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steviestits · 7 months ago

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WIP Wednesday - Fic Naming

So, this was supposed to be posted last Wednesday, but well, you guys saw the anon. Anyway, I know it's usually you give me a title and I make up a story to go with it, but I suck at thinking up cool titles, so I thought I'd do a reverse of that game. I'll describe my fics, and you guys send in a title that you think will fit it. Or you can just send words of encouragement if you're as stumped as me.

All of these are ones that have their first chapters finished or are close to being finished. I thought I'd maybe attempt to post a bunch after my birthday. I think I might be slightly less busy then? Though, i feel like I'm jinxing myself by saying that.

And before I forget, WARNING! Dark shit is listed below! Expand the post only if you're into that sort of thing!

Addams Family Values AU - Everything that happened in the Addams Family Values movie happened exactly the same way except that Debbie/Steve lives and it's set in the omegaverse. Argyle is Eddie's adoptive brother and is married to Jonathan. El and Will are Wednesday and Pugsley. The Party are a combination of Joel. While Hopper and Joyce are Lurch and Granny. Eddie is a bit worried that his relationship with his mate will go stale if Steve keeps up these passionate murder attempts, so Argyle helps him think of a way to get him to settle down, which is to get Steve pregnant.

Canon Real DnD - Basically, anything that Eddie makes happen in his campaign happens in real life. It takes place pre-s4 then moves on through s4, but instead of Vecna, Eddie is using his author stand-in as the main villain and in turn grows more powerful. He, of course, abuses this power to make Steve into a blushing virgin who wants Eddie to fuck him and at one point, Eddie proceeds to feminize Steve. I want Steve to get pregnant at some point because of the campaign, I think, but right now, it's just something that's in the planning stages of the later chapters.

Cyberpunk Bitching Drugs - This one is one of the fantasy prompts that I'm expanding on. The cyber network in it isn't science-based and instead runs on magitech (my favorite kind of tech). In this, Eddie runs a pharmaceutical company that produces drugs/potions to help with omega and alpha medical problems. Eddie tricks his intern Dustin into giving Steve something that is supposed to help with his worsening ruts but in reality bitches Steve then Eddie gets him pregnant. There's also some light brainwashing as Eddie uses subliminal messages to manipulate Steve into thinking that he needs help with his ruts in the first place. Going try to get this to go through Steve's pregnancy, so it won't be a one-shot like System Hacked was.

Dark God Cult AU - When he was a kid, Steve was kidnapped and brought up in a cult where he was to be with Eddie (the reincarnation of a dark forest god) before the cops found him and brought him back to this parents. Years later, Steve goes on a camping trip with a couple of friends near where the cult compound used to be and one by one those on the camping trip start being ritualistically murdered. While the murders are happening, Steve begins having visions of himself as a pregnant goddess who makes love with an eldritch abomination aka Eddie. Heavily inspired by the Blair Witch Project, though there are some other horror movies in the mix, too. This one will definitely have a murder husbands vibe by the end of it.

Lost Boys Mermaid AU - The movie Lost Boys, except with mermaids. Steve is brought with his parents when they go out of town for business then they promptly ignore him and go to do their work. As he's wandering around, Steve comes across a supposed metal band, Corroded Coffin, and their lead singer, Eddie, becomes particularly enthralled with Steve, so much so that he begins turning Steve into a mer and his mate. Though, it does branch off from the movie in that, unlike David, Eddie succeeds in making Steve his mermaid bride and bringing him into his murderous pod.

Mummy (1999) AU - Based on the movie The Mummy (obviously) and has Steve as a former archeologist, who tanked his career after returning scarred from the horrors he saw when he was drafted into the Great War (WWI) and now more focuses on drowning himself to forget while attempting to help boost Robin's, his adoptive sister's, career. Nicknamed "King Steve" by some of the bars he frequently visits. Eddie is a Medjai warrior, who let a French Foreign Legion soldier go, not expecting her to survive the harsh desert. Nancy defied his expectations, and now Eddie must fix his mistake before the mummy that his people have guarded for centuries is released. There's also a small soulmates au plotline buried in it between Eddie and Steve due to me working the events of the Mummy Returns into the plot.

Omega Transmigration - Loosely, and I mean LOOSELY based on the show Outlander (which I've never seen). Omega Steve gets sent back through time and space to a medieval world where magic is real and elves are rebelling against their human oppressors. After helping an Elven boy with his modern day medical techniques, due to him being an EMT, Steve is brought directly into the stronghold of the elves. The leader there, Wayne, doesn't believe that Steve's intentions were altruistic and wants to have Steve hanged as a spy regardless. Eddie steps in and claims Steve is his true mate. Steve then goes through a process that turns him into a beautiful Elven omega and directly ties his fate to that of the Elven clan's. This one probably won't be that dark and will more follow Steve's struggle to fit in with the clan along with the war with the humans itself.

Omega Rehab - Uses a Victorian Clockwork Punk setting where Steve's parents are traditionalists. After getting into a few fights with alpha and running out of etiquette schools, Steve's parents convince him to try one last place before they leave him alone for the rest of his life, which is the Munson Omega Rehabilitation Center. Steve goes, believing that it will be more of the same, but the Munson Center has a different, more "scientific" way of rehabilitating the omegas that are sent to them. Eddie, of course, personally takes charge of Steve's training to turn him into the perfect little omega, who will happily carry the pups of his alpha without complaint. This one includes Steve training with mechanical sex dolls like in HoLN.

Pet Succubus AU - Steve comes from a family of witches who used demons to power their way of life. The higher up demons finally caught onto their schemes and slaughtered most of the family. Eddie took Steve as a pet, transforming him to have a woman's body before training him by way of fucking machine to become a sex addict. Once Steve is trained, Eddie turns Steve into a succubus and shows off his pretty little pet every chance he gets, keeping the new demoness stuffed full and satisfied. There isn't a lot of plot to this one, just more of an excuse to write extended scenes of Steve being trained by a machine as Eddie watches.

Royal Hypnotism AU - Someone called me a sick fuck over the original prompt, so I decided to make this one worthy of the name-calling. Set in a futuristic magitech society, King Eddie comes across Steve's small village and falls for him. He secretly buys Steve from his family and takes him with him to the summit where he's meeting his friends and fellow kings to discuss what's going on in their kingdoms. In Gareth's kingdom, where they're meeting, there's been some small rebellions, but Gareth stopped them by kidnapping the leaders and putting them through a feminization facility/factory and hypnotizing them in order to rewrite their memories. He proposes to send Steve through with the next batch and turn him into Grant's sister. Eddie agrees, and Steve is turned into a princess.

Time Travel AU - Redoing this one slightly, but I'm going to put it on the list anyway. What's different from when I first posted the snippet is that Steve is going to be feminized due to the portal that sends him back to the 80's. One, to make it more understandable why Steve doesn't recognize himself before he goes to the past. Then two, so that Eddie can get him pregnant, because I like getting Steve pregnant. Plot is the same though, Dustin sends Steve back in time to be the big sibling he always wanted and Eddie seduces Steve so that he marries him and stays in the past as a woman to become his wife and the mother of his children. Eddie might go a little darker than simply seducing Steve, but we'll see how it goes as I get through more chapters of the story.

Upside Down Transformation - In this one, everything that happened in s4 happened, only difference is that Eddie survived and Vecna is perma dead. They all return to their normal lives when Eddie notices that he's slowly changing, getting taller and stronger. His dick is getting bigger and thicker, too. He notices, also, that Steve is changing, too, but doesn't realize that it's to a different extent. Steve is humiliated to find out that he's going through the opposite kind of transformation, becoming more feminized. He tries to isolate himself, but Eddie barges in on him and catches Steve masturbating with his new pussy. The two fuck. They're basically the equivalent of alphas and omegas because of their bat bites and are the only ones in the world. I kind of plan to make it just a porny one-shot, but then because it's set in canon, my brain wants the government to capture them and experiment on them. So, it'll probably be a series, maybe, if this one receives positive feedback once it's posted.

#show: stranger things #steddie #my fics #dead dove do not eat #wip wednesday #see! i do know the days of the week!#fic naming

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welcometogrouchland · 8 months ago

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May I ask about your Jason Todd idea? <3

Hm, okay so. How to lay this out sensitively since I know it might be a tad controversial...

Prefacing by saying I'm not an expert on the minutias of Jason characterization. I like him when he appears, I think the battle for the cowl/Morrison era and some parts of modern era for him are Weird and Bad, but I'm not Jason scholar (for that I'd say maybe check out @/tumblingxelian and their great video essays), I'm just trying to think of what might be an interesting step forward for him.

First, the canon facts

Jason got lobotomized and has panic disorder on steroids. By the end of Gotham War (specifically when Jason was. Flying the batplane into the asteroid. God I can't believe that's the plot) he was finding it in himself to power through said panics

In Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing #12, the joker gives Jason a "low dose" of joker venom, which has an ambiguous effect on Jason, allowing him to power through the fear (which joker explicitly states is still very much present, just not physically debilitating, like when Jason couldn't run over in either Catwoman #57 or #58, the one with the kid in the building) even though he'd been able to do that sans venom over in Gotham War, like I previously stated.

The effect of said joker venom seems to be lingering for now, minus the creepy grin side effect it gave Jason over in that man who stopped laughing issue, as seen in the latest batman issue (number is escaping me rn, #147??). He still has the stutter which is a shorthand for fear, he's drawn with fearful expressions by Jorge Jimenez, but he says that he's "working through it" thanks to the chemicals

This is both super interesting and kind of maddening as it doesn't completely remove the consequences of what happened in Gotham War, but is trying to sweep them under the rug and get back to business as usual. I, however, propose making said consequences front and center like a fashionable urn on a mantle piece:

Since it's never stated how exactly the joker venom works, and I think the current answer is "it works how the story needs it to" I've decided that because it's a low dose, it eventually wears off. And when it wears off, Jason's back to square one in terms of mental state. Ergo, if Jason doesn't want to live the rest of his life as quaking shivering husk of his former self...he's going to need more.

(read more for the meat of things)

So, Jason self medicates for a condition given to him by the father he has endlessly complicated feelings towards with a cure invented by a man who represents everything he hates in the world who once tried to take everything from him.

Which, insert poetic cinema gif here, I'm quite proud of myself for that one.

Anyway, there's a lot of directions you could take this. Personally I think it'd be interesting to explore Jason trying to get back into the drug trade like he did in UTRH (FULL TRANSPARENCY I HAVEN'T READ THE FULL COMIC, I KNOW BROADSTROKES BUT IM NOT GONNA TRY AND MAKE PARALLELS) as he tries to use the resources (production plants and other drug runners who can hook him up with samples of joker toxin/similar stuff you can probably find around Gotham) to manufacture his own cure that means never having to go back to the joker again. Maybe he ambushes a joker toxin chemical production plant to get his own supply, and then Jason uses this as his foothold back into that world.

This isn't necessarily me saying we should regress Jason alll the way back to UTRH, that was before his anti-hero era and I'm not willing to fully shoot him back into the past. I just think that's not how you tell good stories in a medium like comics. But it'd inherently be a little different just bc he's doing it for different, slightly more self motivated (depending on your take on villain Jason) reasons and the people around him would have a different reaction to it.

Anyway, all sorts of problems can arise! Depending on how you wanna characterize Jason (wayward son who longs to be back in the fold or black sheep who doesn't play by daddy's rules, etc) he can either a) try and hide this criminal enterprise from his giant family full of nosy detectives (good idea there jay) OR do it out in the open, trying to justify himself but still putting himself on the opposite side of the family again (not the law bc that boy hasn't been on the 'right' side of it since he died)

There's also the fact that Jason now needs to take something 24/7 in order to live his life. He essentially can't be without it, he's dependent on it, in fact he'd get sick without it despite any adverse effects it may have on him (which are guaranteed, I mean. No clinical trials)

I imagine it'd be easy to become addicted to it in some way.

And uh. This is the part where it works slightly better as a fanfic pitch than an actual comic pitch. Because as much as I think it'd be such an interesting beat for Jason's character considering his fraught history with addiction and drugs (looks away from that one urban legends story where he suggests terrorising addicts to get to the suppliers and bruce lectures him. The easiest way to make Mr "we don't sell drugs to children" sympathetic and you beefed it)

I also fully recognise that this is a sensitive topic that DC doesn't have the best track record with (although addicts aren't a monolith and feel a number of ways about addictions portrayals in comics) and that there's probably some pitfalls inherent in the premise, namely bc of Jason's background as an impoverished kid and his grey morality, and how those play into stereotypes of addicts. Addiction is already such a misunderstood and stigmatized condition that I imagine playing with it with an antihero might be enough to turn some people off. Addiction is not a moral failing and I'd hate to write it as a moral failing of Jason akin to his willingness to kill, etc.

But with all that said, I think that stereotypes are primarily harmful because of their shallowness. They inhibit understanding of groups labeled "other" by presenting them in simplistic ways that don't portray richness or complexity. And I think a truly good red hood comic could give both sympathy and complexity to Jason, even as an addict. If anything, Jason is a popular character (mostly) and there could be something nice about seeing a main character go through what you're going through, gritty details and all. YMMV (can we bring that back btw?) and it depends on execution. There's a lot of ways it could go wrong, but seeing as it just lives as a hypothetical rn, I think there's also a lot of ways it could go. I mean, not right, it's a downer story beat for Jason but it's mostly meant to be interesting and a vehicle for more stories as Jason navigates it, ya know?

Anyway, I have a lot of spiels littered in my notes app and discord DMs that elaborate on all this (how this could work as act 1 in a broader Jason story where his little operation goes to shit and he has to hit the road (jack) and maybe do some character development for better or worse. I'm a sucker and wanna say better- not squeaky clean better but. Yknow, finding himself to an extent. I recognise I'm a sap and a fool tho. Or how a new outlaws team could factor into either of those eras (since I do like Jason with an outlaws team. It gives him an excuse to exercise his compelling relationships and dynamics with other characters without having to constantly tip-toe around the elephant in the room whenever he's with the batfamily all the time. He just needs a good lineup) but that's all for another time

... though without elaborating on the vision in my head it kind of just sounds like my pitch is "Jason gets addicted to his hyper-anxiety medication" BUT I SWEAR ITS MORE THAN THAT.

It's like. If Jason has struggled as a character (and this is very subjective on my part so feel free to disagree) because he has compelling relationships with all of the batfamily, but also has compelling grey morality that makes it hard to capitalize on those relationships, without the conflict always coming to "Jason stop killing!" "Nuh uh!" OR just being ignored, and the main way writers have addressed this is via reboots instead of arcs...

Then giving Jason and the bats:

real, legitimate and fresh reason for jay to be mad at Bruce (taking their relationship of love with very little understanding to it's most dramatic conclusion)

give the family a real reason to want to bring him back into the fold (feel bad about the lobotomy and it would be pretty immoral to let Jason waste away slowly and painfully because of something Bruce did)

capitalize on all the ways Jason is sympathetic (bc the addiction is a natural lead into his backstory, which is one of his most sympathetic elements)

And the ways in which he's very out of step with the bats post-resurrection (I'd be mad asf too if i came back to life just for my dad to a) not avenge me and b) LOBOTOMIZE ME meanwhile the cunt ass clown giving me my meds is just lurking out there).

Idk it's not a sophisticated pitch as of this moment but I think a real chef (writer) could cook something w/ this

#ramblings of a lunatic #do i maintag this #uhh #dc #that's enough i don't need to bother ppl with my brain dump #you made the mistake of asking /j #i hope it's not. too out of left field for what you were expecting? if you were expecting anything #this has just been rattling in my brain since i was venting about gotham war to a friend while sick a while ago #idk jasons a hot topic rn he's seemingly controversial atm but i think he's just some guy #he needs a little direction a little tlc like i said. but I've always found him interesting and i think this is at least an idea-#-for how to deal w/ jason post gotham war #tho who knows. with the new Summer Events on the horizon maybe jason will be rebooted again #and I'll go bald all at once like silver age lex luthor #not from chemicals in a lab accident but from stress at my ideas no longer having relevance #it happens more often than you'd think #the ideas thing. not me going bald. that's only sometimes #uhhh anyway hope this absolute behemoth text isn't too much. sorry i can't physically shut up #also ppl who know more about jason amd would like to say things (CONSTRUCTIVELY) on this post feel free!#(i say constructively because. I'm sensitive. mean comments make me cry)

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a-friend-of-mara · 9 months ago

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Hey uh

I'm leaving my mask at the door for a minute

If you enjoy the image of myself I put forward, the happy cheery autistic trans girl who doesn't dwell on her issues

Please just ignore this post

If you are uncomfortable with mentions of self harm, talking about non prescription drug addiction, suicide rates of trans kids

Please just go

Look

I say my biggest fear is that I'll be forgotten

It's easier than saying that I'm scared to death of myself

I'm worried I'll give up on life and stop eating... considering I can't gain or maintain weight I'd have a week before I was dead at the most

I'm afraid that I'll give up trying to look like the person I want to be rather than being stuck, trapped in a body that isn't mine but I'm wired up to like some sick torture method

I don't want to fall into drug use or self harm hoping that it'd pull me out of this pit of self hatred and hopelessness

I don't wanna be another tally mark on the trans suicide charts

I don't wanna die

I feel like I'm suffocating

That I can't move my legs... only the ones attached to me

I don't even know if I matter at this point

I just

I wanna be me

Not some false image that I was born with

Nobody understands how it is for me

My dad almost killed me with th fact he understood so little he put me into survival mode where I cared about nothing but staying alive because of how much damage his insistence that my body was in fact his son and not the cage that trapped his daughter

He used to have twins now he just has one kid with her twin sister... my sister

Now I live with my mom who doesn't understand, how could she? She's never wanted to tear her skin off because it wasn't hers... she understands how much I hurt though

She's able to see through my mask that I'm really suffering inside

Without her yall wouldn't have ever known I existed

You would've heard a news article of a trans kid who killed herself by diving off the balcony at her school although the media would misgender me.

I've almost done it

Sitting on the edge of a lethal drop fighting with myself to not do it

Not sure if I was lying when i told myself things would get better

I'm not sure if they are

Everything just keeps getting worse and worse

I can't even cry anymore

I don't care about so many things that I used to

I used to love

Then I was heartbroken

I used to care for my friends

Until I moved away

I used to enjoy helping others

Now I'm so tired I can't

Just

Fuck

It's kinda funny

How part of me thinks it's all my fault

How I'm not sure if it's something I did

But then I have to think

What could I possibly have done that'd make this torment justified?

How can any higher power exist when I've prayed to every God and Goddess I've ever learned of and not once has a goddam thing happened

How would a higher power let the world get this fucked up

Fuckin hell

My trans siblings are getting murdered for being themselves

Innocent people who live in unfortunate places are being killed because of stupid ass reasons

Fucking hell in America most people aren't free enough to take a month off work without becoming homeless

Decades of prejudice make people think women are weak and need defending but don't pay them well because... fuckin I don't know why!

It's pathetic that men get away with rape while women get away with false rape accusations usually destroying every relationship the man ever cared about

People look at others and treat them differently based on the color of their skin

YA KNOW HOW FUCKIN STUPID THAT IS?!

ITS DUMBER THAN PICKING ON SOMEONE WHO WORE A BLUE SHIRT PURELY BECAUSE OF THE SHIRT

What for?!

WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?!

The privilege to go through 12 to 20 years of school to earn the right to have to work a job I'll probably hate until I'm like 60?!

Right now I'm pretty sure my life is gonna end before I reach 30!

What's the fuckin point?!

America for fucks sake

The land of the free

Yeah free to work or die because the 0.01% run the fucking nation like their playground

People wonder why I've responded to hostility with hostility in the last 3 years

Simple

I've bottled my emotions for so long the bottles are all full

Yelling and ranting always make me feel a little better

If anyone comments on this negatively I hope you die in a vat of boiling vinegar and drown in the yolks of rotten eggs

That goes for all the phobic people too

If you made it through this whole essay sized emotional breakdown and don't think I'm a complaining winey bitch

I can only say I wish the world was made of more people like you

Alright

Time for sleep

#tw: depression #tw depressing stuff #tw self destructive behavior #trans #trans woman #me #depressing shit #trans struggles

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astrum-aetherium · 1 year ago

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I’ve been thinking about Henry’s opinion on sex, and I think that he would treat it simply as a physiological need. Probably he wouldn’t see it as an act of love, intimacy, something emotional. I can see him just straight up using his partner as a fucktoy and nothing more.

as it happens, i've already discussed henry's possible opinion on sex and intimacy in one of my first posts on this blog. all things considered, it conveys a similar message, specifically in regard to sexual relations bearing little to no emotional value to him. i do agree with you, anon, when you say that it would predominantly constitute a physiological need for him. above all else, i suppose he would see sex as either stress relief, exercise or submission of power, or a way to please or even manipulate someone he had grown fond of. i would even venture as far as saying he wouldn't derive all too much pleasure from it, and instead it'd turn into duty, as we know him to be fascinated with the idea of hedonism but unfortunately unable to practice it to its fullest extent and therefore thoroughly enjoy it much due to his complete and utter emotional oscillation.

the only genuine joy he has ever felt, from his own words, was in a state of being drugged and drunk beyond belief; under the impression of being in the presence of dionysos; and having murdered someone viciously, in cold blood. that, if i do say so myself, is the most acute example of hedonism — taken to an absolute extreme. judging by the fact he has described this as the sole exhilarating encounter of his life, i'd say sex wouldn't even come close to instilling him with pleasure and enjoyment. it would be bland to him. however, i do believe he would appreciate the relieving, physically draining aspect of it. he already has to maintain so much control over nearly all areas of his life on the daily, tense and serious as all hell, wherefore the idea of simply getting to redirect and work through that energy in a sexual setting would appeal to him greatly. plus, the gratifying part of it — the orgasm — would come as a vaguely pleasant plus.

in regard to using a partner as a fucktoy — i am honestly torn. i do not see him as that shallow. if he were to engage in intimate encounters with anyone, i believe he would want to have established a strong bond with them, emotional or not (if that was even possible). because i mostly see him as sexually disinterested (i do not want to label him as asexual as i believe he would enjoy partaking in sexual encounters in his own way, mostly aesthetically, or, once again, with the intention to relieve some of the tension he's gathered), i think he would be quite fastidious if it came to a possible partner in that realm. i simply don't see him having meaningless sexual encounters, let alone using anyone for his pleasure alone, as that wouldn't be what he'd want to achieve from sex. to him, as mentioned, it'd only be about easing the tension; because of his overachiever tendencies, he would employ his absolute best to please and wear out his partner on the other hand, however.

the only setting i ever see the fucktoy aspect coming into play is if he was overly intoxicated and out of his mind more than usual; maybe off his medication, or something. or: animalistically irate. furious and angered out of his goddamn mind — only intent on using sex as an outlet for his emotions and therefore consulting your body for that sole reason. here, he'd be rough and merciless, and would even neglect to make you come like he usually does; he'd have his way with you (consensually, of course), maybe involve some degradation and even spitting, and be done with it.

on the next morning, though, he'd be good as new — even more lenient than usual, apologetic only in his own little ways: making you coffee, sending his fingertips trailing your pattern of bruises ever so slightly, asking you if you need a ride to campus. but, yeah, he would need to be properly bent out of shape for whichever reason in order to employ his power in that way, especially over you. unless, of course, the two of you were into that feral aspect of sex. in that case, then, it would merely have to be discussed, and i'm sure he'd be open to it — any emotional outburst, or any way to eject one's energy in the most violent way allowed, would appeal to him. we all know it to.

#astrum asks #henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #henry winter smut #indulgent thoughts #very interesting idea #but here are my thoughts #i see him as a more relaxed individual in that regard #don't think it'd be that carnal for him

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a-commas-a-pause · 2 months ago

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Was doing some cursory research about low concentration salicylic as an over-the-counter acne treatment (been having a flare-up, likely due to a combo of stress and shifting environmental factors, and since I'm a terrible skin picker I'm trying to find ways to avoid giving myself scarring without needing to visit a doctor) and as I was scrolling through the Wikipedia page I learned from the epidemiology section that acne apparently affects women slightly more than men:

...and I don't know why, but this really struck me.

I guess I grew up with the belief, picked up from the culture and media around me, that acne was this "greasy teenage boy" problem, in some way inherently unfeminine. I didn't really think boys got it more than girls, I figured that was a stereotype, but I kind of assumed the stats were pretty much equal. And back when I still thought I was a girl, I felt worse about my own acne, since it felt like yet another way I was performing girl/womanhood incorrectly.

Finding out it's actually slightly more common in (cis) women is throwing me for a loop, even though it rightly shouldn't be - that's a very neutral and harmless fact! But you never see acne treated as just a feature of a teenage girl's face, it's always something awful that needs to be fixed (never mind that in real life, you often can't "fix" acne completely, can only manage it). That's not to say it's treated as something positive in boys either - usually boys with acne are also treated as undesirable, be that a loveable nerd or just a creepy loser - but I'm not sure I've ever even seen a girl character with even moderate acne (like I had at that age, though it certainly felt severe at the time) on screen.

I took isotretinoin for my acne in school, which is a pretty powerful medication that is highly effective at stopping acne but also comes with some serious risks - I had to take regular blood tests when I was on it to make sure it wasn't killing my liver. Due to my (mentioned before on this blog, lol) massive phobia of all things medical and spiky, I fainted for every single one of these. On top of that, it increased my already very high (I'm about as white as you can get) sensitivity to sun, so I couldn't go out even on cloudy days without suncream. And it causes birth defects, so they kept making me take supervised pregnancy tests "just in case" for months, until I changed dermatologists and the new one was like "what? why? no, you don't have to do those, just sign a thing saying you're not sexually active and it's not our fault if you're lying about that and you're chill".

It was a Lot, is what I'm saying.

Isotretinoin isn't the first port of call for treating acne - my GP tried several topical solutions and two different kinds of antibiotics (one of which I was allergic to, which naturally, me being me, I discovered by fainting about it. Again. in music class, this time) before finally referring me to the dermatologist who was allowed to prescribe me The Serious Drugs. Moreover, I stand by my decision! I wasn't pressured into taking it by family or friends, I was allowed to make my own choices, and going through all that rigmarole was absolutely my choice.

...I might even have taken the same choice if I'd lived in a society without all this weird stuff around acne, to be honest. As mentioned at the top of the post, I have a skin picking problem and acne not only doesn't help with that, it was causing me actual pain.

But also. I don't know. The societal stuff didn't help at all. My dermatologist suggested at the time that insecurity about my acne might be contributing to my chronic neck and upper back pain, of all things (much like the acne, something that started in my teens but hasn't stopped since I left them), since it might be making it harder for me to stand up straight with confidence. I laughed the idea off at the time, but now... I don't know. It could certainly have been a contributing factor.

I wish I had a call to action here, but I don't really know what can be done about this, especially not at the individual level. This is a societal gender discrimination issue, and I guess an ableism issue as well? I wouldn't normally call my acne a disability, but it is certainly a medical condition, and it does affect my life (and acne can certainly be the basis of unconscious discrimination, though I'm very grateful that that hasn't been something I've faced personally). If anyone has any more productive suggestions, feel free to add them onto this post. And I guess, put characters with acne in your stories? Including women, and including adults! 5% is one in twenty. One in every twenty 40+ year old women (according to that cited study, anyway, which I can't currently verify because my institutional access is fucking broken again) still "have problems" with acne. That might be worth representing.

#asdfjklklhhll no idea what to put here #normally i put all my opinions in the tags but this time my opinions are in the post #acne sucks and if i could press a button to remove it from the world entirely tomorrow i probably would #not fair to peoples bodily autonomy i know but also there are very very very few people who WANT to have acne #and i suspect that would be true even without the societal pressure. it's annoying and has basically no upsides #however. it drives me fucking spare the way we barely depict it in stories. and even when we do it's almost always to signify a villain #or the classic “teenage girl gets one (1) pimple and screams loud enough to take the roof off about it'' story which i HATE #it speaks to a very real fear and anxiety teen girls experience about this stuff but #a) does so with very little sympathy to the girls in question. instead potraying them as vain #and b) I'm sorry. you mean to tell me you think teen girls are shocked or horrrified at the concept of a pimple?#even if it's mild they get at least one of those a week. they're not screaming the house down every time it happens they'd lose their voice #they might be super upset about it but it's a much more resigned sort of despair. trust me #...huh i guess i did still have some opinions left #i am the personification of the guy in xkcd 2134 lol #anyway. acne bad. send post

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asirensrage · 3 months ago

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As a CSA survivor abused by a family member I think people have gotten way too comfortable using incest in a kink setting (not talking about as a wider part of a story where it is driven by plot or characterization, I write about self inserts who survive incestual abuse). If you have sexual fantasies you explore through fiction of fathers having sex with their daughters or brothers with sisters, maybe take a long hard look at yourself. I have been there and there is absolutely nothing hot or sexy about it.

In a relationship, incest kinks are huge red flags to me, especially with serious partners that might lead to having a family later. Last year, I had a guy ask me to dress up in a frilly dress and wear my hair in bunches. As foreplay he wanted to take me to a toy store, come home and have sex where I had to pretend to be a little girl and call him Daddy. Apparently his other partners had no issues with this, and didn't understand my reluctance. As far as he was concerned it was legal and consensual and a fantasy. It wasn't real. But a man that infantalizes women and wants to act like his daughter is a huge red flag.

I appreciate that you sent this to me, that you feel comfortable enough to tell me.

I totally get it. As someone who's a fellow survivor, I get it. In real life this shit is traumatizing and awful and, like many dark things I write about, overall terrible. There's a reason I don't like people I don't know well even touching me in real life. Things like that have lasting effects. But at the same time, being able to write about it, to read about it, even if you know it's not realistic in any way, can help people. Even those who have experienced that type of trauma in their lives.

My writing is fiction. I list warnings on all my dark content because I want people to be able to avoid things they don't want to read. That includes things like torture, dub-con, drug use, obsession, murder...etc. I'm not trying to be a dick and trigger people when I can make it safe enough for them to avoid it.

Personally, I wouldn't say it's a kink of mine (I've written about it once so far) but I view writing about it the same way I write about things like obsession. It's about what drives someone to it...what makes them make that choice (and I don't just mean about the power trip). That's what interests me, the same way I'm fascinated by how people get drawn into cults or gangs.

I left multiple things on that list that was generated that aren't things I'd usually write about (or even interested in) because the point of it is to be a challenge for myself. Whether or not I succeed, I can promise that everything will be properly labelled with warnings and under read mores so people can choose what they want to read. I'm not forcing anyone to read anything of mine that they're not comfortable with.

Thanks for reaching out and I hope my wording makes sense in this. I hope you stick around but I also understand if not. You gotta choose what's right for you. Hope things only improve in life! <3

#asks #tw incest #tw abuse #tw csa mention #anon

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dad875 · 11 months ago

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*Everyone 18 and up, ofc

✯COME INTO MY HOUSE!!!✯

This blog mostly started as a dumping ground for posts I liked, then I started posting to my fiance, and as of late I've been posting pictures too. Pictures that have attracted more people than I'm used to lol... So, I'd better make a pinned post.

My name's Dad (FtM he/him), I write posts and take pictures and whatnot. Obviously a huge pervert, and while I'm incredibly possessive I do like showing off my boy.

My husband Angel (FtM it/its)is my lovely model, muse, boy and dog, who simply exists for me to dote on. It's a very very well trained dog, practically living to please but dreadfully shy... Definitely send some asks if you want to tease it a little, I'm sure it'd like that.

✯Angel and it's further info can be found at @pinkiipup ✯

A fun fact about me is I cannot take myself seriously, as shown by the huge tone difference between this and my usual content. Whoops, sorry! ":)

✯Kinks and fetishes and stuff you'll find here:✯

CNC/rape/force

Scent/musk

Masks/muzzles

Drug/alcohol use and abuse

Somno

Impregnation

Pet play

D/S, power dynamics

Dad/Son roleplay

Bondage

Overstim

Vore (rarely)

Forcemasc

(and I'll have to scour through and find the others, I know they're in here somewhere...)

Idk, I post whatever sounds pleasing to my mind palace!!!

#nsft ftm #t4t nsft #con noncon #dacryphilia #ftm sub #ftm top #puppy sub #ftm dom #mlm nsft #t4t breeding

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littlewestern · 1 year ago

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So @greatwesternway and I had an adventure weekend (+2 extra days) where we trekked all over the Chicago suburbs and into the city to do some research for our Train Letters and see some fish at the aquarium for good measure. You'll be hearing more about our trip in the coming days from both of us, no doubt, but I wanted to share this quick anecdote myself because while it's not really related, I think it's kinda fun.

Since I live less than an hour away from the city, and the train runs right through my town, Metra is my drug of choice for getting up to Chicago. On Sunday we went to the MSI and took the Milwaukee District West line in early. That line passes right by the Western Avenue coach yard where you can catch a glimpse of a bunch of different engines and coaches on standby, up close and personal.

Now, Metra engines are not particularly interesting visually. They run a standard blue/grey livery with a dash of orange for flavor.

(It varies depending on how old the unit is, but these guys are a bog-standard example.)

Point being, the coach yard is usually pretty boring. Unless you like ogling the older equipment, it's just a visual indicator that you're getting off the train soon.

Except this Sunday, I got an eyeful of something interesting!

Orange! How novel! I'd never seen it before, didn't even know it existed until it flashed by us on our way inbound. Of course I whipped out my phone and started googling furiously. From the Metra website:

Through its heritage locomotive program, Metra is reproducing the color schemes of its predecessors on its locomotive fleet. So far, five locomotives have received special paint jobs. In January 2019, Locomotive 405, an MP36PH-3S, emerged in the orange, maroon and black of the Chicago Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad (also known as the Milwaukee Road). The locomotive also features a Hiawatha decal. The powerful figure represents the golden age of passenger travel and was the icon of the Milwaukee Road’s Hiawatha routes.

What a nice thing to see early on a Sunday morning! I tucked my phone away, satisfied I'd been able to start my train day off with a bit of a treat, and thought nothing more about it for about 24 hours.

The next day we decided to keep it local and do some thrifting in the next town over. One which also happens to abutt the MD-W. On our way to the store we get stopped at a railroad crossing. Down come the gates and I look up to see...

METX 405! I squealed and pointed. "Oh! Oh! It's the heritage unit!" Like I didn't just learn about it yesterday. How cool, two sightings in as many days!

So naturally it was on my mind all through the next day, our last day downtown. "It's too bad we didn't get to see it again..." I said, dreamily to DJ who was not talking to me anymore after I made her walk all day in freezing cold lake-effect drizzle.

Miserable weather for June. We disembarked our final train, stepping onto the platform just as the drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. We dropped our heads against the wind and rain and ran for the car. I lifted my head as the train started to pull away, just in time to see the Milwaukee orange heritage unit that was pulling us all the way home disappear into the night.

DJ wasn't as excited as I was for some reason!

#transmissions from the little western #metx 405 #real train stuff #i kid DJ was a good sport about the whole thing #metra

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your-name-is-my-favorite-verse · 2 years ago

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Finding Sunlight: chptr 6.

Just before I could make contact with the dirt, I was plunged upright in my bed. I groaned and clutched my throbbing head, still disoriented from the wind.

It was dark outside, and my alarm clock read "5:30"

I forced myself to my feet after a few minutes of trying to sleep again, shivering and pulling on an old gray hoodie I had discarded on my floor.

I've had this thing for my whole life, it was a hand-me-down from Chris. It’s worn and ripped, but it’s my favorite. It smelled like the laundry room’s dryer sheets, crisp and strong. I flipped on the hood and checked the weather.

Unpredictable, as usual for late August around here. I walked into the kitchen, and made it my life's mission to do something good for myself.

There wasn't much to work with. A mostly empty stale box of cereal, some bread, butter, leftover takeout. I took some bread out of the plastic baggie, and popped it in my toaster.

While it slowly crisped up under the sweltering heat of relentless metal coils, I downloaded the food delivery app of my local supermarket. I got eggs, ground beef, some fresh fruit, an avocado, and other stuff. Foods that normal people eat.

“As if I could be normal,” I remarked to myself.

I prepared my buttered toast, truly the breakfast of kings, and sat down. Opening my work laptop, I noticed my reflection in the black. For once, I didn’t look miserable.

My hair was messy, and I combed my hands through it carefully until it was mostly de-knotted, checked again on the tinted screen, and pressed the power button.

The scenic wallpaper of the login screen greeted me merrily. “Welcome, Charlie!”

The clack of the keys as I typed in my password was a therapeutic sound, and seeing my commission page was even nicer.

I had a few messages, fans of my favorite shows asking if writing commissions were back open. I don’t exactly recall when more and more people started paying me to write things for them, but I wasn’t complaining.

I smiled, and started a new post.

“Opening up commissions again! message me if you have any requests!”

I bit into my toast with all of the grace of a starving lion devouring a gazelle carcass. It was alright, quite burnt, with the butter spread unevenly, with half-melted chunks still sitting on the bread.

I heard the soft “ping!” of the messaging program on my commission page.

Already? I opened my inbox, to see a familiar profile. Her name was Lisa, or ‘kitty_girl_lisa” online. Of course, how didn’t I see it coming?

Lisa was one of my best customers, from day 1, mostly because I’ll write anything for enough money. An Assassin princess? I’ve done it. A steamy sex piece about an ogre and a human woman? Unfortunately, it exists.

Today was a relatively normal request, no orge sex, no medieval princess spy fiction.

<Chaplin! You’re back online!> Lisa wrote.

I sent a thumbs-up emoji and responded.

<yes! Can I interest you in being my first customer?>

She sent me a payment almost immediately, for 60$. It was an exorbitant amount for what she had asked for, and more than I’d ever charged her. She requested a simple fluff piece, nothing much. I'd refunded the payment at first, saying I couldn't possibly accept that much, but she sent it back without hesitation.

I nodded to myself, and messaged back and forth for a bit. I told her that I appreciated the payment, and I'd have it done by the end of the week.

As I was overthinking the plot framework of a short story, as is my routine, I thought to myself. In a way, writing gave me some sort of power back.

For the last few months, I'd been using corrupted money to pay for rent and shitty takeout.

It was drug money, Ten thousand dollars.

I found my father's stash in a dingy little shoebox in his closet a few months ago, while I was helping my mom and Chris clean out his side of my parents’ room.

I should've turned in the cash when I found it, but I was desperate, and without it I wouldn't be able to pay rent.

This would be the first money I'd actually made in 6 months.

Hopefully soon, I wouldn't need to rely on my long-dead father to support me financially.

I smiled. For the first time in so long, I actually genuinely smiled.

...And then my phone buzzed. It was my friend Maxie, sending a photo to our friend group.

She was in Mexico with her family, grinning brightly with two people who looked similar to her. With hesitance, I opened my messages.

Seeing the group chat sent guilt deep into my core.

A countless amount of missed messages, all now marked that I've read them.

I couldn’t respond. not right now, not to everyone.

Instead, I went to my contacts, and called my closest childhood friend. Someone I knew would still care for me, Cai.

They picked up after the first ring.

“Charlie! Is that really you?” their voice rang through my ears like a gorgeous bell.

“Yeah” I responded. “Sorry- for not calling more often.”

“You don't need to apologize, Charls. You’ve been through enough shit.” they said this with a genuine, caring tone.

I half-smiled on the other side of the phone. “What are you doing today?”

Beep. they had hung up.

I frowned, worried. Did I mess up? I stood there, concerned, until my phone buzzed. It was Cai.

“Get dressed. I’ll be over in 10 minutes.”

In a matter of what felt like seconds, my intercom buzzed, alerting me that Cai was at the front entrance. I let them in, my foot tapping at a rapid pace. There was a knock at my apartment’s door, and I opened it to a beaming face.

Cai was a firecracker if I'd ever seen one. They were about 6 inches shorter than me, and much more energetic. Their black hair was pulled into pigtails, accessorized with mismatched colorful scrunchies. They were dressed in overalls covered in paint splotches. They carried a similarly colorful satchel bag at their side.

They jumped at me almost immediately, pulling me into a hug.

“Charls! It’s been forever, dumbass! Where have you been?”

I just grinned. We both knew where I'd been, but with Cai, it didn't matter. With them, we were both still teenagers, and I had been absent from school for a week.

“Just feeling like shit, I guess.”

Cai tugged on my arm and practically dragged me out of my apartment.

“Where the hell are we going?” I laughed as Cai briskly led me outside.

They paused, looked back at me, and smiled.

“To see an old friend!”

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apexart-journal · 4 months ago

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Dario Mohr in Bogota, Day 19

Today I went to the gym, and then road a bike downtown to meet with a fantastic curator named William Contreras Alfonso, who also happens to be one of the Apex International Open Call winners. He was very down to Earth and open about his journey becoming a curator, having developed initial interest in an art history class and is now at a place where he is curating a series of installations at the Salt Cathedral I'd just visited days earlier in Zipaquira.

I was really impressed by the tasting I did the day before at Arte y Pasión Café, so I opted for us to meet there, where i had a Coffee Lemonade, and we spoke for about two and a half hours about topics ranging from the landscape of art in Colombia vs the U.S., where things are headed, representation, spirituality and some of our own life experiences. We then walked to the Police Museum where he shared a lot of his knowledge about the history of the Police Department in Colombia. The highlight of this exhibit was a custom made, salmon colored Harley Davidson motorcycle previously owned by Pablo Escobar. A lot of the exhibits were behind doors and we for some reason were not allowed in, so we peered through windows to see most of what was on display.

After that we went to The Black Magic Market, which I was really excited to visit and learn more about the Indigenous spiritual instruments and herbs. I thought I'd seen it all in Togo at the Grand Fetish Market a couple years back (world's largest Vodun Market). Was definitely not prepared for some of what I saw and was super grateful William was there to explain because I would have been very confused. There were statues ranging from the usual: Jesus, Buddha, sacred elephants, orgone pyramids, etc., but also a range of unexpected icons, and some of which gave me pause. In an earlier conversation about my installation practice, I previously spoke about the idea that objects can be imbued with power by a person's intention. It was very interesting to learn that a hot item at the market is a figure of a rebel soldier with a gun, or even a figure of Pablo Escobar, that people in the drug trafficking trade worship to bring about good luck, or bad luck to enemies. There were other more innocuous discoveries, like Elf and Troll statues which he believed became more popular as idols of worship in the 80s thanks to the media, and specifically the nerdier side of Heavy Metal which i tend to like (Shout out to Ronnie James Dio 🤘). There were also lots of herbs that had a range of propeties from physical healing to magic. All in all a fantastically selected excursion for a weirdo like myself!

We then walked to the space where he plants to exhibit his Apex show: "Null", which he says "comes from a term used in telecommunications meaning a misspoint, a false data input or a programming mistake. This project tries to reevaluate wrong choices and system errors as an start point for brand new ideas and possibilities for the future, believing in people's connection as its key." That show will be taking place October 2nd to November 5th, and is using a really fantastic space consisting of several abandoned floors with loose wires, broken walls and ceilings and crush brick debris and sand scattered across the floor in places. All in all a fantastic afternoon getting to know a Curator at the pinnacle of his career.

Then I biked to the barber, got a shape up and then went home and relaxed a bit until an English Language Exchange Meetup Group for Karaoke. Unfortunately no one did any Karaoke, but I invited a couple expats I met previously (one from yesterday at the Tour and the other from the first Meetup I did on Day 2). We met a bunch of people and then I proposed we got to Theatron where a bunch of us went and partied until 4am. All in all, another day for the books.

#Dario Mohr #Outbound to Bogota

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storiesaboutrachelcarolann · 2 years ago

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We are faced with earthly and spiritual battles constantly in life.

An earthly battle is like two opposing sides going up against each other in confrontation, whether physically or in a verbal war. Both sides tend to have their own belief systems and strategic game plan to help them achieve victory and obtain the crown.

Spiritual battles are however not the same. When we're going through a spiritual battle it's usually happening within us.

Those who aren't spiritual may think their earthly battle consists of an internal battle. Their own fight against the world around them. Those who are spiritual know the battles they face mean more than beliefs and strategies, but may struggle with the meaning or the message. These conflicts can bring us grief when all we want is peace or success.

An example of combining an earthly and spiritual battle would be like Armageddon if the war was profound in scale. The world as we know it would end after a battle between God and Satan. Good versus bad. Death and rebirth.

An earthly battle for me has been a bit different than my examples. It has been earthly yet more solitary and internalized, but still a war.

I had always been kept in a bubble by my mother and my father as they always wanted to keep me protected. They didn't want me to get hurt so they kept me home close to them. Looking back now I know they were just trying to keep me out of harm's way. I was restricted in a lot of ways because of my disability (cerebral palsy). I wasn't able to just get up and go do what many others could do. My disability kept me close to home and close to my parents. Throughout the school year I lived with my mom full-time except for on the weekends when I went to my Dad's and during the summer I'd go spend more time with my Dad. I loved spending time up on the mountain in White Rock, Nova Scotia, Canada. It was like a breath of fresh air every time I got to my Dad's, it rejuvenated me in a lot of ways. It still does to this day when I visit the mountain. Looking back at it now the bubble that was put firmly around me really was the best thing that could of happened to me, it kept me close to my family, especially my parents whom I love with my whole heart.

My spiritual battle began after my Dad passed in 2017. I just couldn't understand why God would take him from me without an explanation, without preparing or showing me that the time was coming to lose him. It just happened right out of the blue. Spiritually after that I started walking down the wrong path, even more than I had been, the further I walked the darker it got and the heavier the drug use got. I was trying to run from what I needed to do or face. I felt like the light had been taken from me, I truly didn't know if I would ever get it back. Until one day sitting in a restaurant on main street Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Canada. It was the first time I heard my Dad's voice after his passing. I will remember that moment until the day I die. That woke me up from the slumber I had been in. This was the day I decided it was time to fight, to rise from the shallows I fell into, so I could bring light back into my life. It wasn't easy it was hard as hell. Some days were just plain difficult, but I never gave up. Thankfully I had my mother by my side and I kept my faith strong in God, knowing his reach is beyond what most can ever fully comprehend. His power is incredible. There's simply no way to put it all into words.

I am thankful that I had to go through what I've been through because I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't. Once I got myself straightened out, once I was clean, God stepped into my life fully and showed me how amazing life can be if we put faith in him, if we never give up on ourself and if we keep love strong. It seems we have to let something go in order to gain something bigger and better than what we had. We can lose sight of that when hardship overpowers us.

Sometimes we have to face the depths of darkness in order to fully embrace the light and to see the true power of spiritualism. All the challenges and tests we go through in life actually makes us a better person. We eventually come to a place of gratefulness and I find myself waking every day having a sense of more appreciation for life overall. Looking back I can say that some roads haven't been easy with turns, dips, and dives. There were holes so big that could have swallowed me whole if I didn't start paying attention, to keep and eye out in order to save myself from falling in.

It's important for others to know that you could be hanging on the edge of darkness by a finger tip, yet you wouldn't believe how strong that tip is when you have faith. You realize that it's holding all your body weight and it's stronger than you may think. That very tip has the ability to pull you up and away from the darkness. To set you free from what is no longer serving you, whether that be people, places, or things that have been pulling you down or sucking the life out of you. You can overcome the darkness and find light. You can release the chains that bind you to burdens and break free. It doesn't have to be the end for you.

Sitting here right now writing this I am more grateful than I've ever been. I am grateful for what is surrounding me. My circle of family and friends may seem small to those who think they need many people, yet I hold these few people dear to my heart because of who they are and our connection.

This journey hasn't always been clear, but with the pauses, yields and stops the messages are clearer and clearer. They have been made more apparent with self work and God's power. Any battle that comes your way will be demolished before it ever gets too close to destroying you when you have faith in Source, because of the help from his angels, guides, and other dimensional beings on the other side he sends to us. They are full of light and power. Throughout our life they have all been assigned to us to help us fight our battles, save us and guide us. We're never alone.

Thankfulness comes after the biggest struggles, after you've overcome what you thought you couldn't. If you don't try to overcome challenges and setbacks you'll never really find your true courage or strength.

Remember underneath the rubble and the ashes the Phoenix always emerges..beautiful, powerful and transformed ✨️

Rachel Smith

The Coastline Intuitive

The Empress

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stardustdreams-andcaffeine · 2 years ago

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In the Blink of an Eye | Bucky Barnes (Mafia AU)

mafia!bucky barnes x f!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: With Bucky Barnes, the mafia lord of New York, as your boyfriend, you're usually safe from any and all harm. With a date night gone wrong and your boyfriend distracted, though, anything can happen in the blink of an eye.

A/N: Another one of my favorites because come on, who doesn't love mob Bucky? If you couldn't tell by now, angst is my thing lol, but I'm working on some fluffier oneshots! True to my word, this one's a reader insert for all you lovelies, enjoy and as always keep dreaming 🤍

Warnings: mafia!Bucky, violence, angst, kidnapping, drugging, language, mentions of torture, fluffy ending because I just can't help myself.

Word Count: 5,896

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I knew the dangers when I started. I knew the risks. I welcomed them, I embraced them. They did not scare me and they haven't even now, so many months later.

We always seem to think we know ourselves so well, that we know what we'd do in every situation. I thought I knew.

Then I fell in love.

When you're in love, well, everything changes. For the first time, there's another person that you cannot live without. For the first time, you begin to realize just how far you'd go to keep that love, to strengthen it. I used to avoid love, used to think it was worthless.

Then I met Bucky Barnes, Wolf of the North and mafia lord of New York, and I fell harder than I ever have before.

I love him more than anything else in my life, and so I took on the risks willingly. When you love someone that deeply, that ardently, nothing is a risk. Besides, I knew that he would do everything in his power to protect me. Bucky would never let anything bad happen to me.

That's where I went wrong. Not in overestimating him, but underrating what can happen in the blink of an eye.

"Bucky, I think that guy's following us"

He acts as though he's heard me, but his eyes are glued to the phone in his hand as we weave through the crowds in the New York night. He never usually ignores me like this, and even though I'm growing annoyed, I'm hurt by his lack of attention too.

"We'll be fine, even if he is he wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything" Bucky brushes off, not even looking up from his phone. I let out a small huff as we approach the front of the bar and nightclub he owns.

Before we make it to the doors, I grab his well-muscled arm and gently tug him to face me. He looks up now, his usually softened ice blue eyes plagued with business and stress.

"I thought tonight was just for us, my love" I remind. Something softens in his gaze but he ices it down and doesn't as much as touch me.

"It is, but I have some business to attend to first" his gravelly voice replies.

"Business?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow and smiling softly at him, "You can get business any night, but I-"

"Just give me ten minutes, Y/N." my boyfriend interrupts, and if it were any other day I'd say something back. Too exhausted from work to want an argument, though, I simply sigh and decide to show him patience.

"Alright, you have 10 minutes."

We walk inside, but before we do I cast one more glance back towards the man who I saw following us. My heart hits the floor when my eyes connect directly with his across the street. His mousy brown hair and disheveled brown leather jacket and white shirt set me on edge, so I quickly turn around and follow Bucky into his club.

As soon as I'm back by his side, he presses a gentle but burning hand to my back, his touch, however small, still intoxicating me after all this time. Normally, he'd lean over and whisper sweet nothings or promises of love in my ear and I'd shiver at the whisper of his voice so near, but now he barely even touches me. His mind is so preoccupied with work, I know that, but it has been all week since this weekend is his rival's gala.

But I feel ignored and unappreciated and it's killing me.

The pounding music of the club wraps around me, making it harder to keep my thoughts straight. Bucky and I walk straight to the back of the club, where his business no doubt waits. He pulls away from me without so much as a goodbye, and my heart tugs. Quickly I grab his hand, making him glance at me.

"Bucky, this guy is really freaking me out," I repeat, and I know he said I'll be fine but I need him to be here with me, "Please, stay with me."

"Doll, you're gonna be fine. Now-"

I cut him off, getting frustrated.

"No Bucky! I can fight, sure, but if he-" I interrupt, only for him to cut me right back off.

"Drop it, Y/N. Just go to the bar or something" Bucky growls, pulling out of my grip and walking into the office without a single glance back at me.

My heart cracks.

He's never like this, ever. He's usually so protective it's overbearing, and yet the one time I need that to feel secure, he refuses. I can take care of myself, but I'm not stupid. And no matter how capable and independent I may be, Bucky brings a level of safety to me that I can't describe.

And yet here he is, leaving me alone in his bar with someone following us.

I huff out a sigh and try not to look too forlorn as I traipse over to the bar. Almost as soon as I've arrived and sat at an open bar stool, the bartender who has become somewhat of a friend over the last few months approaches me.

"And how is my favorite customer?" He asks, his hands busy preparing a drink. I shrug, offering him a soft smile.

"I'm alright, Lee," I respond, playing with the edge of my sleeve, "Just a whiskey please."

"Sure thing, Y/N," Lee says, his brows furrowed as he steps away to make my drink. When the glass slides in front of me, I grab onto it with tired fingers.

"So, do you want me to ask what's really going on or do you want me to believe the lie?" The bartender asks, making me raise my gaze from the amber liquid and to my friend's face. He must see the tears gathering in my eyes because a hint of concern grows. I never break like this.

"Believe the lie, please" I nearly whisper, desperate to not have this conversation right now. Lee stares at me for a second longer before nodding.

"Let me know if you need anything else."

When he walks away to take care of another customer, I'm left feeling alone and forgotten in my boyfriend's bar. I sip on the alcohol and seconds turn to minutes, and ten minutes soon becomes twenty. I feel patience slipping and am seconds away from barging into that room and giving my boyfriend a piece of my mind when another voice pipes up beside me.

"I thought tonight was date night," The voice says, and I can't put a face to it. When I turn, the haze of alcohol clears instantly and my spine snaps straight. The music dulls into a hum. The lights grow darker. The color leeches from my body. My hand trembles around the almost empty glass.

It's him. He's got the same messy hair, the same brown jacket. The same hungry eyes.

Instantly, I clamp down hard on my rising panic. I refuse to fall into hysterics of any kind right now. This is the safest place for me to be right now, so I should have nothing to worry about. Instead, I simply shake my head and turn forward, downing the last of my second whiskey.

"You're another kind of stupid if you think anything is going to happen to me in here," I inform, my tone even and calm despite the throbbing, tearing panic within me that makes me want to sprint for Bucky.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm not going to do anything," the man responds, his tone just as even as mine.

I furrow my brows at the ease of his response, but all at once it hits me. My head begins to spin and with each second that passes, my mind begins to fog. No. No. No.

He drugged me.

How did he get it into my drink?

How did I not see it? Smell it? Taste it?

I shove out of my chair so fast that the stool screeches against the hard floor. The sound is absorbed into the mass of the club, though, and an arm snakes around my waist.

"No," I manage out, but the connection between my body and brain seems to be almost severed. The words come out sluggish and far away and when I try to pull from the stalker's hold, my body barely moves.

Instead, I'm left stumbling like I'm drunk with this man guiding me towards the exit as if he's helping me to a cab. The bouncers. Ed and Damien, they won't let him take me. They'll stop him, they'll get him away from me.

"Don't make a scene, Y/N. Your boyfriend isn't even out of his office." My kidnapper's voice slithers into my ear, making my stomach church with nausea.

My boyfriend. Bucky. Oh God, where is Bucky? Why can't I seem to remember where Bucky went? Why he's not here? Why I was alone?

"Bucky, Bucky's gonna-" I slur out, sounding absolutely wasted to the unknowing ear.

"I know, Mr. Barnes going to be so glad I got you home safely," he says suddenly, his entire body shifting tone. I furrow my brows and manage to look and see us just passing Ed and Damien at the door. Even though I can really see straight, I see the two bouncers block the exit when they see me.

"Hey man, what's going on?" I hear Ed ask.

"Nothing much to see, Boss just wanted me to take his lady home," the stalker says, his grip on me tighter than it must appear, "She had a little too much to drink."

Too much to drink? Did I? Why can't I remember what's happening? I didn't think I did but...but maybe I did. Who is this man? He said he's taking me home, maybe Bucky had to cancel date night. It was date night, right?

Both Ed and Damien furrow their brows and look to me, immediate concern drawing on their features when they see the state of me. Some lucid part of me screams to alert them of something, anything, but the thought doesn't come to fruition. It dies somewhere along a neuron and leaves me tripping over my own feet and speechless.

"I've never seen you before, man. How do we know that boss told you to take her home?" Damien asks. My escort doesn't miss a step.

"The Wolf is in states nowadays, isn't he boys?" The stalker replies, and that lucid part sparks up again in protest at the familiar words. That's the code phrase to ensure safety in moments like this.

He knows the code phrase.

They're going to let him take me.

I do what I can to struggle as Ed and Damien step aside, but it only comes across as trying to walk on my own, because the bouncers chuckle slightly.

"Relax Y/N, don't overdo it" Ed quips.

"Rest up, miss. I'll let boss know you got home safely." Damien follows up.

And the lucid part of me fades into the drug haze as my kidnapper guides me out of the safest place on earth without so much of a gun fight. The cool night air slaps me in the face and I whisper, trying to struggle again only to forget why I'm struggling in the first place. My body feels like I'm running through neck-high mud, anyways. Any sharp movements I try to make end in my hands barely moving.

"Bucky," I breathe, an urgency in that word. Beyond the haze and the forgetfulness and the confusion, there's a deep and piercing need to scream out that name. I can't figure out why, but I need him. I can't...I need...

My head's spinning, or maybe it's the world. My stomach is twisting and turning and twisting and turning and tw-

"He can't save you now. He didn't even put up a fight to protect you," that ugly, slimy voice says as a car door opens, "What a shame. A treasure like you should be guarded. But I guess finder's keeper's."

Then I'm shoved into a car and everything goes black.

||| James Buchanan Barnes

Y/N's going to actually kill me. As in my liver on a plate kill me.

The meeting that I promised would only be ten minutes has now gone for forty, and by now she's probably restless, hungry, and a little tipsy.

Great, and I pissed her off earlier so tonight is going to be so much fun.

I pull a hand through my dark hair with a slight groan as the man I was doing business with finally leaves my office. I sit for a second in the semi-quiet of my room, the pounding of music and laughter dulled by the walls. I know I shouldn't have gotten short with her earlier, but damn she wouldn't let up on me with the whole "stalker" thing.

My club is the safest place for her. I would never let anything happen to her, so for her to even think that...I sigh again, shoving it from my mind. It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is finding my girlfriend and making all of this shit up to her. I rise from my leather chair and walk out of my office, the dulled sounds roaring into full force.

My eyes immediately shoot towards the bar to find my girl only to see an absence of her. With furrowed brows, I sweep my gaze towards the dance floor. Even crowded with people, I don't see her. I roll my eyes instantly, knowing what probably happened. She probably went home, probably's pissed as hell at me. I brush off my suit jacket and walk up to Lee at the bar, immediately garnering his attention. He smiles at me.

"Hey boss, can I get you anything?" He asks.

"No I'm good, thanks Lee," I respond, leaning on the bar with one arm and pinching the bridge of my nose, "Have you seen Y/N? I think I pissed her off."

There's a pause that makes me look over at my bartender. He's looking at me weirdly as he slides a drink to a customer and laughs slightly.

"Real funny, boss," Lee says, cleaning out a few glasses. I straighten up slightly, my brows furrowing deeper and my jaw setting.

"What's so funny, Lee? Have you seen her or not?" I ask, quickly losing my patience. I always thought he had a thing for her, always was too-

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Lee asks genuinely, cutting off my thoughts. When I don't respond, he realizes I'm not joking and his face goes grave, "So you didn't send her home twenty minutes ago?"

The world tilts around me and every ounce of anger, annoyance, and frustration leaves me in an instant. My heart drops like an anchor at sea and I don't dare to believe what Lee's words mean.

"She left twenty minutes ago," I begin slowly, trying desperately to hold myself together and not jump to a conclusion, "With someone who said I sent them to take her home."

Lee's face is slowly falling as he realizes the situation at hand. I feel so sick to my stomach that I can barely stand when Lee gives a faint nod. My world stops and then starts and then stops again.

"I never gave that order." I breathe.

"Bucky, I think that guy's following us"

I brushed her off.

"Bucky, this guy is really freaking me out. Please, stay with me."

I ignored her. I snapped at her. I prioritized work over the light of my life. I told her she'd be fine.

I left her.

Lee is saying something to me but I don't hear it as I shove away and storm over to Ed and Damien, my bouncers. My face is a painting of fury and shame and worry and panic and it's a storm that catches Ed and Damien's attention. They stop what they're doing and look to me, their brows furrowing.

"Boss, what's-"

"You let her leave?" I strangle out, my heart slamming in my chest and my fists balled by my sides, "You let a stranger take her away?"

The two share a confused glance before looking back to me.

"A stranger? Boss, the man who took Y/N home knew the code," Ed informs.

"Did you not send him?" Damien suddenly asks, his face tightening in instant panic.

He knew the code. He knew the code and he somehow got my doll, my fighter, out without so much of a warning.

And it's all my fault.

"Shut the club down, get everyone out. Call together all of our forces. Tell them-" My voice breaks, raw emotion clawing up my throat, "Tell them Y/N's been taken."

I don't wait for a response and shove out into the cold night, gasping for air like a fish out of water. I was so obsessed with the gala this week that Hydra, our arch nemesis, was putting on, that I stopped paying attention to the only part of my life that matters. I have a lot of things, all of which I could live without, but I cannot live without her.

And I left her.

I left her and now she's gone.

She tried to warn me, she tried to tell me someone was following us. She tried to get me to stay with her, to not leave her. And yet I walked away. I just walked away like she didn't even matter and I left vulnerable and alone the only person in this entire fucking universe I love. It's all my fault, and I'll spend every second of the rest of my life trying to make it up to her.

If I can even find her in time, before she-

No. I will find her and she will live. I will burn down this whole damn world if I have to, and I will not stop. Not until every person who laid a finger on my girl is dead. I will paint the world crimson with their blood until I find her, and once I do I will never, never, ignore or leave her again.

That's not a threat. It's a promise.

||| Your POV

The collar secured to my throat is too tight, the metal no doubt leaving red grooves in my skin.

It hurts worse when Alexander Pierce, the mafia lord of Hydra, tugs the matching chain leash attached to it, pulling me closer to him and almost making me stumble mid-step.

The gala is glamorous, and my gown is nothing short of it as well. Pierce even went through the trouble of having someone do my hair. What he didn't do was my makeup.

That way anyone could see the dried blood and bruises littering my skin.

It's a scare tactic, I know that. A way to signal to everyone here that he's in charge and that he can't be defied. But I think he's got a bigger reason in mind for it all, the collar and the hideous marks on my skin.

And that reason is my boyfriend.

I can practically feel people's eyes follow me as I walk as steadily as I can at the end of Pierce's leash. Despite the radiating, excruciating pain that each step incurs, I keep my body steady and my chin high. I let the policemen and officials that are on his payroll and all of the members of his mafia see my bruises and cuts. He's parading me, so I'm going to put on a damn show.

A show to hide how mind-numbingly terrified I am right now.

Behind my set jaw and my cold eyes, I'm fighting back tears. The pain is mixing with the fear of the last few days to make a perfect storm within me. I'm terrified that any moment could be my last, that more pain could await me, that Bucky might never come for me

Or worse. That he doesn't even care.

Regardless of whether or not he cares, I'm still not going to give a single detail out. Even when Pierce himself tortured me until all I knew was blood and pain and fear, I said nothing. He didn't get a single word out of me. I just sat there, strapped to an iron chair, and took it. Every blow, every slice, every shout. At times my mind spared me and allowed me to slip into the sweet nothingness of unconsciousness, but it wouldn't be long after that I awoke to my head shoved into cold water to revive me.

And here I am, now taking a seat at the Dias of his gala room beside the mafia lord of Hydra, my boyfriend's sworn rival, with a collar around my neck tied to his wrist.

The music that wafts from the live orchestra is disturbingly jovial and light, filling the air with a sense of peace that provides such a stark juxtaposition to my insides that I almost puke. I sit ever so stiffly in my chair beside Pierce, my back burning with each movement because of the new stripes across its tender flesh.

As I feel warm liquid slide down my skin, I suddenly understand why Pierce insisted my dress be a dark maroon. I thought it was as at first just a beacon to everyone to show who I was with because it was his signature color, but I know better now. It's to hide the blood that seeps from my still-healing and probably infected wounds.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Pierce asks, and I don't even have to turn towards him to know he wears a devilish smirk. A cruel man's trademark of victory.

I stay silent.

I hear him click his tongue as he sits back in his ornate chair, "All this quality time together and all I've heard from your voice has been your screams. No matter how pretty they are, doesn't seem polite to me."

This time, I can't hold myself back.

"Neither is kidnapping another human being and treating them like a prisoner of war," I announce, my voice raw and hoarse from the screaming and shouting of the past few days, "So pardon me if I'm not feeling too polite."

It's a bold move, but I make it anyways, gambling that he wouldn't lash out in the midst of his party. A little breath of relief escapes me when he chuckles.

"And here I was under the impression you were a sweet, soft-spoken sort of woman. My sources misjudged you." Pierce responds.

Of course he's been watching me. A scheme like this doesn't happen overnight. He's been planning this for a while, now. Pierce knew exactly when Bucky would be most vulnerable, when the defenses would be the loosest. It makes me want to scream.

"You're going to die for this," I whisper, quietly but not softly. There's his laugh again.

"Oh honey," Pierce starts, his voice condescending as if I were a toddler, "Careful with blind faith. What makes you so sure Barnes will make it out of this alive?"

His words unsettle something so deep within me that if I spend more than a few seconds touching on it, I'll shatter. Instead, I turn to look at Alexander Pierce for the first time since we've sat down. My eyes are cold and harsh upon him and the shining metal of the collar that tethers us.

"What makes you so sure it will be Bucky who kills you?"

He has the good sense to look the slightest bit unnerved, and I give him a smirk of my own, "Like you said before, your men sorely misjudged me."

Before he can respond, one of the guards that stands behind us steps forward and whispers something in the mafia lord's ear. Whatever he says makes Pierce grin fiercely as he looks back to me and gives the collar a tug.

"Your White Wolf is here."

My heart jumps so hard that I forget how to function. For a moment, everything else fades and dims away, even the biting pain wrapping me like a blanket of thorns. I snap my head back forward and when I see him I swear I almost break right then and there.

Because his eyes are already on me, and they're coated with fury.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to not dissolve into tears, to not let my fear show.

He's here.

Bucky found me.

When our eyes meet, something so primal and raw ignites in his features. He looks seconds away from shattering as his chest heaves, his eyes scouring every inch of me. I feel undone before him, as if the dress doesn't hide a single thing that Pierce and his men have done to me.

"James Barnes," Pierce announces, snapping the connection between us swiftly, "I thought you'd never come. I hope you don't mind, I think I've stolen your date for the evening."

Then he wraps his palm around the chain leash and yanks it so hard that I nearly tumble out of the chair. His hand is there to stop me as it grabs my jaw in a bruising grip. Pierce hums, turning my face side to side before forcing it forward to the crowd that now watches. Bucky is painted with dark rage and looks seconds away from ending Pierce's life.

"She makes quite the pretty pet."

Bucky begins to storm forward only for two of the guests who belong to Pierce's mafia to grip onto his arms and prevent him.

"Take your fucking hand off of her, Pierce, or I swear I'll-" Bucky growls, and hearing his voice is enough to ease some of the knot that's wound in my chest these last few days.

"You'll what?" Alexander asks, releasing my chin but remaining ever so calmly in his seat beside me, "You must not care that much for my pet, after all you were the one to ignore her."

There's a bone-crushing silence and I see that same something shatter in my love's gaze.

"You shoved her off, you left her alone," Alexander cuts out, reaching out and running a hand through my hair, "You so carelessly let her slip through your fingers and here you are pretending to care."

"What I did was unforgivable, I know that," Bucky says suddenly, and I see even from here the silver lining his eyes as he speaks, "But she is a good person. She doesn't deserve this. If you need to punish someone, don't let it be her."

"You don't deserve her," Pierce says, and I want to scream that he's wrong but Bucky cuts me off. His eyes clash with mine and I fall in love all over again.

"I know," he says so softly that I almost miss it. I try to shake my head 'no', but Pierce tightens the collar, making me whimper.

Bucky shoves off the two men holding him, composing himself and standing stiffly a good ways before us.

"Let her go, Pierce," Bucky reiterates, his tone harsh once more and his stare pure murder, "I won't ask again."

Pierce clicks his tongue beside me, letting up on my leash to let me relax slightly.

"Oh Barnes, did you really waltz in here thinking you'd walk back out?"

There's a deadly silence and I swear you can hear my heart smash into the floor even though I expected this. With every second between his last words and his next, I grow more panicked.

"I have you surrounded, Barnes. You're not getting out of this," Pierce announces. Bucky doesn't look the least bit unnerved, though.

Pierce reaches you to an ear piece I didn't know was there and touches it, "Guns at attention."

From my spot next to him, all I hear is static. There's no response coming back, and the confusion becomes evident on Alexander's face at the same moment I realize what's going on. Hope like a new sunrise breaks in me and I look over at Bucky to find him smirking. He winks at me once before furrowing his brows at Pierce.

"What's wrong, can't reach your men?" Bucky taunts.

And then all Hell breaks loose.

Guns are firing and people are screaming and within seconds, Bucky's mafia that's already infiltrated the gala hall appears from the woodwork, their guns raised and keeping the few mafia members left under gun point. Bucky just stands coolly in the midst as another deadly silence blankets the room. I can practically feel the rage draining off of Alexander.

"Get him!" Pierce suddenly shouts, and what few men are left charge at Bucky. Including the personal guards around us. The gunfire begins again, and the classy event is soon painted crimson.

I take the brief moment of chaos to my advantage and shoot up from my seat. As soon as Pierce registers that I'm moving, it's too late. Despite the screaming of my body, I sprint behind Pierce's chair and brace one heeled foot at its back. Then, before he can reach for a gun, I wrap the leash he's collared me with around his neck and pull back, strangling him with the own device he subjected me under.

His hands claw desperately at the chain and I feel my exhausted muscles trembling, but I refuse to let up. I keep holding the chain tighter and snap my gaze up in Bucky's direction just in time to see him shoot a guard between the eyes.

"Bucky!" I shout, gaining his attention instantly.

I know I can't hold Pierce off much longer, so Bucky will need to help me take him down while I've got him strangled to the chair. The metal is cutting deep into his skin when Bucky begins fighting desperately to reach us. Before he can, though, Pierce gets a purchase on the chain and yanks with such force that it sends my body flying over him and the chair. I land flat on my back so hard on the tile that the air rushes out of my lungs and every cut and tear rips open.

"Y/N!" Bucky roars, and it rattles my very bones

I gasp and groan in pain simultaneously, desperately trying to get air into my lungs. The second I can breathe again, Pierce is dragging me backwards by the chain.

"No!" I shout, reaching up and gripping the chain before yanking it.

We tug back and forth as he drags me, but I manage to hook my foot around one of the overturned chairs and use the leverage to yank the chain so hard that I hear a snap followed by a shrill yell.

I just broke his wrist.

When I pull again, the chain comes free and a weight lifts from my shoulders. I scramble to my feet, about to sprint away and towards where I last saw Bucky when Pierce's hands grip my shoulders and rip me back. I don't even have time to scream when my back is slammed into a hard wall and Pierce is before me, a knife in his unmangled hand that's pressed to my cheek.

"You little bitch" he seethes.

My chest is heaving with breath and panic as I read back and spit in his face as hard as I can. He recoils slightly and I relish in it. My happiness only lasts a second, though, because his knife is pressing into my cheek. I try to squirm but his body is pressed firmly to mine and pins me to the wall.

"I so didn't want to end you this quickly," Pierce whispers, his voice slithering against my skin.

I keep trying to be strong, to be so strong, but it's getting harder to keep up. I try to not show my fear, but it's getting harder and harder to hide. I feel myself finally breaking after the hell that these last few days have been and just when I think he's going to end it all, he's gone. In a moment, he's off of me and unconscious on the ground.

And Bucky is standing before me, his chest heaving and his eyes wild.

"Bucky," I breathe, already feeling my strength slip away.

I don't have to be strong anymore.

Bucky drops the gun he just rendered Pierce unconscious with, every inch of his face softening upon my bloody, trembling form. He looks a minute away from crying when I stumble forward and crash into him, letting myself break down in his arms that already wrap around my waist and keep me upright. He keeps me so tight to himself that there is no room between us. I bury my face into his neck and let out a sob, my tears mixing with the blood on his suit. I can't tell which of us is shaking harder, but all I can tell is the warmth and security that Bucky's hands bring me.

"Oh doll," Bucky whispers, sending a shiver down my spine, "You're alive. You're alive."

I mumble some sort of affirmation, but I can barely think straight.

"I'm so sorry, doll. I'm so sorry." Bucky repeats it over and over again, "God, Y/N I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Buck. It's alright," I whisper, but he keeps shaking his head. He pulls back far enough to meet my gaze.

"I've been shitty to you. I should've listened to you, I should never have left you. I am never leaving you again."

"It's okay, I forgive you," I repeat, brushing a bloody hand against his jaw, "Of course it's gonna cost you at least four new pairs of shoes."

At my joke, a laugh of pure relief to have me back in hands escapes his lips. I chuckle softly too, taking in every inch of his breathtaking face. A tear drops down his cheek and he leans his forehead against mine.

"I love you so much, I love you more than life." he breathes.

"I love you too. That's all that kept me breathing, loving you,"I respond, and his lips are on mine in an instant.

Even though it's only been a few days, kissing him feels like I've been in a drought and he's my water. The kiss is desperate and pleading and consuming. It steals whatever strength is left in my knees and I link my arms around his neck to support myself. When he finally pulls away, he leaves a trail of kisses to my nose and then my forehead before tugging me to himself again.

"I'm going to tear him apart for this," Bucky vows, and I know it shouldn't but I still let out a breath of relief at that.

"Is that why he's not dead yet?" I ask, chuckling softly. He does the same, kissing the top of my head.

"That's exactly why," Bucky agrees, pulling back and rubbing a finger along my cheek. He becomes serious again and I feel my heart flutter.

"When I found out you were gone, I lost myself." He says, his throat bobbing as he Cho's my face with his large hands, "Y/N, there is no me without you"

I turn to kiss his hand before leaning into it more.

"I'll always find my way back to you. You're all I have, James"

Another tear works down his cheek before he finally steps to the side. The gala is trashed, but the gunfire is over. Apparently, his men were here hours before anyone else got here. I feel my strength abandoning me, so I lean my weight onto Bucky. He feels this and immediately scoops me into his arms, holding me close to his chest.

"I'm going to kiss every one of these scars when we get back" His voice rumbles, and I smile as I lean my head further into him.

"Let's go home, my love"

And he held up his promise. He never left me again.

4K notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes – and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

#overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #overhaul smut #overhaul x you #chisaki kai x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #dark content for ts #5555 event fic #not sfw text #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #misogyny for ts #bnha posting #medical kink for ts #non consent for ts #dub con for ts #non con for ts

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