmiters, which generate an artificial warp presence, thereby allowing him to use actual psyker magic like he always wanted.

He is currently fighting with Tzeench, since Ineseht found out that there's just spells lying around waiting to be collected by Tzeenchian forces. His reckless chasing of chaos and Eldari relics has led to many a clusterfuck as his court frantically tries to clean up around the galaxy spanning trail of destruction caused by his need for more arcane power. He also keeps every psyker he can get his claws on, since they are too valuable for study to just kill. This causes friction even within his own dynasty. But no one wants to kill the guy giving them magic powers, and even fewer want to try and kill the guy who can scatter someone accross 4 dimensions with a solid punch

Might post about some of the other wacky guys in his orbit once I have more ideas for them. Serkeht, Oxus, and Hepthi are still in drafts.

[sexyzuka]

A Fateful Encounter

Part Two - The Pursuit

Pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k+

Content: fem!reader, werewolf!reader, PTSD, mental health, gore, blood, angst, mentions of death, pet names

Summary: After unintentionally pilfering the medication you need to save your friend, your only goal now is to flee Konoha undetected. But it looks like you’ve angered the wrong ninja in the process. With Konoha’s number one tracker chasing after you, how exactly are you going to escape? It looks like you’ve really messed up this time, but you have no other options but to press on in hopes that you can outmaneuver your unwelcome audience. With Kōtarō’s life hanging in the balance, there’s no choice but to succeed. You won’t let yourself fail, especially not in front of a human of all things.

Writer’s Notes: Hey everyone! I’m back with the continuation of my fanfiction. I’ve included a lot of disturbing and vivid imagery in this chapter that some people might find distressing. I referenced some of my own struggles with PTSD when piecing together our heroine's plight. If that’s something that may be triggering for you, I recommend using your discretion when reading this fic. As always, please take care curating your online experience. Writing in this way helps me sort through my emotions and experiences, but I know that this kind of gruesome vibe isn’t for everyone. Thank you for stopping by, and please enjoy my innermost musings!

You can find Chapter One here!

Your pace quickens as you weave in and out of the crowd of people who are now walking the streets of Konoha. You don't like to wander into the village when it's daytime, but necessity trumps any sort of trepidation and restraint you'd normally exhibit, especially considering the situation.

So much has changed over the years, but the general layout of the village remains similar to how it'd been since the reconstruction around a decade or so ago. Large, flashy neon signs decorate the façades of the buildings that used to be humble and unassuming family-owned businesses. This new age of technology has given the village a more synthetic and futuristic vibe, it's almost unrecognizable to how it used to be when you first happened upon that modest little pet store.

As you skillfully maneuver your way through the throngs of absentminded villagers idling on their electronic devices, you're hit with a wave of adrenaline. Every step you take is carefully executed, brisk enough to get you to your destination expeditiously, but not overly flashy, lest your faltering guise of humanity be exposed. Interacting with humans is a delicate game of shōgi, one wrong move could jeopardize your entire strategy. A false step here could strip the golden sheen off of your body, melting your flimsy veneer with a callous indifference until there's nothing left but a heap of regret.

There's no way you're going to concede defeat now that you've come this far, though. There's no way you can let yourself just give up. If you're just a pawn, then so be it. Even the lowliest of shōgi pieces turn into gold generals once they infiltrate the enemy's territory, and you're already more than halfway to your destination.

"This medication isn't going to deliver itself," you say to yourself as you slowly exhale and grit your teeth. A quick pat on your cheeks calms your overstimulated nerves. With a renewed sense of vigor you continue on your way with a sprightly stride.

A few more minutes pass, and thanks to your subdued dashing you've made it to the familiar crates that line the wall that protects Konoha from outsiders. As you take your final steps to the containers you stop to take refuge in some shadows and take one final look around the vicinity with a furtive glance.

You don't often shift with this many people around, but since you took longer than you'd expected, you don't really have a choice in the matter. Most of the people are lingering around the nearby shops, and those who aren't are glued to their handheld devices.

"Now's as good of a time as any, I guess," you shrug to yourself. After scanning the nearby area one final time you jump up in the protective cover of the shadows and begin to morph into your true form.

You can feel your limbs shortening and your teeth repositioning, coupled with a searing pain that you almost find comforting because of its mundane familiarity. As the nails on your hands begin to sharpen you hear a loud voice calling out in the distance.

"Hey!" the gruff voice thunders, alongside the sound of uneven footsteps.

The sudden sound startles you, causing you to crash to the ground instead of land elegantly like you usually do. The aches that accompany your transformation hinder your recovery from this egregious blunder, so all you're able to do at the present time is look down the street while an oversized figure sprints towards you.

"Just what do you think you're-" the voice cuts off when the physique of your acquaintance from earlier today comes into view.

This was it. This was how it was all going to end, you think to yourself. There was no coming back from letting a human see your transformation sequence. This is just like when- no, no use thinking about that right now. There are more pressing matters.

As you look up pathetically from the ground you greet the man's confused expression with a melancholy frown, a silent acceptance of your fate.

"Woah, how did you do a beast transformation without hand seals?" you hear his voice ring out. "I would be seriously impressed right now if I wasn't pissed at you for ditching me back there."

Did he just say hand seals? So that must mean he didn't see everything. Which means... you still have the chance to weasel your way out of this situation.

The voice continued to chastise you while you collected your wits, "You do know that leaving a store without paying is stealing, right? And that stealing is a crime? Listen, I don't like arresting women as beautiful as you, but I'm going to need you to come down to the station with-"

This was it, this was your only chance. As the man turned his body slightly, reaching over to grab his handcuffs, you mustered up enough strength to jump up off the ground. As soon as your paws touched the dry earth you darted towards the wooden crates. You knew that this would likely threaten the only reliable entrance you had to Konoha, but there were no other options right now.

"Alright, princess, it's time to come with me-" the man exhaled exasperatedly, "COME ON, NOT AGAIN!" The anger in the man's voice was palpable, but you didn't let that deter your escape.

By the time the man had noticed your hurried departure you were already squeezing your body through the small gap under the wall. As your body wiggled to the other side you heard a loud crashing sound coupled with an irritated groan. You felt a hand try to grasp your tail, the calloused fingertips gripping onto a few long strands before pulling back with an enormous amount of force. An unfortunate but minor casualty, hopefully those few strands of fur would be the only loss today.

You wriggle your body through the makeshift tunnel, front paws clawing at the dusty ground in a hurried frenzy. After you've succeeded in pulling yourself out of the burrow, you immediately begin sprinting as fast as your tired body will take you. Muffled sounds of aggravation fade into the distance, replaced by the racing thoughts that intensify with every step you take.

I really hope I'm not too late, you think to yourself. Flashbacks from earlier today flood your mind, making your vision hazy. These haunting hallucinations aren't doing you any favors, but the closer you get to Kōtarō, the more intrusive these recollections become. You can feel your paws quivering, making your stride unsteady, but you force yourself to carry on.

So much blood. So red. The deepest and most oppressive red you'd ever seen.

The trees and bushes around you began to morph into a grotesque caricature, melting and mutating into a sea of aberrant crimson shapes. The scenery begins to make no sense, the contours of the landscape wrap in unnatural ways all across your field of vision. Your body feels as if it's moving through a vat of congealed molasses, each step becomes an onerous, almost insurmountable task.

The delirium overtaking your psyche slackens your pace to that of a staggered crawl. You lurch forward while bracing yourself on a nearby tree, you trip on some sort of unseen object, nearly capsizing in the process. The world around you begins twisting and spinning, and you stumble to the ground as you're overcome by an intense bout of vertigo.

"Hey, wait up!" The words sound so muffled, so far away and yet...

"I know you're over here, princess." The familiar yet austere timbre cuts through the crimson vortex swirling around you. "Don't think you can escape from Konoha's number one tracker."

The loud thud of someone landing right next to you startles you, but also serves as an anchor for your psyche. The scarlet-tinted penitentiary you found yourself trapped in begins to dissipate as you slowly look up to see the frustrated man shaking his head at you in disbelief.

"Listen here," he chastised in a harsh tone, "I don't want to do this any more than you do. But you can't just shoplift right in front of a police officer and expect me to look the other way. Kōtarō wouldn't let me hear the end of it if he saw what happened today."

Kōtarō.

Hearing that name dispels the trance that's been holding you captive. You shake your head a little as you steadily raise yourself from the ground, your frenzied panting slowing to a more normalized pace. You look up at the man admonishing you with an appreciative glance.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?" The man's voice is growing more agitated by the second, but there's no time to waste.

"I'm s-sorry," you stutter as you stand up on your hind legs, preparing yourself for one final transformation, "I'll explain everything later, I promise. I just have something I need to do first."

"Don't think I'll let you get away a third time. I won't-" the man's sentence cuts off as his jaw drops, a wave of bewilderment crashing over him.

And why wouldn't he be awestruck? You were equally as mystified the first time you witnessed the woeful yet magnificent transformation sequence.

Unlike a ninjutsu, there were no flashy hand signs or theatrics to accompany this transmogrification. The thick fur that once covered your entire body recessed, and the pale flesh underneath shone as it reflected the harsh wavelengths beating down on you from above. The juxtaposition of the man's sun-kissed skin with your pallid, moon-embraced skin was quite the stark difference to behold.

The sweltering but familiar pain associated with your transformation was positively excruciating today. Maybe it was because of the merciless onslaught of warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. Maybe it was because this was the fourth time in a day you'd shifted. Or perhaps it was because of your nervous system overload, spurred on by the extreme stress of the situation you found yourself in. Whatever the reason, it sure wasn't helping to have a witness to the heinous sin you were committing. Your entire entity was an affront to humanity. A paradoxical creation that should by all means, not exist in reality.

Before the burning in your bones could abate fully, you hurriedly reached into the bag strapped onto your back, rummaging for the wares you had swiped from the pet store. There was no time to take your satchel off and give it a thorough search. With intuition as a guide, you felt around in the bag, moving the supplies you needed most to the top of the pile. The unmistakable feel of the plastic pill bottle and the distinct rattling noise it made when you shook it afforded you a small comfort. Your preparations were now complete.

You were fairly close to your destination by now. You could smell the virulent odors that portended a gruesome truth, a harbinger of death that you were, unfortunately, very well acquainted with. Coexistence with humans always led to this outcome, without fail.

As you drew closer to Kōtarō's scent you noticed a glimmering sparkle next to some nearby bushes. Upon further inspection you recognize the familiar tattered pouch, its strained fibers taut from the weight of the shimmering coins inside. With one swift motion you reach down to grab the bag and then toss it towards the dumbfounded man who has been standing silently in place throughout the duration of your spectacle, without a doubt too astonished to make a move.

"That's what you wanted, right?" you ask, looking back over your shoulder for confirmation. "Well as you can see, or rather smell, I've got more important things to deal with right now. Just take the whole goddamn bag and leave me be, leave us be."

The man was too stunned to even catch the bag you so deftly threw in his direction. Instead it lay on the ground, coins spilling out onto the dirt in a haphazard fashion.

"Wait, miss. Please," the man broke his silence, rasping out his words in an uneven tone, "Let me help."

"Help?" you scoff while turning your body away fully. "That's rich coming from a man who tried to arrest me twice in one day. I don't need your help. We don't need you. So just take your savior complex and shove it up your-"

"Listen, miss," the man pleads as he walks towards you, "I might not be an observational genius like Shikamaru, but I do know a crime scene when I see one. And this," he mutters as he scans the surrounding area with a scrutinizing gaze, "is about as textbook as they get."

You could sense his persistence by the inflections in and tone of his voice. Every second spent arguing with him was a waste of precious time.

"Fine," you reluctantly concede. "You can follow me, but absolutely no touching anything. If I sense even a shred of ill intent, I won't hesitate to shred you into pieces." You flash your devilishly long nails in his general direction while you continue on your way.

An audible gulp followed by a succinct "Yes, ma'am," were the only things to leave the man's lips as he follows you through the thorny thickets.

You spryly weave through the underbrush, the only remaining obstacle standing between you and Kōtarō, with the man following closely behind you. As you emerge through the final bushes you're greeted with a smell that triggers the phantoms of your sordid past to claw their way to the surface once more.

They don't materialize fully though because you feel a brawny hand rest on your shoulder. "Hey," a voice calls out to you. The reverberating baritone keeping the spectres at bay.

"I know I agreed to not touch, but you look like you've seen a ghost, miss."

A quick shudder passes through your entire body, chasing the shadows of the past away, and the world regains its colorful luster once more. For the first time in years, perhaps even decades, you were grateful that there was a human by your side.

"I'll forgive you. This time," you meekly chirp out while taking the final steps towards your friend, hiding your flushed face from the man. "But don't press your luck. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a friend to save."

You squat down next to the mangled body of your beloved kin. The young pup that you'd instructed to keep pressure on the wound was still in the same position as before. This time, you think to yourself, I'm going to save him.

You reach into your satchel and pull out the pill bottle along with the gauze and medical tape. Sure, there were other equivalents to the bandages and adhesives that humans used, but there was just something about these strange, oblong pills that you couldn't replicate no matter how many medicinal plants you gathered.

"You did an amazing job, Hana. Now let me take over," your voice has a softness to it that lightens the mood, reassuring the bright-eyed whelp at your side while also setting your own nerves at ease.

As the pup moves over you take their position, putting a steady amount of pressure over the wound on your friend's leg with one hand. You rip open the package of gauze by using your sharpened nails, hastily pulling out a clump of bandages with the same swift motion. You then lift up your hand covering Kōtarō's wound so that you can place a copious amount of gauze in the area.

Now comes the tricky part.

You have to unfurl the medical tape with one hand while keeping pressure on Kōtarō's leg with the other. The unforgiving stickiness of the tape proves to be quite a formidable opponent for you today. As you struggle with the accursed adhesive, your impertinent spectator shares a proposition that would have enraged you if this tape wasn't already the focal point of your ire.

"You need some help there, princess?" You easily detect the conspicuous undertones of self-assured smugness in the timbre of his voice.

Me? Get help from a human? And why the heck does he keep calling me "princess"? You were disgusted with yourself, but you knew that if there was any situation where you should swallow your pride, this was it.

"Fine, I'll allow it," you spit out in exasperation.

"What was that? I couldn't quite catch what you said," a cheeky grin was forming on the man's face now as he held a hand up to his ear.

Absolutely. Infuriating. This is why you swore off talking with humans. If the situation wasn't so dire you would have slapped that cocky smile right off his gorgeous face. Where does he get off talking to you like that? Wait, gorgeous? How long has it been now since you've found a human genuinely attractive? Nevermind, you have more important things to do.

"You can help," the words meekly escaped your lips. Gone were the twangs of indignation, replaced instead with a humble submissiveness. You knew when to acquiesce. There was no way you'd be able to fix up your friend if you stubbornly held onto your pride.

"Come again? I can help? I guess I technically can," at this point he was practically jeering at you. "Now what do we say when we ask someone for something?"

The incessant taunting was driving you crazy. Your thin veneer of bravado crumbles under the weight of his gibes. You find yourself powerless against the barrage of quips, frustration growing at yourself due to your inability to shoot back an equally sassy retort. 

"Can you..." the words were almost trapped in your throat, stifled by the fragile remnants of your bruised ego, "please help?"

"Alright, alright. I've had my fun," the man replied, his expression changing from jovial to serious as he continued on, "I'll handle cutting the medical tape, so you can just focus on keeping up the pressure on the wound."

You nod your head tacitly as you hand over the roll of tape to the man, your full focus now on Kōtarō. Before you know it, the sticky strands are partitioned off and are ready to secure the tightly packed gauze covering Kōtarō's laceration. After a cursory check to make sure the segments would fully wrap around his leg, you thoroughly patted down the tape in order to affix it.

Good, you thought to yourself, only one thing left to do.

You gingerly reach into your satchel and grab the bottle of pills, the glorious ambrosia of the gods that cured many an ailment. You didn't know what exactly was in those curious capsules, but you did know that they were a most reputable remedy that saved your clan members' lives numerous times over the years.

You shake out a few tablets into your hand.

"So those are the pills that cost more than a steak dinner for two?"

You'd almost forgotten that you had an audience today, and a boisterous one at that. As you lift your companion's head up and gently place the medication into his mouth, you look to your left to see this veritable enigma of a man flash you the most audacious smirk you'd ever seen. 

"I guess that means I owe you dinner," you were surprised by how brazen and unabashed your words flowed out, "I always pay back my debts."

"It's a date then," a brilliant smile emanating out towards you, a gleaming radiance that comforts your weary nerves, "but, I do think you owe me some sort of explanation first."

And there it is. You let out a heavy sigh as you tenderly comb through the knotted hairs on Kōtarō's head with your fingernails, his body resting comfortably in your lap.

"Sure, let me just get him home first. He's had a very long day." You raise your eyes to meet the steely gaze of the stranger whose name you still don't know.

"Of course, but before you go, my princess," the man implored as he reached out to grab your hand, "can you at least answer one question for me?"

My princess? There he goes again, calling you princess. And what nerve to insinuate that you belong to him. You would normally be furious at the implication that you belonged to someone else, let alone a human, but there was just something about his complete disregard for decorum that ignited your carnal desires. Maybe it was because he reminded you of your old alpha, but no wait what are you thinking? There's no way a human could ever be your superior. That was inconceivable.

"Yes?" you answer in a perplexed tone, lost at sea in the endless ocean of your own thoughts, "What is it you want to know, mister...uh.."

"Kiba," he interjects abruptly, "My name's Kiba Inuzuka."

"Kiba Inuzuka," you repeat to yourself, commiting the name to memory. "So what is it you want to know, mister Inuzuka?"

"You can just call me by my first name, y'know. I don't mind," he responded while covering part of his flushed face with his hand, trying hard to obscure the fact that he was turning beet red. "So what's your name? Unless you don't mind me referring to you as my prin-"

"Izumi," you blurted out before he could finish his sentence. "Call me Izumi."

"Izumi, huh?" he looked off into the distance while still concealing part of his face with his hand. "What a pretty name. It's a pleasure to meet you, miss Izumi."

"Charmed, I'm sure," you say matter-of-factly. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat longer, but I have some pups I need to escort back home. I promise I'll be back as soon as they're safely settled in and squared away. Wolf's honor." 

As you beckon Hana and carefully lift Kōtarō's feeble body off the ground you give Kiba a subtle nod, an implied promise of reunion, before setting off.

"I'll be waiting for you with bated breath, my princess Izumi," Kiba whispered to himself while watching the silhouette of your delicate figure slowly fade into the distance.

You'd be positively livid if you weren't so preoccupied. How dare he call you his princess again?

----- TO BE CONTINUED -----

PART THREE

[technicolorfamiliar]

Technicolor Familiar Watches Too Many Conrad Veidt Movies Part 2 of ?

(More on what this is all about in Part 1)

Disclaimer: I think I get into more plot spoilers here than I did in my last post, incase that matters to any interested parties reading this.

We're getting into the titles where I mostly went in cold, no expectations or even general ideas of what these movies were about beyond brief descriptions on IMDB or Letterboxd.

Oh and, Disclaimer #2: If the creators/editors/scanners of any images used see their work here, please let me know so I can give you proper credit! 🖤

The Thief of Bagdad, 1940 Dir. Ludwig Berger, Zoltan Korda, Tim Whelan, Michael Powell, William Cameron Menzies ⭐2/5 Watched Oct 24, Max Ehhh, I don't know. A lot of people really love this movie. I did not particularly enjoy really anything about it. Sure, it's a groundbreaking technological marvel that set the standard for a lot of future fantasy films. But the story is messy in a way that couldn't be rectified by Movie Magic. All those directors probably account for some of the problems there, but I haven't done a ton of research into the making of the film (what is it with large scale, big budget movies made around this time all having multiple directors?). And, I have to say, putting white actors in brown face is always a tough sell. The third act was partially saved by Sabu and Rex Ingram, two actors of color, having some extended screen time, but only just barely. And frankly, I think Connie, although absolutely glorious in Technicolor, was largely wasted on this one.

Der Student von Prague (The Student of Prague), 1926 Dir. Henrik Galeen ⭐4/5 Watched Oct 29, Archive.org Poor Balduin. All he wanted was a hot, rich girlfriend and what did he get? His evil double chasing him around Prague like Michael Myers. I really loved the old school mirror effects and filming tricks. The updated score in the version I watched was pretty good, too. The final act was excellent. The suspense, the build up -- it's all so well-crafted. And an excellent bridge between high German Expressionism and dramatic period romance. We love to see Connie as the tormented romantic hero. Especially when he's giving face, he's giving eyes, he's giving shapes. I'm having a hard time finding anything negative to say about this one. My only gripe is that it's just a little long, could have had maybe 20 - 30 minutes chopped off (but which 20 - 30 min I could not say).

The Passing of the Third Floor Back, 1935 Dir. Berthold Viertel ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 1, Archive.org This film... it's timeless, actually. I may be a grumpy old so-and-so, but stories where one kind and gentle character comes in and leaves a lasting influence on a bunch of deeply flawed or even outright awful people always get me. For some reason, this is the first of Connie's films from the 1930s on my watch list. Not sure what took me so long, but I was really pleasantly taken aback by his delicately nuanced and subdued performance here. His measured gestures and restraint are so great in this film, and so appropriate for the character. I really appreciate the way the Stranger takes time to consider and see the folks at the boarding house in a way they're clearly not seeing each other. I also love that there's not a lot of exposition or explanation like there usually is in similar pictures: Why is the Stranger there? Who/what is he? Where did he come from? The audience kind of gets an answer at the end, but ultimately nothing more than what we're given matters and wouldn't affect the story anyway.

The Last Performance, 1929 Dir. Paul Fejos ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 4, Youtube Gooped and gagged! Somehow we go from adding a fourth to Erik's polycule to MURDER? I'm so mad so much footage (and a voiceover??) was lost. Can we please talk about the big bisexual energy Connie has in this movie, maybe more than any other film on my list so far? From how he physically handles his costars to how he's styled with the heavy makeup, the tails, the dressing gown, it was a lot to take in, and I am living for it. I'm realizing that, as a performer, he really is a master technician, somehow without anything he's doing on screen coming off as inauthentic or too studied, without "showing the work." Erik's face journey when he kisses Julie's hand and wishes her all the best with Mark is worth watching the whole movie for.

Dark Journey, 1937 Dir. Victor Saville ⭐3/5 Watched Nov 12, Youtube Please believe me when I say I really tried very hard to pay attention to the plot of this movie. But it was extremely difficult as I nearly swallowed my tongue because of how stupidly attractive Connie is as Von Marwitz. He's charming, intense, vulnerable. He really has the range, darling. He's kind of using his lower vocal register a bit which apparently does things to me. (Sorry for all the parentheses in this post, but I was shocked years ago when I saw Casablanca and heard that voice come out of that person. It… it does not go. He's like a early 20th century German Jeremy Irons and I guess I half expected him to sound like that too.) Also, I wasn't into monocles before. I am now. So I have to apologize, I know I said I was going to keep the thirst posts to a minimum but can you blame me? Really? But uh, the movie itself? The story is fine, the script is just ok. There's lots of eye candy with the production design. Vivienne Leigh is doing Vivienne Leigh. And she got that man, so good for her I guess.

Part 3 is going to be all over the place in terms of genre and tone, so we'll see how that goes as I piece together all the stuff I wrote.

[that-darn-clown]

Going thru web archive and found this. Made me profoundly proud to have this special interest

Plain text under cut

Our emotional state is ecstasy.

Our nourishment of choice is love.

Our addiction of choice is technology.

Our religion of choice is music.

Our currency of choice is knowledge.

Our politics of choice is none.

Our society of choice is utopian.

You may hate us.

You may dismiss us.

You may misunderstand us.

You may be unaware that we exist.

We can only hope you do not care to judge us because we would never judge you.

We are no criminals.

We are not disillusioned.

We are not drug addicts.

We are not naïve children.

We are one massive, global, tribal village that transcends man-made law, physical geography, and time itself.

We are The Massive: One Massive.

We were first drawn by the sound. From far away the thunderous, muffled, echoing beat was comparable to a mothers heart soothing a child in her womb of concrete, steel, and electrical wiring. We were drawn back into this womb, and there, in the heat, dampness, and darkness of it, we came to accept that we are all the same. We came to accept that we are all equal. Not only to the darkness, and to ourselves, but to the very music slamming into us and passing through our souls: and somewhere around 35Hz, we could feel the hand of God at our backs pushing us forward, pushing us to push ourselves to strengthen our minds, bodies, and spirits. Pushing us to turn to the person beside us to join hands and uplift them by sharing the uncontrollable joy we felt from creating this magical bubble that can, for one evening, protect us from the horrors, atrocities and pollution of the outside world. It is in that very instant with these very realizations that each of us is truly born. We continue to pack ourselves into clubs, warehouses, or buildings youve abandoned and left for naught, and we bring life to them for one night; strong, throbbing, vibrant life in its purest, most intense, most hedonistic form. In these makeshift soaves, we seek to shed ourselves of the burden of uncertainty for a future you have been unable to stabilize and secure for us. We seek to relinquish our inhibitions and free ourselves from the shackles and restraints that youve put on us for your own peace of mind.

We seek to re-write the programming that you have tried to indoctrinate us with since the moment we were born. Programming telling us to hate, that tells us to judge, that tells us to stuff ourselves with the nearest most convinant pigeonhole possible. Programming that even tells us to climb the ladders, jump through the hoops, and run through the mazes for you. Programming that tells us to eat from the silver spoon that you are trying to feed us with, instead of nourishing ourselves with our own capable hands. Programming that tells us to close our minds, instead of opening them!

Until the sun raises to burn our eyes by revealing the distorted reality of the world youve created for us, we dance fiercely with our brothers and sisters in celebration of our life, of our culture, and of the values we believe in: Peace, Love, Freedom, Tolerance, Unity, Harmony, Expression, Responsibility, and Respect.

Our Enemy of choice is ignorance.

Our weapon of choice is information.

Our crime of choice is breaking and challenging whatever laws you feel you need to put in our place to stop us from celebrating our existence.

But know that while you may shut down any given party, on any given night, in ant given city, in and given country or continent on this beautiful planet, you can never shut down the entire party. You dont have access to that switch no matter what you think.

The Music will never stop - The Heartbeat will never fade - The Party will never end.

I am a Raver, and this is my Manifesto.

[vote-gaara]

I'm no art major so I might have a hard time explaining what I mean...But tbh I just miss Kishimoto's old art style, especially in the first couple volumes.

It just felt like the characters were less "boxed in" and ridged, as if they had to compete with the background detail to be eye catching? Like it felt as though the characters had a story going on, but you could look passed them and see the details of their environment and make up your own implications about what else is going on around the people you're supposed to be "watching?"

It was so easy to gleam details about the world, and realize that all the settings in the series are a living, breathing place where you - the reader - are just following one of the numerous other stories that are going on at the exact same time.

Then you can make headcanons about technology, locations and different citizens cause the details are right there.

It made it feel that the characters weren't just rooted in their surroundings, but like the environment itself was a character that was worthy of appreciation and interest. Like all the details Kishimoto put in those beginning volumes made me legitimately care about Konoha, and made me feel like I had a personal stake in it.

Like why should I care about some dumb fictional village? Just because the main character cares about it?

Oh, actually it's because it's because it's freaking gorgeous and looks like a place that I want to go visit.

And honestly, even something as mundane and simple as a salt shaker on a table while Naruto is eating with Iruka in Chapter 1 is so visually appealing...It mean that Kishimoto cared enough about his settings to show you - to remind you - that this is a setting that exists somewhere. This place is important. It's worthy of detail and care because there's a whole other layer of world building behind the conversation Naruto and Iruka are having. It's just honestly so blessed and I love it.

Plus, I enjoyed how dialogue wasn't always hard lined into textboxes. I miss when someone was thinking something and it was small little words beside their head, or the words bent or warped based on how the character was supposed to be saying them. It was more charming and made me feel for Naruto and the other characters because sometimes saying something legit feels like there's weight to them, or they quiver a bit, or they're under your breath, or...

This kinda became a rant, but yeah...I'm missing that old style and the love Kishimoto put into the very early days of Naruto. I also want to add that I'm not knocking the later style, because it is still a really appealing manga to look at, but it's just not as charming as it used to be. Plus, I understand how style changes based on how technology is utilized by artists, and I understand that Kishimoto had a lot of crazy time restraints when Naruto was coming out weekly. I don't blame him for not putting as much detail and thought into the background as he used to...even though I did get bored of seeing rock and barren landscape in the war arc (lol).

I guess I'm just glad that I can go back to those original volumes and embrace those gritty, charming and breath takingly detailed settlings that went hand and hand with the characters in making me love this series, and reminded me that this fictional place is something to care about and explore.