#we were like ‘fighting’ and he just goes

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I��” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

���You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[solshii]

here’s sol’s wip notes for her mlp svsss

sqq has a horn guard to cover his cracked horn (i assume it was near broken off when wu yanzi got to him and wyz would do some hoodoo voodoo backwater magic & cultivation to cure it to near perfection (without repercussions that would set back his magic and cultivation ofc))

lbh’s horn comes and goes (like a lightsaber) with his zuiyin. it helps with disguising as a normal pony, plus it goes in line with his whole rise to power with a ‘nopony is actually a secret alicorn’ pipeline LOL

higher class demons (i.e mbj, shl, heavenly demons) are more reminiscent to ponies (the same way they look more like humans in normal svsss) though majority of the demon realm consist of various species

i imagine majority of demons also dont have cutie marks as they are a variety of species, but maybe powerful demons probably get the chance to gain one (excluding binghe who gets to have one regardless since hes half pony)

we’ll.. figure out how to mix cultivation and pony magic together 💀🤞 somehow…

speculating lqg’s colour palette to be blue/grey/white (and naturally he has more moles around his body)

only heavenly demons get alicorn privilege so mbj is a unicorn

and sqh is a pegasus (airplane himself wouldve been an earth pony)

pony shen yuan would’ve been an average unicorn who can at most carry a few things at once. he wouldve been really excited when he could do all the cool unicorn stuff as shen qingqiu that he couldn’t when he was shen yuan

blackened binghe would probably have more black and red in his design

also everyone wears robes agsksj but yk i was fighting for my life 😞

some ponies (like lqg, sqh) only wear upper robes (and bracers) while some others (like sqq) wear robes the also cover their flank, though leave some open room for legs to move freely (see mlp gala dresses)

non-pegasi cultivators can probably still use their swords to fly (if we can fit two people on a sword, they can fit all fours on it i trust them 🤞🤞)

also yeah lbh’s guanyin pendant is in the same colours as the jade tassel on sqq’s cutie mark

i just thought it was cute

on cutie marks

i was gonna make lbh’s cutie mark just be his zuiyin but its subject to change

lqg’s cutie mark is cheng luan and a (probably white?? blue??) phoenix

i have no clue how to go about yqy’s cutie mark but i was telling someone about entertaining the thought of chains incorporated into it somehow as like,, symbolism for his whole deal with xuan su and his past as a slave, while also symbolising strong bonds (read: his attachment to sj), strength unity and all that makes him sect leader

since i wanted yqy to have something relating to how his past grapples at him without being inconspicuous for a sect leader and also having symbolism that really makes sense for a sect leader lol (plus chains are grey and it matches his colour scheme (put a b&w filter on this bad boy and u wont see a difference))

during their time as slaves, yqy and sj’s flanks were marked with 七 and 九 respectively. i think that if sj were to get a slave brand from the qius (icl ive read so many fics idk if this is a canon or fanon thing) it would be placed there as well

which is what makes the fan for sj a meaningful CM to me imo, like he’s hiding his past as a slave behind the fan like he does in reality, or generally metaphorical in the way 九 would define shen jiu and the fan defines his persona as shen qingqiu, iygwim

i took the poem on the fan from chapter 5 of dark clouds by invidia_envy LOL youll find it if you type in lyrics to the tune of wuyeti by li yu

i have no clue what to do for sqh either but i may just give him the generic scroll with a brush (sorry airplane (but it would be kinda funny if some of the scrolls are all crumpled up n everything))

also i imagine sj and yqy got their cutie marks when sj was in the qiu manor and yqy was having his whole xuan su fiasco, so they never saw each other’s CMs until their reunion. but i also dont know if this would be considered too late by mlp standards ahsjdj

my pens fixed and i havent drawn in a while

by the way theyre supposed to have robes guys i was just too confused to figure it out 😞

[dellamortethelesser]

The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 1

pt1 | pt2 | pt3

This quickly grew out of hand so this is only covering the first scene lol. This is my attempt to organize my thoughts nearly line-by-line as I go through and analyze the relationship between Lucanis and Illario. These are my personal opinions and I'm open to discussion about any points I present here.

From the first time we are introduced to Illario from Lucanis's perspective, it is… almost derogatory? (dressed how an Antivan would think a Vint would dress). i thought you trusted him to handle this job at a party?

"it's a job" / "a party at a job" / "any excuse to primp" ← This back and forth feels natural between siblings (or those who have a sibling relationship) but with wider context feels… a little icky

Already, Illario is disparaging himself in relation to Lucanis ("Only 'the Great Lucanis Dellamorte' could refuse a summons from the First Talon") and even he says he's only here because Lucanis asked him to be. why bring him if you ostensibly don't trust him to handle the job? Lucanis's inner pov is different from how he speaks to and acts with Illario.

of course Illario is generally thick-skinned until it comes to Caterina. so are you. she's abused you both and treats Illario undoubtedly worse because he's not the favorite.

re: Caterina's abuse as listed. no food or water. beat them with her cane until their backs were scarred for 'letting their guard down' or 'fumbling footwork'. Lucanis says she "beat into him his commitment to his contracts" (re: veilguard banter where he didn't kill that 14 year old. lying? or proof of further favoritism?)

"For years, he'd hated her…" and then goes on to say that he'd learned that her cruelty was her way of ensuring their survival. Notably this isn't forgiveness but an acknowledgment of what she'd done and how it benefited them as assassins, which I would argue that it did. Child abuse is bad but I think she did prepare them both for the world they were being raised into as assassins.

"Beneath the bitterness in Illario's tone was something rotten." ← KEY LINE TO ME. Why point out how rotten it is unless he… already suspected Illario's resentment? Jealousy? He can identify the bitterness bc Caterina won't step aside, but also. ROTTEN.

"your time will come" / "will it?" ← Lucanis watching Illario watch him in the mirror. Really interesting moment because this is where Illario reminds him that Lucanis is the favorite. Lucanis goes on to say that he KNOWS this and has HEARD the rumors and still tries to assure Illario that his time would come.

"So, if she named you heir to House Dellamorte, you'd refuse?" ← really interesting thing to note here is that Illario is asking about being named as HEIR. Lucanis doesn't answer, they're interrupted, but "heir" doesn't hold the same weight as 'first talon".

they're not arguing who gets the role, they're arguing over who is even in line for it? so you mean to tell me that Caterina has been stringing them along like this… the whole time? Just name a fucking heir for fucks sake. the older one at least! if this was set up from childhood there would be way less room for jealousy and competition, or it would at least be clear WHO would be in line.. that being said I do believe she either did this on purpose. There's just no other excuse. Caterina what if you died the next day. they'd still have to fucking fight it out! (or maybe Lucanis would finally feel brave enough to absolve himself).

maybe that's it though? it's a test right? this whole fucking thing…. man.

"Illario's pretty-boy mask slipped as a coldness flooded his features." ← would have loved to see more of this in Veilguard. Regardless of whether you think Illario's writing is consistent between the books and the game, you're kidding yourself if you tell me he wasn't written operatically obvious in Veilguard. here there is more of a level of calculation and concealment? unless you want me to believe that his behavior was obvious to everyone except Lucanis… not discounting that reading of their relationship, just disagreeing with it personally.

Skipping ahead in to the fight scene, we see that Lucanis is living up to his name as the Mage-Killer as he pretty handily dispatches their assailant. Illario takes on more of the charmer role, tying up the mage—but then Lucanis immediately kills him. Why even let Illario do all of that work if you're just going to kill him?!

He even comments on it. "If I'd known you were just going to kill him, I wouldn't've put so much effort into the knots." ← Lucanis tells him after this to check his pockets and finds a note that does, admittedly, reveal the Venatori allegiance. That being said… you still could've killed him and got the same note. Unless it was just because he was a mage? But he was already dazed at that point. Why waste the time?! It's so maddening. This is the first of many instances where Lucanis sort of… bulldozes over Illario.

As Lucanis is removing the blade—"Careful, remember the tanner job? You ruined my best shirt." Kind of prissy behavior (Illario takes two steps back away from the blood), but when his cousin protests, Lucanis just… smirks and continues to extract the blade. If I'm reading this generously it could be simple sibling-esque banter, but Lucanis is not the sort to be readily endearing himself to Illario at any point.

Illario remarks that the Venatori's fanaticism re: nationalism and theology regarding the Black City isn't "worth it" (so he doesn't like the Venatori much either, mark that down?).

Lucanis says that it's because Illario isn't "a true believer—except when it comes to coin". My first thought is to think of Zara Renata's corpse conversation in Veilguard when she remarks that what Illario wanted, he wanted more than power, family, coin, etc etc.

So Lucanis's perception is that Illario is the sort of man who'd do anything for money (as the House of Crows is KNOWN TO DO, YOU KILL PEOPLE. FOR MONEY), and it matches up with his opinions previously established in regards to Illario's dress, motivations, mannerisms, etc. That Illario is… kind of a pretty-boy charmer who is only worried about coin and good clothes.

Hm. All bodes well on the Cain & Abel front.

RE: the true believer statement. Worth pointing out that the House of Crows was first established by Andrastian monks in the hills outside of Treviso; they assassinated a duke. Would love to have learned more as to whether there was more religious influences in the guild at any point.

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

[railingsofsorrow]

I was thinking about jj being at home while reader is out partying. and then she calls him, really really drunk so he's concerned and goes pick her up.

love your writing! ❤️

midnight swim

[jj maybank x reader]

summary: the one where you drink too much and decide to have a midnight swim but your boyfriend stops you.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

w.c: 1.1K

warnings/content: alcohol consumption; language; stupid drunk decisions; argument with parents (mentioned); suggestive content (you blink you miss it).

[requested]

A/N: HELLOO this was fun to write hope you like it :)

navi

masterpost

outer banks masterlist

request me something

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Wanna go home.” You mumbled into the phone, walking outside of the loud house to have a moment of peace. Maybe your social battery is over. You didn't know what exactly cut your mood off from the party but you wanted to put on your pajamas and lay in your boyfriends' chest for the whole (rest) of the night.

“Mhm.”

“Dude, did you just kill me?!”

Pope's laughs echoed through the line, followed by JJ's trying to stifle a chuckle but he was very unsuccessful, earning a punch on his arm provided by his best friend.

“Baby? Sorry. The guys were being loud and— You still there?”

You hummed, eyes slightly unfocused staring at the enormous pool of whoever Kook's house you were. You were barely remembering your own name to be honest. You don't like drinking without your friends but you made the terrible choice to drown in booze to forget about the fight with your parents and here you are. Wallowing in self pity. And alcohol. A lot of it, it seemed.

“Baby?”

Rubbing your eyes with a sigh, you replied with a soft hi and there's some shuffling in the background.

“How's the party? Eat any fancy finger food yet? Or is it just champagne?”

“Fuck off.” You couldn't help your chuckle. Your feet somehow carry you out of the porch and into the pool area. Everything felt hot.

You can hear your boyfriends' deep chuckle before he teased you some more, attempting to rile you up. JJ was aware that when you called him at a party was either because you wanted to leave or you just got tired of being socially active and the excuse of being on the phone was good to keep people away temporarily. He wanted to know which was the option now.

“So?”

“'s boring. I wanna— Ouch.” Your laugh was loud but you didn't had a filter with the alcohol in your system so you didn't think much of it or that it wasn't so funny to stumble and fall flat on your ass.

“What?” JJ seemed to notice your lack of sobriety through your continuous giggles. “Where are you right now?” He prompted, eyeing the van's keys on the bowl beside him but not moving to grasp it quite yet. You were a big girl, you could handle yourself; you told him that once when you called him drunk and he showed up to take you home because he was worried. You were pissed. He'd never do it again unless he felt the need to. He didn't want to be possessive in any way.

“Wish I was with you.” He couldn't see your pout but he knew it was there. “Listen... We should go for a midnight swim—is it midnight yet?” You laughed, crawling towards the edge of the pool. The water looked so clean and it was so hot, you just wanted a quick swim.

“It's 1am, baby.”

“Perfect.”

The blond's lips quirked up slightly. “You sure you good? Not doing anything stupid, right?”

“You said it yourself stupid things have good outcomes all the time.” You retorted, taking off your sandals. “Ah, shit. I didn't brought a bikini.”

“Why would you need a bikini?” JJ yawned, resting back comfortably against John B's beaten-up couch. “Was it a pool party? I can't remember you telling me—”

“Not a pool party but they have a pool.” You clarify, blinking down at your outfit. “Baby, I gotta get off my dress, I don't wanna make it wet.”

The way he sat up so quickly that Pope, who was thrown on the loveseat gave him a look of confusion.

“Why do you wanna— Where are you?”

You sighed impatiently. “Told you we should have a midnight swim! I'm by the pool—”

“Okay, yeah, no.” JJ grabbed the car keys and practically sprint out the door. So much for not doing anything stupid. “Baby, can you do me a favour?”

Your face scrunched up and you shook your head. “No. 'm gonna wait for you in the pool—”

“No, you're not. You're gonna get your pretty little feet away from whatever pool you're nearby and you're gonna wait for me, got it?”

“But the midnight swim...” you slurred out, throwing your head back with a groan. “C'mon, stars ar' out and—”

“We'll have a swim when I get there but only if you wait for me, 'kay?” JJ tried a different tactic, a bit desperate for you to get the hell away from the pool while being drunk. “Where are you at again?” He knew some of your friends but he didn't know exactly whose house you were at.

“Stacy's.” You replied, dumping your feet in the pool and dangling them from one side to the other. You were sitting at the edge, the party inside echoing all of the excitement from strangers and the few (three?) people you barely knew.

The Twinkie was on before JJ even shut the door.

“Baby?”

He said carefully, praying you hadn't jumped in the pool in the meanwhile. You let out a low hum in response.

“Your dress' still on, right, princess.”

“Why? You wanna take it off?” She chuckled, leaning back to rest against her elbows. “Still on. 'm waiting f'you like you asked.”

“Good girl.” He turned on the street and now it was only ten minutes away by car. He'd make it in five. “Hey. Are you dizzy or feeling lightheaded? Are you sitting down?”

“Okay, doctor Maybank. You're doing a full checkup or something—Hey!” You exclaimed in indignation when a splash went off and you got soaked. Someone had jumped on the pool. A group of girls that were shrieking like little kids. You stumbled away from the pool, your eyes a little more focused now as you walked towards the backdoor, pushing between people to reach the exit and leave that fucking party. God why did you even came?

“Babe, you good? I'm here.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, watching the beat up van park in front of Stacy's house. “I see you.”

JJ stepped out of the vehicle to greet you. You met him halfway, a pout on yours lips when he asked why on earth were you wet. “Did you get into the pool—”

“No! Some stupid girls jumped in it and I was sitting close!” You whined and JJ's concern turned into amusement really quickly. “Stupid, fucking—”

“Alright, alright.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer, running a hand across your back and pressing his lips against your forehead. Your sigh was muffled when you buried your face in his shirt. “Let's get you in some nice comfy and dry clothes, yeah? You good with that?”

“You promised a swim.”

He kissed your pout away until it became a smile you were trying to break into a frown but was unable to.

“Sobriety first then we'll swim and surf and do whatever you want, baby.”

Just definitely not tonight.

[angelsdean]

Mary is 28. The year is 2016. Her whole life has been stolen from her. Some cosmic being plucked her from Heaven, took her away from her home, her husband, her babies, and placed her in this strange new world.

Her babies are gone, replaced with strangers a foot taller than her and nearly a decade older. They call her mom in gruff voices. They are hunters, something she never wanted for them. She has to hold back tears just looking at them. She sees glimmers of herself in Dean. His hair has darkened since he was a little boy, but she sees herself in other parts. The shape of his face, his cheekbones, his smile. She sees herself in Sam too, though he feels stranger. She can't quite match her pudgy little baby to this man.

At night, she moves through the bunker like a ghost. Nothing feels quite real. She takes scissors to her hair, thinks a drastic change will make this all feel more real. Throws herself into hunting. The adrenaline helps. Her racing heart reminding her she's alive, alive, alive. This isn't a dream.

This isn't a dream.

She sobs into her pillow, as the reality of it hits once more. She will never see her babies again.

These strange men look at her like she's a wonder. She understands what they lost. Understands they never had a mother. She imagines she'd look at her babies the same way, if she could see them again.

But she doesn't know how interact with this Sam and this Dean. All she knows is rocking babies to sleep to the tune of "Hey, Jude" and cutting the crusts off PB&J's and warming up store-bought pies for her sweet little toddler. She feels like she's failing at something she never really felt she succeeded at in the first place. So she focuses on the one thing she was ever good at: hunting.

When the British Men of Letters approach her, she goes in with good intentions. She's doing this for her boys. It's the one thing she can do right, she thinks.

Except things go wrong. They always go wrong.

"Cas almost died," Dean says, a hard edge to his voice and his eyes swimming with emotion.

She feels terrible, tries to explain. "I'm doing this for you. I'm playing three decades of catch up here." She wants to say, I'm trying to fix things. If I can rid the world of monsters, if I can make it safe then you won't have to fight anymore. You can have normal lives. You can be free. But she doesn't know how to talk to them.

Mary watches Dean's expression cloud with his own grief. "And we're not? How do you think this has been for us? We're your sons, and you've been gone. Our whole lives, you've been gone," he says. And she understands. She's been gone. And her babies are gone. And it's all so unfair.

"You said that you needed time. No, you said you need space," Dean continues, and she can feel herself losing him. Them. Sam won't even look at her. "So we gave you your space. But you didn't need just space. No, you needed space from us."

He's not wrong. She told them when she left, how hard it was to be around them.

"That's not true," she lies. "Dean, I'm trying –"

"How 'bout for once, you just try to be a mom?" Dean cuts in, hurt, angry.

And it hits her harder than she expected. Because she wishes, wishes she could be a mom again. To her babies. But that's never going to happen. And if she's stuck here, then she needs to figure out some other way to be.

"I am your mother," she says, sternly, "but I am not 'just a mom.' And you are not a child." It's not fair. Part of her knows that's not what Dean was asking. Not how he meant it. She's the one wishing he were a child. Wishing she could be "just" a mom. But she can't be a mother to them. Not this Dean. Not this Sam.

Dean looks her in the eyes, his expression vacant, haunted, and says, "I never was." His lip trembles for just a moment before he regains his composure.

She was a hunter's kid once. She knows what it's like. There's little room for childhood innocence. But she also doesn't know. She had a stable home. She had two parents. She had no siblings to look after.

"So between us and them –" Dean continues, the question hanging in the chasm that has opened up between them.

"It's not like that." Can't you see I'm choosing you. This is the only way I know how to keep you safe.

"Yeah, Mary, it is." She hates how it doesn't exactly break her heart, hearing her name come from his mouth instead of "mom." It feels more normal. Because these are not her children. "You made your choice. So there's the door."

Dean walks out of the room without a second look. Sam rises from the table, averting his eyes. She understands this too. Struggling to look. To see.

But this isn't how she wanted things to go. She didn't mean to upset them. And she doesn't want to lose them completely. She just--needs more time. "Sam," she tries. Maybe it would be easier to get through to him. He never really knew her, has no memories of her.

But he tells her to go too.

And maybe part of her is glad for the easy out. This will give her more time. She just needs to focus on hunting. Save the world. Put her babies to rest. Then she can come back and they can...be a family. However that might look for them.

[cinnamqnx]

plug!hawks headcanons

warnings. drug use (weed), alcohol use, swearing

♡ you meet hawks from a mutual friend, wanting to find a dealer after only getting/smoking weed from friends

♡ they recommend ‘hawks’, he goes to the same college as you but you’ve never actually spoken to him. he’s sort of like the college plug

♡ the first time he meets you, he finds you so adorable. your awkwardness when asking him what you’re after pulls a small smile on his face

♡ after that, you’ve kinda been on his radar

♡ definitely makes you pay less than what he actually charges

♡ even gives you pre rolls to save you the trouble, and this man knows how to roll

♡ over time you gradually get closer to him, seeing him at parties every weekend, regularly going to him for weed, it was inevitable

♡ i also feel like he doesn’t really fw many people, so he always had time for you

♡ lets you call him keigo, even though he usually prefers that people call him hawks and only letting close friends call him his real name

♡ sorta becomes your personal guard dog at parties 😭

♡ always grabbing you water when he thinks you’ve drank way too much and ordering you an uber home

♡ if he hasn’t really drank, he’ll drive you home after taking you to some fast food place and eating in his car (he’s lowkey panicking when he sees you whip out any sauce)

♡ refuses to give you anything stronger than weed

♡ “nah, i don’t really want you on the hard shit.”

♡ doesn’t want you ending up addicted or ruining your life for drugs and always gives you lectures about it, even if it’s unprovoked

♡ he’s just veryyyyy protective when it comes to you

♡ i also feel like dabi would also be some type of dealer, and him and keigo have this little rivalry going on

♡ warns you to stay away from him, i feel like he’d go crazy if he saw dabi speak to you or even look at you

♡ everyone around you is confused whether you’re actually together or not because of how you act together

♡ however, keigo has a reputation for sleeping around, just doing his own thing, so it’s definitely thrown you off getting involved with him in that way

♡ even though he hasn’t really been entertaining anyone since you both got closer

♡ but he’s scared to fuck things up with you so he doesn’t say anything

♡ you don’t really know what you’d refer to him as in your life either, but you’re glad to have him around at least

♡ this man is always paying for you

♡ whether you need your nails doing, hair or you just need some more clothes, keigo always is the one paying for you

♡ also always buying you food, whenever you both smoke together and you get the munchies he’s ordering food for a family of eight

♡ you always tell him he doesn’t need to, but he’s more than happy to do it, something about your grateful smile has his heart pounding

♡ you start noticing problems when keigo starts showing his jealousy towards men you’re talking to

♡ you haven’t had chance to actually date any of them, since they’re either scared off by keigo or don’t want to get involved since they can clearly sense the tension between you both

♡ now, keigo has no real reason to be jealous, you’re not his girlfriend after all

♡ but when he sees you grinding and being way too close to this one guy for his liking, he snaps

♡ in his head, it was justified, you were acting different since you got involved with him and keigo had no choice but to step back from you despite how difficult it was for him

♡ he’d had enough

♡ storming over to the two of you and throwing his drink in his face, a fight broke out immediately, the frat brothers rushing to break them apart before keigo grabs your wrist

♡ “why the fuck would you do that? you know i like him.”, you yell at him after he had dragged you outside

♡ “he isn’t good for you, y/n!”

♡ “you don’t even know that! we haven’t spoken in days, like, you’ve been distancing yourself and acting weird for weeks, and now you wanna punch the guy i’m talking to? what the fuck-”

♡ “yeah, cause i fucking like you. bro- how have you not seen how badly i’ve been wanting you for months?”

♡ after hearing that, you swear your heart stops, and suddenly the thoughts of the guy you was with crumbled

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY NINTH; side a — cheater - the vamps | e. munson x r

w; does not follow ‘stranger things’ timeline, cheating (not eddie or reader), a fight breaks out (shocker!!!!), best friends to lovers trope, angst, fluff an; i love the vamps ❤️❤️❤️❤️

mixtape here!

Eddie grunts as his foot stumbles over the rug that had been flipped over, grumbling under his breath as he looks back at the offending object. 

You'd run off and leave him once again, looking for James in the crowd of people. 

He used to be only okay with going to parties (because he was making bank), but now it’s exhausting and makes him nauseous when he goes to one. Yet, he could never say no to you…. for whatever reason. 

No. He knows the reason. You would never figure it out though. Especially now that you’re with someone like James. He makes a face when his name mentally passes through his mind, shivering as if he’d been told something disgusting and it leaves some sort of bad taste in his mouth. 

Jogging up the steps, he’s in search of a bathroom. His eyes scope the area, heading towards a door. Opening it up, he stumbles to a stop as his lips part. 

Oooh boy. 

“Eddie?” 

He’s aware again that he’d just walked into something that almost causes him to black out and do something he regrets. James is standing there with cheap, pink lipstick smeared above his upper lip. 

The girl looks away quickly, having the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed. 

“Hey, man,” James chuckles slightly. He’s nervous and Eddie can tell by the way his hands shake when they lift from the girls waist. “That was…I didn’t…I tried pushing her off.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Yet, you looked like you were having the time of your life. Goodbye, James.” He gives him a mock salute, slamming the door behind himself, muffling the pleads that leave James’ mouth. 

He’s quick to jog down the stairs once again, now on the hunt for you. He had to get you out of here before telling you. 

“Eddie!” He stops in his steps, following the sound of your voice. He hears his name once again, this time from James. He’s quick on his feet, grabbing your hand when he finally reaches you. 

“We need to leave. Now.” 

You looked a bit startled from his sudden frazzled state, stumbling but following behind him as he pulled you in between the crowd and towards the front door. You look back when you hear James’ voice call out for Eddie once again. 

“Hey, Eds. Wait for—” 

“I’m not waiting for him unless you want him to get—” Your hand slips from his once he’s outside in the cool air. He quickly turns and glances at you quickly before looking at James. 

“Honey, I was calling out for you guys. Are you leaving?” 

“James—” 

“Eddie told me we needed to leave,” You nod. “I was trying to tell him to wait on you.” 

“Tell her why I wouldn’t want to wait on you, James.” Eddie clenches his jaw. You glance between the two, suddenly confused now by the tension. It makes you slightly uncomfortable, shifting on your feet. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” James shakes his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips. 

Collecting himself, Eddie shakes his head and steps closer, his hand grabbing your wrist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” 

“Eddie—”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, you freak,” James spits at him, pulling you back. Your brows pinch together, staring up at him as you stumble from his reaction. “You’re so pathetic thinking that she would actually want anything to do with you,” He lets out a condescending laugh. 

“I see the way you act around her. You’re not slick with—” 

Eddie wasn't sure what had happened after that. He was standing one moment, holding his composure well. 

Or…he thought he was. 

His ears are ringing now and his knuckles are throbbing. A small breath leaves his mouth when he’s dragged off of James. “Okay! Alright!” He yanks himself from whoever had a grip on his arm. He stares down at James who had tears slipping down his cheeks, slipping in with the blood. 

His chest heaves as he walks over, trying to talk calming breaths. “Don’t ever talk to me that way again,” He points to him. “Next time you think about cheating on someone, think about what happened, yeah?” 

James’ shaky hand cradles his nose in his hand as his eyes stare up at Eddie who looms over his body. His green eyes drift over to you, gulping slightly when he sees the look on your face. 

“What do you mean?” You finally speak up. 

Eddie rubs his lips together before turning towards you. “I walked in on him kissing some other girl,” His hands rest on his hips.

Man, I really need to learn how to not black out. 

Your eyes drop toward James, brows furrowing together. “I was going to tell you in the van but he just had to get in the way,” James slowly stands to the ground, shirt wrinkled a bit with spots of blood. “Which do you want to go with?” 

Eddie shouldn’t have given you the option to choose who you wanted to leave with. You tend to always give people second chances. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when you step towards him, your arm brushing over his. He nods wordlessly, pulling you away. 

James calls after you, following quickly. Eddie shakes his head and turns, holding his hand up, watching as he stumbles to a stop. “You just don’t get the hint, do you? Your actions have consequences. So next time, you wanna choose something that has your nose broken again as a consequence, think and ask yourself if you enjoyed that feeling.” 

James’ glances back at you and you quickly look away, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie gives him one last warning look before turning towards you, placing a hand on your back as he leads you towards his van. 

The door squeaks when it opens and you quickly climb in. He shuts the door and rounds the front, quickly getting inside himself and starting it up. 

It’s quiet on the way back to your apartment. Eddie’s also slightly embarrassed, yet, not too much because he’d do that over and over if he truly needed to for you. Once he parks, he waits for you to leave his van without saying a word. 

“Do you wanna come in?” You glance over at him. He looks over at you, nodding slightly. 

“Uh, sure.” He kills the engine before getting out and rushing towards your side. You smile to yourself when he opens your door, slipping out of the van. He shuts it and follows behind you towards the stairs. 

“Sorry. The elevator is down.” 

“Again?” He chuckles a bit. 

“Again.” You nod. He smiles a bit, shaking his head slightly. You dig your keys out of your purse, unlocking the door. Eddie steps in after you, shutting and locking the door behind himself. 

“Sit. I’ll clean up your knuckles.” You motion towards the couch before walking towards your bathroom. He listens and makes his way over, sitting down as he glances down at his hand. He winces a bit.

First-aid in hand, you make your way back and sit next to him on the couch, pulling his hand towards you. It’s silent as you clean away the blood that had dried. 

“Eds?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What James said,” He quickly looks at you before looking away, gulping. “About you being pathetic.” 

“Oh,” He lets out a slight scoff, shrugging a bit. Your grip tightens on his hand. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t care what he—”

“Especially about the part where I didn’t want anything to do with you,” You cut him off. He looks at you, noticing that you were already looking at him. “I just…I didn’t want something to happen between us and I lost you altogether.” 

“Hey…” He turns towards you as he shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “You could never lose me, okay?” 

You stare at him quietly for a moment, reaching out and cupping his cheeks softly. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” He whispers. 

You smile and lean close, nudging your nose against his, looking into his brown eyes. “I love you.” 

He’s quick to grin, leaning close as he presses his lips against yours. It’s not really a kiss, yet you don’t care. You laugh softly when he pulls away, his hand coming to grip the side of your neck softly. 

“Say that again.” 

You press another kiss against his cheek before nodding. “I love you.” You whisper. 

He presses his nose into your cheek softly when his lips press another kiss to your lips — now addicted. “I love you too.” Staring at him lovingly, you nod. 

“I know you do.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 2

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she’s pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 |

2 weeks had passed but time dragged on slow for you.

You were back at your place and back to work. Being in Caleb’s home without him there was both comforting but so very lonely.

You didn’t know if it was the depression, the loneliness, or the memory of Caleb’s small sob that you had caught that last day you were together.

But you weren’t eating, your clothes felt a little looser but you felt a little bloated in your lower stomach.

Maybe it was your period coming…

This thought stuck with you as you filled out your report. Tara stopped by your desk, eyes glittering with worry.

“Are you doing ok?”

You muster up a smile and laugh

“Yeah I’m fine, why?”

“Your face looks worn and skinny. Are you eating ok?”

“Just had a bit of a stomach bug.”

The captain was walking nearby, she stopped hearing your words and turned to look at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re sick?”

“Uh, I think so, maybe? I’ve felt like I have been anyways.”

“Go home early today and go see your doctor. We don’t need a virus sweeping through the association and leaving us with minimal staff.”

You sighed, you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

Typing up the last words on your most recent take down of a rogue wanderer. You catch a rare glimpse of your partner Xavier.

His eyes seemed to scan you as he asked

“Are you okay?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation and stand up to leave for the day.

“Not you too! I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He kept his eyes on you as you gathered your coat and bag.

“If you’re sure…”

“Yes I’m sure Xavier, good night.”

You didn’t bother putting on your coat as you left the building. You grabbed your phone and dialed the doctor's office.

“Akso Hospital, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’d like to make an appointment to see Doctor Zayne as soon as possible.”

“Can I have your patient number?”

As you boarded the subway to head home, you read off your number. The city started to pass you by as you waited in silence.

“Actually he has an opening tonight at 6 PM, can you make it?”

You check the time, it’s 5:15 PM. Just enough time to stop somewhere and grab a protein drink since that’s all you can stomach.

“Yes I can make it, thank you.”

“We will see you at 6 then. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

You slip your phone into your pocket and lay your head on the window. Your stomach churns, but you haven’t felt hunger since Caleb left.

All that food he had made, it was all wasted.

He had packed it up all neatly in the fridge for you but you had spent the few days left at his house over the toilet.

So it had gone into the trash, making you feel horrible. Who knows when you’d get to taste his cooking again?

Who knows what your relationship would be like when he got home?

Caleb had left you that little note saying he was sorry, it was tucked into the case of your phone.

A physical reminder for you that he had really been here.

He wouldn’t be back for 4 months though. Keeping yourself busy was the only way to avoid sinking into the deep rut you could feel coming on.

Your long sigh fogged up the glass, winter was coming.

Getting off the subway, you headed to a nearby cafe. Inside the atmosphere was warm but all your focus was on that sad beige drink in a carton inside the fridge rack.

You grabbed it and waited in line.

Spacing out at first but a familiar voice caught your attention.

“I’ll pay for her drink too.”

“Zayne?”

“Going to workout?” You glanced down at your protein drink and laughed a bit.

“No, just about all I can stomach these days.”

You followed him to the side of the counter where he grabbed his presumably sickeningly sweet treat in a box.

Zayne frowned a bit before asking

“Are you sick?”

“I think so. I actually have an appointment here with you soon at 6. My boss insisted I go check before I go back to work.”

He nodded a bit before holding the door open for you.

“I’ll walk you there then.”

Companionable silence follows you down the streets. As do all you thoughts of Caleb.

You can’t help but feel that the reason he was so scared to define your relationship is because of what the Fleet higher ups might do.

All the secrets and what they were up to. Caleb wanted to keep you out of it but he also wanted you next to him.

It was quite the conundrum, you got it.

But it wasn’t fair to either of you.

Sighing deeply, letting out a waft of visible breath in front of you.

Oh well, you’d have to wait for him to come home to even fix things.

No communication was possible between ground and deepspace.

You followed Zayne in silence up to his office. He motioned the receptionist to check you in as he watched you with worried eyes.

You were uncharacteristically quiet.

Zayne set his box down at his desk and took a seat, he motioned at the seat in front of him for you to sit.

Sitting without a word, you could tell your silence unnerved him.

But you didn’t have the energy to play polite right now.

“What are your symptoms?” He brought up your vitals while asking you specifics.

“I’ve been feeling nauseous all through the day, been a bit a dizzy but that’s probably because I haven’t been eating much. I don’t have much of an appetite and I think I’ve lost a little weight.”

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping well either.”

Averting your eyes, you deflect

“That doesn’t have to do with this.”

“Mmmm, if you insist.”

He flicks through your vitals before something catches his attention.

“Are you sexually active?”

This question startles you a bit but you answer hesitantly

“Yes… what does that have to do with anything. Wait…. are you saying?”

“Yes. I’m seeing evidence of you being pregnant. Looks like it’s 5 weeks along but we can do some more in depth scans to be sure.”

You don’t hear anything after that.

Feeling a mixture of dread, wonder, happiness, and wondering how the hell you were going to deal with this?

“Was this a wanted pregnancy?” This question snapped you out of your spiral.

“Well I didn’t even know that I was pregnant! But….. yes, I think so.” Caleb’s baby. You bring your hands to your slightly bloated abdomen.

Ah, that’s why.

You hadn’t even noticed that your period was late in all the turmoil.

“I can give you a referral to an OB if that’s what you prefer.”

“Yes thank you, I appreciate it.”

He sends you some virtual information and lets you know that you should read the e-book on what to expect.

“Thank you Zayne.”

“Right, well you should get home. The information I sent you should have some foods that may be easier to keep down. I would suggest reviewing those and actually eating something. The weight you’ve lost already isn’t great for the baby or you.”

You suddenly feel guilty, not that you knew that you were pregnant but it still made you feel bad.

“Yes thank you Zayne, good night.”

You start to head out but he calls your name out so you stop to look back at him expectantly.

He seems to swallow a bit harshly before uttering

“Congratulations”

Smiling for real for the first time in half a month, you glow at him

“Thank you!”

You head out and head home.

Caleb may be gone for now but he had left you something very precious.

You hadn’t thought that you would be pregnant in your relationship quite this soon but you did what this baby. It was Caleb’s after all.

Wait

Caleb.

He doesn’t know and you have no way of telling him. He won’t be gone for the whole pregnancy but he was going to miss a lot of the early important milestones.

You don’t even know if he wants the baby.

No no, you shake your head.

He would definitely want this baby.

Determined now, you reach your apartment and sit on your couch while sipping your sad protein drink.

Using your phone, you look at the list of foods in the information Zayne sent over.

Crackers, ginger, fruits, a lot of mild and still somewhat sad foods but it was better than a protein drink.

Quickly tabbing over to a delivery app, you load up on early pregnancy foods to be sent over that night.

Task completed, you stretch back over the couch.

What a long day.

Oh! You could write letters and send Caleb voice as well as video messages so that when he gets back he’ll have a total record of what happened.

That way he could still be a part of it in some way.

Settling down into the couch, you hold your phone up to record your face.

“Hi Caleb! Guess what!?”

Making a show out of it, you bring your face close to the camera and glare at the imaginary Caleb.

“You got me pregnant! All those times you told me you would just pull out have come back to bite you. I told you so!”

You laugh a bit before continuing

“But really, I’m excited. I miss you so much so this is like having a small piece of you with me always.”

You look down where you had been unconsciously rubbing that small bloat that really wasn’t a true bump yet.

“Oh do you want to see?”

You place the phone on the coffee table, propping it up against your fake plant.

“See! It’s not a true bump but you can feel the firmness and see my little soon to be bump.”

You run your hand over it to exaggerate it. Smiling down sadly before glancing back at the camera.

“I wish you had been here to find out with me. You would’ve probably fainted if I had taken a test to check and I showed you the positive result. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have!”

You tear up a bit at the thought of him being gone for all this.

“I wish you were here…”

You grabbed your phone and brought it back to your face again.

“But I’ll send you lots of updates! So you can see them all when you get back! I love you Caleb. Come home soon okay?”

You stop the recording, sending it to him. Knowing he wouldn’t see it for a few months. But you were just glad to make him a part of the process somehow.

All the while, unaware that Caleb may never come home to you.

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @midiplier @tabi-callico

[mariacallous]

A short note here on what I’m covering and why. The political changes we’re seeing across the world are underpinned by technological ones that are now accelerating. For more than a decade, I’ve been trying to investigate and expose these forces. Since 2016 that’s included following a thread that led from Brexit to Trump via a shady data company called Cambridge Analytica and the revelation of a profound threat exploit at the heart of our democracies. But what’s happening now in the US is a paradigm shift: this is Broligarchy, a concept I coined last summer when I warned that what we were seeing was the proposed merger of Silicon Valley with state power. That has now happened. Writing about this from the UK, it’s clear we have a choice: we help lead the fight back against it. Or it comes for us next. Please share this with family and friends if you feel it’s of value. Thank you, as ever, Carole

Let me say this more clearly: what is happening right now, in America, in real time, is a coup.

This is an information war and this is what a coup now looks like.

Musk didn’t need a tank, guns, soldiers. He had a small crack cyber unit that he sent into the Treasury department last weekend. He now has unknown quantities of the entire US nation’s most sensitive data and potential backdoors into the system going forward. Treasury officials denied that he had access but it then turned out that he did. If it ended there, it would be catastrophic. But that unit - whose personnel include a 19-year-old called “Big Balls” - is now raiding and scorching the federal government, department by department, scraping its digital assets, stealing its data, taking control of the code and blowing up its administrative apparatus as it goes.

This is what an unlawful attack on democracy in the digital age looks like. It didn’t take armed men, just Musk’s taskforce of boy-men who may be dweebs and nerds but all the better to plunder the country’s digital resources. This was an organised, systematic, jailbreak on one of the United States’ most precious and sensitive resources: the private data of its citizens.

In 2019, I appeared in a Netflix documentary, The Great Hack. That’s a good place to start to understand what is going on now, but it wasn’t the great hack. It was among the first wave of major tech exploits of global elections. It was an exemplar of what was possible: the theft and weaponization of 87 million people’s personal data. But this now is the Great Hack. This week is when the operating system of the US was wrenched open and is now controlled by a private citizen under the protection of the President.

If you think I’ve completely lost it, please be advised that I’m far from alone in saying this. The small pools of light in the darkness of this week has been stumbling across individual commentators saying this for the last week. Just because these words are not on the front page in banner headlines of any newspaper doesn’t mean this isn’t not happening. It is.

In fact, there has been relentless, assiduous, detailed reporting in all outlets across America. There are journalists who aren’t eating or sleeping and doing amazing work tracking what’s happening. There is fact after fact after fact about Musk’s illegal pillaging of the federal government. But news organisation leaders are either falling for the distraction story - the most obviously insane one this week being rebuilding Gaza as a luxury resort, a story that dominated headlines and political oxygen for days. Or…what? Being unable to actually believe that this is what an authoritarian takeover looks like? Being unsure of whether you put the headline about the illegal coup d’etat next to a spring season fashion report? Above or below the round-up of best rice cookers? The fact is the front pages look like it’s business as normal when it’s anything but.

This was Ruth Ben-Ghiat on Tuesday. She’s a historian of fascism and authoritarianism at New York University and she said this even before some of this week’s most extreme events had taken place. (A transcript of the rest of her words here.)

“It’s very unusual. In my study of authoritarian states, it's only really after a coup that you see such a speed, such obsessive haste to purge bureaucracy so quickly. Or when somebody is defending themselves, like Erdogan after the coup attempt against him, massive purge immediately. So that's unusual. I don't have another reference point for a private individual coming in, infiltrating, trying to turn government to the benefit of his businesses and locking out and federal employees. It is a coup. I'm a historian of coups, and I would also use that word. So we're in a real emergency situation for our democracy.”

A day later, this was Tim Snyder, Yale, a Yale professor and another great historian of authoritarianism, here: “Of course it’s a coup.”

History was made this week and while reporters are doing incredible work, to understand it our guides are historians, those who’ve lived in authoritarian states and Silicon Valley watchers. They are saying it. What I’ve learned from investigating and reporting on Silicon Valley’s system-level hack of our democracy for eight long years and seeing up close the breathtaking impunity and entitlement of the men who control these companies is that they break laws and they get away with it. And then lie about it afterwards. That’s the model here.

Everything that I’ve ever warned about is happening now. This is it. It’s just happening faster than anyone could have imagined.

It’s not that what’s happening is simply unlawful. This is what David Super, an administrative law professor at Georgetown Law School told the Washington Post.

“So many of these things are so wildly illegal that I think they’re playing a quantity game and assuming the system can’t react to all this illegality at once.”

And he’s right. The system can’t and isn’t. Legal challenges are being made and even upheld but there’s no guarantee or even sign that Musk is going to honour them. That’s one of the most chilling points my friend, Mark Bergman, made to me over the weekend.

Last week, I included a voice note from my friend, tech investor turned tech campaigner, Roger McNamee, so you could hear direct from an expert about the latest developments in AI. This week I’ve asked Mark to do the honours.

He’s a lawyer, Washington political insider, and since last summer, he’s been participating in ‘War Game’ exercises with Defense Department officials, three-star generals, former Cabinet Secretaries and governors. In five exercises involving 175 people, they situation-tested possible scenarios of a Trump win. But they didn’t see this. It’s even worse than they feared.

“Those challenges have been in respect of shutting down agencies, firing federal employees and engaging in the most egregious hack of government. It all at the hand hands of DOGE, Musk and his band of tech engineers. DC right now is shell-shocked. It is a government town, USA, ID, the FBI, the Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, CIA, no federal agency will be spared the revenge and retribution tours in full swing, and huge numbers have been put on administrative leave, reassigned or fired, and the private sector is as much at risk, particularly NGOs and civil society organizations. The more high-profile violate the law, which is why the courts have been quick to enjoin actions. “So yes, we've experienced a coup, not the old fashioned kind, no tanks or mobs, but an undemocratic and hostile takeover of government. It is cruel, it is petty. It can be brutal. It is at once chaotic and surgical. We said the institutions held in 2020 but behind institutions or people, and the extent to which all manner of power structures have preemptively obeyed is hugely worrying. There are legions ready to carry out the Trump agenda. The question is, will the rule of law hold?”

Last Tuesday, Musk tried to lay off the entire CIA. That’s the government body with the slogan ‘We are the nation’s first line of defense’. Every single employee has been offered an unlawful ‘buyout’ - what we call redundancy in the UK - or what 200 former employees - spies - have said is blatant attempt to rebuild it as a political enforcement unit. Over the weekend, the Washington Post reports that new appointees are being presented with “loyalty tests”.

Musk’s troops - because that’s what they are, mercenaries - are acting in criminal, unlawful, unconstitutional ways. Organisations are acting quickly, taking lawsuits, and for now the courts are holding. But the key essential question is whether their rulings can be enforced with a political weaponized Department of Justice and FBI. What Mark Bergman told me (and is in the extended note below) is that they’ve known since the summer that there would be almost no way of pushing back against Trump. This politicisation of all branches of law enforcement creates a vacuum at the heart of the state. As he says in that note, the ramifications of this are little understood outside the people inside Washington who study this for a living.

And at least some of what DOGE is doing can never be undone. Musk, a private citizen, now has vast clouds of citizens’ data, their personal information and it seems likely, classified material. When data is out there, it’s out there. That genie can never be put back into the bottle.

Itt’s what it’s possible to do with that data, that the real nightmare begins. What machine learning algorithms and highly personalised targeting can do. It’s a digital coup. An information coup. And we have to understand what that means. Our fleshy bodies still inhabit earthly spaces but we are all, also, digital beings too. We live in a hybrid reality. And for more than a decade we have been targets of hybrid warfare, waged by hostile nation states whose methodology has been aped and used against us by political parties in a series of disrupted elections marked by illegal behaviour and a lack of any enforcement. But this now takes it to the next level.

It facilitates a concentration of wealth and power - because data is power - of a kind the world has never seen before.

Facebook’s actual corporate motto until 2014 taken from words Mark Zuckerberg spoke was “Move fast and break things”. That phrase has passed into commonplace: we know it, we quote it, we also fail to understand what that means. It means: act illegally and get away with it.

And that is the history of Silicon Valley. Its development and cancerous growth is marked by series of larcenous acts each more grotesque than the last. And Musk’s career is an exemplar of that, a career that has involved rampant criminality, gross invasions of privacy, stock market manipulation. And lies. The Securities and Exchange Commission is currently suing Musk for failing to disclose his ownership stock before he bought Twitter. The biggest mistake right now is to believe anything he says.

Every time, these companies have broken the law, they have simply gotten away with it. I know I’m repeating this, but it’s central to understanding both the mindset and what’s happening on the ground. And no-one exemplifies that more than Musk. The worst that has happened to him is a fine. A slap on the wrist. An insignificant line on a balance sheet. The “cost of doing business”.

On Friday, Robert Reich, the former United States Secretary of Labor, who’s been an essential voice this week, told the readers of his Substack to act now and call their representatives.

“Friends, we are in a national emergency. This is a coup d’etat. Elon Musk was never authorized by Congress to do anything that he’s doing, he was never even confirmed by Congress, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency was never authorized by Congress. Your representatives, your senators and Congressmen have never given him authority to do what he is doing, to take over government departments, to take over entire government agencies, to take over government payments system itself to determine for himself what is an appropriate payment. To arrogate to himself the authority to have your social security number, your private information? Please. Listen, call Congress now.”

It’s a coup

I found myself completely poleaxed on Wednesday. I read this piece on the New York Times website first thing in the morning, a thorough and alarming analysis of headlined “Trump Brazenly Defies Laws in Escalating Executive Power Grab”. It quoted Peter M. Shane, who is a legal scholar in residence at New York University, “programmatic sabotage and rampant lawlessness.” It was displayed prominently on the front page of the New York Times but it was also just one piece among many, a small weak signal amid the overpowering noise.

There’s another word for an “Executive Power Grab”, it’s a coup. And newspapers need to actually write that in big black letters on their front pages and tell their tired, busy, overwhelmed, distracted, scared readers what is happening. That none of this is “business as usual.”

Over on the Guardian’s UK website on Wednesday, there was not a single mention on the front page of what was happening. Trump’s Gaza spectacular diversion strategy drowned out its quotient of American news. We just weren’t seeing what’s happening in the seat of government of our closest ally. As a private citizen mounted a takeover of the cornerstone superpower of the international rules-based order, our crucial NATO ally, our biggest single trading partner, the UK government didn’t even apparently notice.

The downstream potential international consequences of what is happening in America are profound and terrifying. That our government and much of the media is asleep at the wheel is a reason to be more not less terrified. Musk has made his intentions towards our democracy and national security quite clear. What he hasn’t yet had is the backing of the US state. That is shortly going to change. One of the first major stand-offs will be UK and EU tech regulation. I hope I’m wrong but it seems pretty obvious that’s what Musk’s Starmer-aimed tweets are all about. There seems no world in which the EU and the UK aren’t headed for the mother of all trade wars.

And that’s before we even consider the national security ramifications. The prime minister should be convening Cobra now. The Five Eyes - the intelligence sharing network of the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada - is already likely breached. Trump is going to do individual deals with all major trading partners that’s going to involve preposterous but real threats, including likely dangling the US’s membership of NATO over our heads all while Russia watches, waits and knows that we’ve done almost nothing to prepare. Plans to increase our defence spending have been made but not yet implemented. Our intelligence agencies do understand the precipice we’re on but there’s no indication the government is paying any attention to them. The risks are profound. The international order as we know it is collapsing in real time.

It’s a coup

We all know that the the first thing that happens when a dictator seizes power is that he (it’s always a he) takes control of the radio station. Musk did that months ago. It wasn’t that Elon Musk buying Twitter pre-ordained what is now happening but it made it possible. And it was the moment, minutes after Trump was shot and he went full-in on his campaign that signalled the first shot fired in his digital takeover.

It’s both a mass propaganda machine and also the equivalent of an information drone with a deadly payload. It’s a weapon that’s already been turned on journalists and news organisations this week. There’s much more to come.

On Friday, Musk started following Wikileaks on Twitter. Hours later, twisted, weaponized leaks from USAID began.

This is going to get so much worse. Musk and MAGA will see this as the opening of the Stasi archive. It’s not. It’s rocketfuel for a witchhunt. It’s hybrid warfare against the enemies of the state. It’s going to be ugly and cruel and its targets are going to need help and support. Hands across the water to my friends at OCCRP, the Overseas Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, an investigative journalism organisation that uncovers transnational crime, that’s been in Musk’s sights this weekend, one of hundreds of media organisations around the world whose funding has been slashed overnight.

It’s a coup

By now you may feel scared and helpless. It’s how I felt this week. I had the same sick feeling I had watching UK political coverage before the pandemic. The government was just going to ignore the wave of deaths rippling from China to Italy and pretend it wasn’t happening? Really? That’s the plan?

This is another pandemic. Or a Chernobyl. It’s a bomb at the heart of the international order whose toxic fallout is going to inevitably drift our way.

My internal alarm bell, a sense of urgency and anxiety goes even further back. To early 2017, when I uncovered information about Cambridge Analytica’s illegal hack of data from Facebook while the company’s VP, Steve Bannon, was then on the National Security Council. That concept of highly personalised data in the control of a ruthless and political operator was what tripped my emergency wires. That is a reality now.

The point is that the shock and awe is meant to make us feel helpless. So I’m telling a bit of my own personal story here. Because part of what temporarily paralyzed me last week was that this is all happening while my own small corner of the mainstream media is collapsing in on itself too. The event that I’ve spent the last eight years warning about has come to pass and in a month, 100+ of my colleagues at the Guardian will be out of the door and my employment will be terminated. I will no longer have the platform of the news organisation where I’ve done my entire body of work to date and was able to communicate to a global audience.

But then, it’s all connected. We are living through an information crisis. It’s what underpins everything. In some ways, this happening now is not surprising at all. Moreover, many of the people who I see as essential voices during this crisis (including those above) are doing that effectively and independently from Substack as I will try to continue to do.

And, the key thing that the last eight years has given me is information. The lawsuit I fought for four years as a result of doing this work very almost floored me. But it didn’t. And I’ve learned essential skills during those years. It was part of what powered me to fight for the rights of Guardian journalists during our strike this December.

The next fightback against Musk and the Broligarchy has to draw from the long, long fight for workers rights which in turn influenced the fight for civil rights that must now power us on as we face the great unknown. What comes next has to be a fight for our data rights, our human rights.

This was former Guardian journalist Gary Younge on our picket line and I’ve thought about these words a lot. You have to fight even if you won’t necessarily win. Power is almost never given up freely.

If you value any of this and want me to be able to continue, I’d be really grateful if you signed up, free, or even better, paid subscription. And I’d also urge you to sign up also for the Citizen Dispatch, that’s the newsletter from the non-profit I founded that campaigns around these issues. There is much more it can and needs to do.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

hey there! I really love your writing, could I request for shadow reacting to reader going down the same path as him after losing a loved one? Like maybe reader also used to be happy and cheerful but became cold and closed off after that?

“I Know Your Pain”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: It hurt. It hurt so much to lose people so close to you. You thought nobody would be able to feel your pain. But luckily, someone did.

Notes: Ahhhhh more angst!! I really hope you like this one, anon! (And- sorry for the lack of posts-)

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

(TWs: Mentions of death, death shown in writing, swearing.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

No. No. NonononononoNONONONO!

“MOM! DAD!” you cry out, rushing over to your parents.

They appear to be on the ground, unmoving, with a large pool of blood around each of them.

You check for a pulse, anything to make sure they’re still alive, but…nothing.

They’re gone. Dead. And you couldn’t protect them.

Tears threaten to fall down your face, but you force them not to.

No, crying isn’t what you need right now.

What you need is-

“Revenge,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll avenge you both. I promise.”

You get up off your knees and exit the home, a patch with the letters G.U.N. sliding into frame as the screen fades to black.

As the screen fades back in, we see Team Dark in a G.U.N. meeting, with Shadow being bored out of his mind. He didn’t even work for G.U.N., and neither did Rouge or Omega, so why were they all here?

Before he has too much time to question it, a huge explosion can be heard nearby, causing his ears to flick.

“(Must be the doctor,)” Shadow thinks to himself. “(Finally, an excuse to get out of this boring meeting.)”

“Wonder who that could be,” Rouge says to no one in particular.

“I’ll take care of it,” Shadow says, getting out of his chair. “Rouge, you and Omega should get everyone to safety. Just in case this place goes down.”

“Be careful, hun,” Rouge says.

“I WISH TO ASSIST YOU IN THE FIGHT,” Omega states.

“I’ll call you if I need backup. But I’ll be fine,” Shadow states.

“ANGRY. SETTINGS SET TO “BACKUP FIGHTER,”” Omega says.

Shadow teleports out of the meeting room to where the explosion happened. He cringes a bit at the amount of bodies.

His ear flicks due to a sudden noise, and he catches a piece of rubble that was coming his way with one hand.

Following the bodies, Shadow quickly comes across the culprit, which causes his eyes to widen.

You.

The person who was once so nice and caring, with your eyes filled with joy, were now filled with hatred and spite, a scowl adorning your face.

You slam a G.U.N. agent into the ground, you hand on the back of his head.

“WHICH OF YOU FUCKERS KILLED MY PARENTS?!” you yell.

“[Name]!” Shadow calls out.

You quickly turn your head towards Shadow and your scowl falls, with you releasing the agent, who scrambles away from you.

“Shadow…You…what are you doing here?” you ask.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says. “What happened?”

You go silent for a moment.

“They killed my parents, Shadow,” you mutter. “These bastards shot them dead.”

Shadow seems surprised, his ears flattening back a bit.

“I…I just…” you start before putting your hands over your mouth. “Oh god, what am I doing…?”

You take in the damage you’ve done around you, falling to your knees.

Shadow is near you in an instant, pulling you into a tight hug.

For the first time since your parents’ deaths, you choke out a sob, allowing the tears to flow freely down your face as you return the hug just as tightly, your eyes squeezing shut as you cry.

You weren’t alone in this feeling, and Shadow wasn’t going to leave you.

You were safe.

[madhatterbri]

Comfort | J.U.

Summary: Can I request a Jey Uso x reader fic, please? The reader goes out to the ring to comfort Jey after his loss to Gunther. Based on Saturday Night's Main Event.

Requested by: Anon

Jey Uso Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @miss-kuki-nz @surdelcielo @missbmc94 @magicalbuttertarts @hodgepodge-musings

The crowd still cheered for Jey Uso despite the less-than-desirable outcome. He just lost to Gunther during Saturday Night Main Event. He sat on one knee in the middle of the ring. His elbow rested on his knee, fingers snaked in his hair as sad eyes stared at the ring. He had given him all this match, but it wasn't enough.

You stood up from the commentary table and walked inside the ring. Your arm wrapped around his shoulders and rubbed his arms slowly. He had been in this position for a while. His beautiful mind probably gave him self-doubt that maybe he wasn't a main event star. His actions were eating at your core. You had to make him feel better somehow.

"You looked incredible out there," you spoke into his ear.

He sighed and shook his head. "It certainly doesn't feel like it. They love me out there and I can't even show them how good I can be."

Jey moved slightly and winced. The match had been brutal for both men involved. You lightly scratched the top of his back. He seemed to lean into your touch. Feeling more confident with the situation, you rubbed his traps slowly.

"You were amazing," you started, "You were so close, baby, and you continued to fight and show grit. This is why the fans love you."

He sighed loudly. His fingers fiddled together. "I let you down, mama. That's all I could think about at the end of the match. You deserve a champion."

"You could never let me down, Jey. Despite the outcome, I know you will continue to train to get the gold. That is the Jey Uso I fell in love with."

Jey propped his head up. His stoic face washed away. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You always know what to tell me, girl."

"That's why you keep me around," you reminded and kissed his cheek. Jey turned to look at you. His devious smile made you melt. The only man that could make you fall in love all over again with something as simple as a smile.

"I can think of a few other reasons," he teased and kissed you softly. "And when we get back to that hotel, I'll show you what I mean."

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The biggest protest in Super Bowl history happened on the Stage tonight and folk screaming it's boring or trash because it went over their head! This what you didn't see. . Then again the message is Blacks have always been here to entertain THEY (Who are not like us) so they aren't bored. . They rather have Wayne up there high, who has backed Drake (The system) to push the agenda. . The messages Kendrick just sent to America could not use Wayne.

People who are tired of being divided should see it. Notice the American flag divided? . But most of all, those who didn't have a lens to see it just shows the system has worked and you're the type it's been working on. . Dude is the most creative genius in hiphop history. . But go off. Maybe we can see more well respected entrepreurs and family men leading for once. . Here is the kicker: Look at your fb friends who say they wish it was more entertaining. Yeah, they were who it's been working on. The system rather keep you choosing entertainment over being educated . Watch the first 10 secs of his rap. Dead Pres reference Bigger Than Hiphop. True Art! . Rappers sent as plants to hurt us will no longer be tolerated. WE ARE WOKE. If you're mad at it please don't complain about being looked at a certain way. . Because if you keep praising the entertainers who promote killing each other and degrading our women. I guess America will think it's OK too. . Watch the comments fill up with "Nothing will change" from people who are ok waiting for it to change vs doing their part. . The point he was making was... Come to this post in 24 hours and watch how many of us are fighting the message and messenger vs thinking of positive growth to move forward . You don't expect shucking and jiving and twerking from an artist who was the only rapper ever to win a Pulitzer Prize. You appreciate ART. And Art is sometimes boring but changes cultures.

Them: We watch Super Bowl to be entertained . Well it's 2025. The Super Bowl performance goes on Youtube and we can talk about it for weeks and hopefully lead to Unity and Change.

[Derrick A. Harper Sr.]

[pedripics]

Pedri: «I like being a leader, it's a role that doesn't scare me at all»

(via EFE - February 11, 2025)

Sant Joan Despí, (Barcelona) - Despite his youth, midfielder Pedro González 'Pedri' (Tegueste, Tenerife, 2002) is not afraid to become one of the leaders of Hansi Flick's Barcelona, ​​a coach who, as he explained in an interview with EFE, asked him at the beginning of the season to take "a step forward" as head of the engine room of the Blaugrana team.

With the arrival of the German coach last summer, the Canarian footballer has not only left behind the muscle injuries that have slowed his progress in the last three seasons, but, positioned a little further away from the area, he has become the conductor of a team that is "feasible" to fight to win all the titles, he says.

Happy with his new role on the field

"I really like this position because I'm in contact with the ball, I touch the ball a lot, the game goes through me. I feel more comfortable and I've learned how to position myself better in defensive tasks," he says.

The advanced statistics prove him right. Of all the players who play in the five major European leagues and European competitions, Pedri is the one who has given the most pre-assists, with 7 pre-assists that have led to a goal assist.

According to the Spanish international, Flick's confidence has been key to his improvement - "he told me he wanted me to dominate the midfield," he recalls - and he naturally assumes being one of the leaders in the dressing room.

"There are a lot of young players and because of my experience I should be one of the leaders. I like being that, it's a role that doesn't scare me, not at all. I just want to face it to try to make Barça win titles," he added.

He feels “very light” on the grass

In addition, Pedri has found continuity in his game this season, something that he had been lacking in the last three seasons due to the muscular ailments he had been suffering from.

In this sense, he says that he currently feels "very light" on the grass, where he can make "several efforts in a row" without fear of breaking.

"The way we train," he admits, has been one of the main reasons why he has played in 35 of the 36 official matches that Barcelona has played this season - 33 as a starter - surpassing the 34 he played last season.

"It doesn't mean that the other way of training was bad, but it's just that it suits me very well," he says. After the arrival of Julio Tous as head of physical preparation last summer, the first team of the Blaugrana, says Pedri, does strength exercises "much more measured" for each player and their needs. "It's a job that suits me better personally and, that's why I'm feeling so good," he says.

In addition, genetic tests were carried out which, according to the Tenerife midfielder, determined that he needed to play the matches in a row, with hardly any breaks. "I prefer to play, since my body finds it harder to get going when it stops for one or two weeks," he added.

Good atmosphere in the locker room

And that is what Hansi Flick is doing, asking him to "stay calm, maintain possession and from there create opportunities" in a team in which there is a "feeling" between the players, he highlights.

"We're always laughing and joking around, because there are many players who aren't even 20 years old. We laugh a lot and the good relationship we have off the pitch is transmitted on it," he says.

In addition to Pedri, another of Barça's footballing leaders is the Brazilian Raphael Dias 'Raphinha', the team's second top scorer this season with 24 goals, who is praised for his work capacity.

"He deserves it a lot, because there was a time when he was being criticized, when he wasn't at his best, but you always saw him training, wanting to improve, wanting to have those opportunities that you knew were going to come to him because of the way he worked, he's spectacular," he added.

He also praises other colleagues such as Pablo Páez Gavira 'Gavi' and Fermín López - "they seem to be going crazy, but the work they both do is incredible," he says - as well as his friend Ferran Torres, who this season is reaping "the fruits" of his work.

Optimistic about the selection

Since his breakthrough in the elite with Barcelona in the 2020-21 season, Pedri has also established himself in the Spanish national team, with which he won the European Championship last summer.

“Whenever you win a tournament like the Euros, you always think: I hope the World Cup comes soon, we are doing very well. We have to wait, they are dynamic, we have a great team. It is good that Rodri (Hernández) and Dani Carvajal - both injured - can make it to the 2026 World Cup and so we have everyone available,” he says.

The Barça player also highlights the influence of coach Luis de la Fuente, who he says knows “almost all” of the national team's players due to having trained in the lower categories of the national team.

“That is very important when it comes to transmitting. He believed in you when you were little and he continues to believe in you in the absolute. That gives you a lot of confidence” he points out.

He doesn't forget his roots

Beyond his day-to-day work as a professional, Pedri does not forget his roots, not even when he chooses to join forces with a brand. This is the case of Plátano de Canarias, a product from his “land” with which he is very proud to collaborate.

“Many times it is personal issues, emotional issues, that make one thing satisfy you more than another, and not so much because of the economic value or other things. You value sentimental or emotional things more than anything else,” he says.

The Canarian footballer has also been involved in a campaign to promote healthy habits among young people through the consumption of fruits such as bananas.

[roodles03]

Hazbin Hotel Angelic Wings Theory

Something I thought of while falling asleep last night, is that after Vaggie regains her wings, they become retractable.

Vaggie regains her wings in Hello Rosie, but as we can see in the next episode they're seemingly gone

But later in The Show Must Go On, it's shown she can just pull them out at will and then retract them when she wants later.

Now comparing her to another Angel of her kind (exorcists) Lute ALWAYS has her wings out and it appears she CANNOT retract them. (This also applies to Adam but I don't think he counts as a true exorcist angel)

This may also apply to Vaggie herself before she was brutalized and attacked by Lute. As she has her old set of wings at all times.

(Yes, TORN off, not CUT off. Lute didn't use angelic weapons to cut off Vaggie's wings, she TORE them off with her bare hands. That's why Vaggie was able to grow them back)

So perhaps having your wings physically torn off in some way, when you grow them back it has the side effect of making them retractable. I was thinking that maybe the animators just don't want to draw the wings at all times but clearly they do for other angels and other winged characters so this seems purposeful.

This also seems to apply to the seraphim angels we see, Sera and Emily. They ALWAYS have their wings out and it doesn't seem they can retract them at will.

Now, who else is a Seraphim who CAN retract their wings?

Yes, it's Lucifer.

In fact, it seems Lucifer highly prefers to keep his wings retracted. Seemingly only using them to fly, fight, or show off. They also appear to come out automatically similar to his horns when he goes full-demon.

Now I actually did go back to the opening storybook sequence, and Lucifer has his wings out the ENTIRE time rather than just before which does make this a bit confusing.

But I do find it really odd he only has half his wings here, just before being thrown into hell, despite it not being a side profile. As an artist I really see no reason for that choice, it wouldn't really affect the silhouettes too much because they show overlap in earlier scenes. It just seems super odd here. But at the same time, there's no way to know the true intention of why they drew it the way they did. Maybe it was to make things appear clearer, it could be foreshadowing he lost half his wings? Who knows. I don't have an answer for this part.

But It's also important to note this opening scene was narrated to us as if it were a storybook being read to a child. Narratively, It's a simple narration/exposition of a previous event in the story. A lot of shows do this and leave out the details in order to actually show us what happened on screen in a flashback down the line. And to make that actual flashback more satisfying and NOT feel like a waste of time, they most definitely had to leave stuff out of this initial exposition. (Plus you still want mysteries to keep viewers engaged) Think of the Roo, Root of all Evil Theory, or how they don't talk much about Eve at all. This could be stuff they intentionally left out in case they do have a flashback of this moment later in the series.

So it's entirely possible that they purposely left out Lucifer getting his wings torn off to make it a surprise for when they do actually show us the fall of humanity, and in turn, Lucifer's fall.

Of course, you could argue that Vaggie and Lucifer CHOOSE to retract their wings while the other angels don't, but the fact that no angel we know of besides them does it, and they're both fallen angels, one of which we know FOR SURE had their wings torn off, it raises enough eyebrows for me.

Basically, I think it's very possible that through the evidence of Vaggie's wings being retractable after growing them back, and every other angel we know of never retracts their wings and has never had their wings torn off, it can be assumed that Lucifer might have had his wings torn off as punishment when he was sent down to hell.

[postcardsfromheapside]

So I finished my DA2 replay, and I had wondered if I would feel differently after taking my time with it, and with the perspective of Veilguard. And yes, in small ways I do, but about the series and about Anders, I don't. That is to say: I think Veilguard is a fucking fantastic capper to the series (I mean, pray there is more, "hope for the best, expect the worst" as the Mel Brooks song goes), and Anders is relatably angry, even if the "betrayal" is frustrating and heart-breaking.

Also, there's just too much Dragon Age just the same way there's too much Tolkien, it's just that I can relisten to Tolkien via audiobook while I work and don't have time to constantly replay Dragon Age to absorb every little detail that my broken brain forgets (and I'm pretty good with lore) and I wish parts of this fandom were more curious than scathing about things they've obviously forgotten. Or skipped through, according to some of them, because I guess the context of dialogue and a cut scene isn't necessary for some of them to weigh in on things.

Word vomit of notes below the break:

First of all.

Can these two just fuck already. Watching Cassandra go from throwing him around to absolutely ENTHRALLED by Varric's complete bullshit is just going to make it so much better when I hit the "Guilty Pleasures" quest again in DA:I. This woman is SEDUCED by his story-telling, and you *cannot* convince me he wasn't gagging on his power trip.

Second.

I never played Mark of the Assassin before, and had completely forgotten Felicia Day was in DA2, and laughed like hell. I really enjoyed it. I haven't really used a stealth option in a game since leaving Skyrim for other stuff (do we ever really leave Skyrim?) and it was really fun, but I think the wyvern at the end of the DLC was actually the best fight in the entire game, even more than Corypheus. It hinted at the dragon battles to come in Veilguard. Also, I loved how Anders' dialogue got more relaxed outside of Kirkwall, like shedding the city let him loosen up. The back and forth with Hawke about his fantasy for being rescued was completely unhinged - after I accused Hawke of being feral and lacking social graces, I've decided the two of them match each other's freak and they're fine.

Third.

All the people who were losing their minds about the line "A crow never abandons a contract" and acting like the devs forgot Zevran.

He literally addresses it in the game. I keep having these moments where shit that people bitched about regarding Veilguard is addressed right *there.*

"The crows do like saying that, but I am living proof it's a lie."

No one actually forgot, but I'm sure the Dellamorte's wish to the Maker a motherfucker could.

When people complain the writing in Veilguard is too modern, I'm going to remember Hawke complaining exactly like this. She sounds like I do when I'm side-eyeing my friends in the year of our Maker 2025.

Fourth.

I had planned on romancing Blackwall this DA:I run, finally, because I'm a little obsessed with this Warden throughline from Anders to Blackwall to Davrin. From a cage, to hope/redemption, to a more meaningful path of positive change and impact.

They both haunt Veilguard's narrative and dialogue.

And then of course:

hrm.

Fifth.

I do hope we get another DA. Or supplementary material. Because I want to know what the fuck is going on with this story I had forgotten the details of, especially with the decision regarding the Nadas Dirthalen.

These two fucking idiots. I can't believe in different lives I've schtupped them both. (I can absolutely believe it)

Sixth.

The worst part of Meredith is she sounds like conservative family members of mine. 'Better to punish the innocent than risk even one guilty person go free', rather than the opposite. To them it sounds so reasonable. To us, it's abhorrent to punish everyone else for other people's crimes.

I couldn't bring myself to feel betrayed by Anders, even though I tried to play my Hawke as I think she would have felt: betrayed by the secret-keeping, if nothing else. The shock and hurt at the innocent lives. But it's hard not to feel an understanding when I sit here in a political situation with - maybe not less fraught, but at least less fantastical - implications and certainly still feel like violence is inevitable and we are way past the point of compromise and words.

Anyway.

This dwarf.

[saturnzskyzz]

Ler In-ho with Gi-hun tkl headcannon's!!!

Everyone clap and cheer for my first headcannon request!!! Clap it up 👏👏👏 thank you @ryoko-loves-roses for this request! I don't make that much headcannon's, so bare with me 😭🙏 I also didn't say this on text, but In-ho tickling Gi-hun to lift up his spirits is such a good headcannon!! Might have to take that into consideration and wip up a fic after blasting through my fic requests ✍️ (I'm sorry for how long this is 😭 I might've gotten carried away)

ANYWAY!

I feel that since Jung-bae and Gi-hun have reunited in the games, Jung-bae has a sudden urge to pick on him for that, and how he does it is through poking his sides or stomach, causing Gi-hun to break into a small, nervous smile! And since they have their little group with In-ho and everyone else, he notices this quite often, and so that's when he takes it upon himself to use that fact for himself!

How I think he'd tickle Gi-hun as a way to lift his spirits up, I feel that he would go light, and try to make it seem like they're friends just having a good laugh because he's having to make amends with these people in order to fit in, so he.. OH so totallyyy shows him just a tiny bit of mercy because he's acting with those who are in debt.. Totally not because he's also enjoying the fun banter... Totally.. Only a tiny bit though.

-he goes light and is cautious, but also, he still have that evil side with him.

-he'll literally forget half way through tickling Gi-hun as to why he's even tickling him in the first place, causing Gi-hun to become breathy with his giggles. (it's the contagious and interesting sight he sees from Gi-hun just losing his Michivious and dark persona just by a few pokes to the sides)

-he'll even laugh with Gi-hun because that's how contagious his giggles are!

-he'd give teases here and there, and would sometimes tease too much, resulting in Gi-hun laughing his fucking head off because he can't handle the teases while being tickled, so In-ho is now dealing with a flustered mess of a puddle infront of him. (He teases him about that too)

-I think his tease would go along the lines of;

"I'm glad I've caught Jung-bae poking you, this is just perfect!"

"You're seriously this sensitive? For you to be a previous winner, I'm impressed!"

"Can you hear yourself right now? I'd mistake you as a little girl!"

"Awe, are we going all flustered now? That's cute."

OH MY GOD Gi-hun would flip on a table and break it by the harsh landing cause WHAT?!

Since he's wanting to lift his spirits, I don't think he'd use his free hand to pin Gi-hun's hands.. I KNOW IT'S A CURVE BALL BUT TRUST ME!

He'd leave them free to roam and thrash cause let's be honest.. Gi-hun isn't doing shit 😭 (touch-starved much??)

And he'd also tease him about that too!

"You got all the hands in the world, and yet you don't even stop me? It's like you wanted this to happen."

When he's done, gi-hun is such a flustered mess that he just stays there for a few minutes, resulting in In-ho giving his left over milk that he would have to give him to calm him down!

The aftercare like that is on instinct because of past tickle fights with Jun-ho I'M SORRY-

I hope these were good! I wanted to focus on the idea you had for Gi-hun having his spirits lifted cause aaaah!!! That's a good idea!