#what do you mean that not only am i allowed to say no but that in order to be a safe partner i have to be able to communicate boundaries

[eclipixels]

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

      You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

      With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

      The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

      A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

      Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

      You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

      And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

      But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

      Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

      "You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

      "I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

      He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

      Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

      "Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

      His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

      Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

      "And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

      "Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

      Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

      "You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

      You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

      He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

      For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

      The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

      Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

      A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

      "I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

      Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

      “You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

      Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

      And just like that, he turned to leave.

      A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

      The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

      But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

      You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

      All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

      And you didn’t care how you got home.

      Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

      The last person you wanted to see right now.

      At least he wasn’t with her.

      "What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

      At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

      "The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

      God. The sheer audacity.

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

      His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

      Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

      "You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

      His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

      "Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

      For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

      Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

      Hurt?

      "Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

      You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

      "Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

      The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

      You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

      "That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

      Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

      "You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

      Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

      "She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

      His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

      And that—that—set you off completely.

      "Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

      As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

      His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

      He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

      Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

      His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

      Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

      Sylus stilled.

      He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

      His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

      The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

      “I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

      “I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

      “I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

      “Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

      “I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

      “You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

      "I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

      "Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

      "I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

      “Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

      Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

      You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

      His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

      You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

      His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

      Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

      His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

      You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

      Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

      And still, something in you wanted more.

      The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

      His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

      You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

      "That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

      He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

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

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair— Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra–”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is–” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here–”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get–”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right– what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months–”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking–” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it–”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great– I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo–”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just– shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you—"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph—" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips–”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly– he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with– is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the—”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"—transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally– 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this—some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all—

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm– oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all—"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You–"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I– I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead–"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through– 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that–?"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you—"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining–"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being—"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like-- I don’t know– trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

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[mommyownsmee]

8🙈

8: What are the rules you would give your little/sub/domme?

Rules - For my Submissive

You will address me as „Mommy/Daddy“ in private at all times and I‘ll always call you by a name of your choice [unless inappropriate]. You decided for „…“ in private and „…“ in public. We decided that you can call me „…“ in public.

You must always obey my orders [unless inappropriate]. If you can‘t you have to give me a reason for it, which I will respect at all times.

You must send me a selfie of you everyday [definitely], or a photo of what you wear [if you can].

You will take any punishment you may receive [without complaint]. Appropriate punishment will be given for breaking any of these rules- and you must give a proper apology: „I’m sorry for [what you did] Mommy/Daddy“. Rule breaking is only allowed under special circumstances [birthdays etc.]

We agreed on the Punishments together and added them to the app already.

You must always tell me when/where you consume any drugs/alcohol and who you are with- before doing so. I want you to be safe and have infos if there is an emergency.

You may not have another treat you as I do allow. I will not be happy and you will not be forgiven if I find out [and I will].

I may add/remove anything from these rules at any time [we can always talk about these rules].

Mommy/Daddy will always tell you if they‘re having a bad day [our dynamic will maybe have a certain timeout].

You will always say good morning and good night to mommy/daddy. You will always tell mommy/daddy when you have to leave and where you‘re going [except it‘s an emergency. In this case you can tell mommy/daddy later what happened].

You have to put on your online time and checkmarks for messages on your social media for mommy/daddy. I want to see if you‘ve read my messages and when you‘ve been online. Otherwise mommy/daddy will be very worried. This is a point that can‘t be discussed.

Bedtime is at midnight. Only exceptions are weekends [Friday and Saturday] or birthdays, etc.

You are mine. You belong to me alone.

I want you to tell me your location when you‘re not at home or at work.

You have to stay within 2 meters when we are walking in public, no walking away from mommy/daddy.

You have to inform mommy/daddy about your plans for the day [in the morning].

You have to ask mommy/daddy whenever you want to buy expensive (things that are not groceries/ drugstore articles/... Like electronic devices, clothes etc.)

No eye rolling, no sticking tongue out, both gets you -500 points OR one overstimulation punishment.

Rules - For my Domme

| I AM AUTISTIC |

Communicate clearly & directly – I sometimes struggle with subtle cues or unspoken expectations. Please be clear in your instructions, tone, and intentions so I can fully understand what you need from me.

Correct me, but with understanding – If I make a mistake or displease you, I accept discipline, but I also need to understand what I did wrong and how I can improve.

Acknowledge my efforts – I thrive on pleasing you, and knowing that I’m doing well fuels my devotion. A simple acknowledgment, whether praise or correction, means everything to me.

Give me the freedom to express myself – I need a space where I can express my thoughts, emotions, and concerns without fear of punishment or dismissal.

Establish routine & predictability when possible – I function best when I have structure. Please help me by keeping routines, rules, and expectations as consistent as possible, and letting me know in advance if things will change.

Encourage my growth – Submission is a journey, and I want to grow both as your submissive and as a person. Help guide me to be better, not just for you, but for myself as well.

Allow me to seek comfort in you – When I am vulnerable, uncertain, or struggling, let me turn to you without fear. Your dominance is my anchor, and your presence is my refuge.

Recognize when I need you the most – There will be times when I struggle to express my needs. Please be attentive to my unspoken signals and guide me when I cannot guide myself.

Give me time to process changes – Sudden changes in routine or expectations can overwhelm me. If something needs to shift, please let me know in advance when possible, so I have time to adjust.

Respect my sensory needs – Certain textures, sounds, or touches may overstimulate or distress me. Please be mindful of my sensory sensitivities, especially during play, discipline, or intimacy.

Allow me to use stimming or self-regulation methods – If I need to stim (rocking, tapping, fidgeting, etc.) or take a break to regulate myself, please allow me to do so without judgment. It helps me stay calm and present.

Be patient with my emotional processing – Sometimes I may struggle to express what I feel or need right away. Please give me the time and space to process my emotions and communicate them in my own way.

Understand my social exhaustion – Engaging with people can drain me faster than it does others. If I need quiet time or struggle with social interactions, please allow me the space to recover without guilt.

Rules - For my Little

Littlespace rules for public

Always hold hands with mommy (you can also hold onto mommy‘s arm if you need/want to)

Mommy will always open and close all doors for you

Mommy will talk for you in every situation

Please whisper into mommy’s ear if you want something or have the need to say something

Basic rules

You must always respect Mommy

You must always be be truthful and honest to Mommy

If you are sad Mommy prefers to know immediately.

You are allowed to eat snacks if you will eat a lot of healthy stuff (We will discuss this further).

You don’t have to do anything that you don‘t feel comfortable with.

You are always allowed to speak your mind without punishment given, but Mommy doesn‘t want you to use bad words.

„No“ is „No“. There is no „maybe“.

Evening rules

Your bedtime is 12-1 am (We can talk about a specific time).

You should always take care of your body (shower daily, brush teeth and take makup off etc).

You get Mommy-time daily before bed (read a book, talk or play something) in which Mommy will be there for you only. No distractions.

Morning rules

Your wake up time is 7am (We can talk about a specific time).

You have to brush your teeth in the morning.

You have to eat a healthy breakfast.

[diushek]

omg I love your snake demon shen yuan au! if shen yuan is currently at the prize hunting/gift giving stage of courting luo binghe, does that mean he skipped over fighting him out of respect/fear? or can we expect a tussle in the future (with luo binghe allowing himself to lose ofc)?

MEOW THANK YOU SO MUCH !!!

Honestly, and thinking about it very carefully, I think it can be applied as each demonic species has its predetermined courtships. I mean, yes, demons are inherently violent towards others within the cortege, but I think this species particularly of snake demons would rather go for brute force than for "I can show you how powerful and strong I am by bringing you beasts that no one else could hunt", something like - they demonstrate their power that should be feared or respected in a more strategically subtle way. I also feel that they would go more for a hard strategy than to rush headlong into a fight unless it is a direct provocation

That is to say, I think the message of being feared and respected would be clear if some rare beast appeared at Luo Binghe's door, still dying, with not a wound other than the clean mark of the poisoning of the demon fangs. Like, "look how powerful my venom is, look what it can do, look how I can provide with this for you!!!". I mean, of course it's something Luo Binghe could have hunted with a sword or his hands, but for SOMEONE to have done just to prove a point in their courtship that is unexpectedly funny for him

Thinking about it because I'm a bit of a bitch when it comes to inventing demonic things, maybe some things are particularly hard to get-hunt unless you're a stealthy snake demon with powerful venom. So there's Shen Yuan sighing and having to get his hands dirty because well, his Emperor HAS to see his worth as a suitor- I think that would be the only thing that would make him wrinkle his nose, poor boy, he wants to inspect more beasts and learn from them that he wants to kill

Although I guess it would be funny if, err, at some point the demon court was like "nooo the courtship isn't complete because he hasn't proven he can fight with Junshang!! He doesn't deserve Junshang's attentions!!", idk, they are just irritating and perhaps against this marriage because, after all, it doesn't even make political sense? A waste of resources? they are little bit to be a pain in the ass more than anything, as if they could influence Luo Binghe's opinion lol

But of course Shen Yuan just has to accept that, oh well he'll have this impending tussle with Luo Binghe, exactly THIS is how he wanted to end his week!!! (sarcasm, of course) Anyway, he's willing because, aha, if that's the way he should go...

Luo Binghe would definitely allow himself to lose because he WANTS this pretty suitor as his handsome husband (accepting his destiny of being a wife, please, he has already decided what his path will be), but I think he would fall dramatically to his knees when some other random suitor wants to take advantage from the whole situation and attack Luo Binghe too in the middle of the fight and Shen Yuan is just like "bitch I've been courting the Emperor for weeks to get here fuck you" and he ripped it out a piece of his jugular or something

It's not that Luo Binghe is surrendering, but, eh, there's a lot of blood, chaos and confusion and I guess the court accepts it as valid heheheh

I'M SORRY YOU GAVE ME SPACE TO RAMBLE AND YUM YUM YUM NOW I HAVE SNACKS TO GO WITH MY TEA HAHAHA THANKS FOR ASKING (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

[ghouljams]

Do the guys ever share their birds for a fun night? I imagine that they probably don’t since they’re all possessive bastards in their own way but if they did… who’s pairing first?

Also! Babies? Is Gaz gonna get his sweetheart pregnant after marriage? Before?!! I think Ghost’s girl would be a bit off to having kids cause her fam is shitty. Price probably knocks up his bird on their first night. Making Price a father on Father’s Day is kinda iconic ngl

None of them want to share because they're worried the others will be too rough with their bird lmao

very "only I am allowed to traumatize my wife" vibes.

If they did though there would be a mad dash for Gaz from the other three wives because they assume he'll be gentle with them... he will not be gentle with them... Ghost would probably go for Soap's girl and vice versa, Gaz and Price would trade as well.

As for babies... I mean there's a reason Gaz didn't use a condom. He's looking for every opportunity to tie you to him, to make you think it's fate, to make you dependent on him. If that takes the form of an "unplanned" pregnancy then that's what happens, and he's always wanted a family love, you'll do this for him right? Ghost and his bird are definitely hesitant with kids, Soap is (redacted) and Price is probably trying to knock you up immediately for the same reasons Gaz is.

Tbh I don't know how much Gaz/Price care about children except as pawns for keeping you trapped in a relationship with them. Up until the kid is actually there and then they love the thing. Soap is a certified family man though I'll say that.

[hellfiremunsonn]

Summer Daze. Eddie Munson x Reader

Summer Daze.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: A sweet moment with your sweet boy

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: none? fluffy fluff fluff (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

Word count: 808

You don't know when you realized this, but somehow on a random Tuesday afternoon you realized that your relationship with Eddie Munson, was the most real and perfect relationship you had ever been in.

He wasn't a perfect partner by any means, but neither were you. He has his quirks that drive you up the wall, and god knows you could piss him off in a millisecond, but at the end it never made you two love each other any less, ending each day with a kiss you goodnight and an 'I love you'

It was apart of Eddie to love so fully, rooted so deep in him to care and love, and to show his people constantly how much they meant to him. Sure he was still rough around the edges, and sarcastic as hell, but one thing about Eddie is that every aspect of him is passionate.

So on that hot afternoon, when you're curled up on the couch in his trailer, nose deep in a book, you didn't expect a simple gesture to have you bursting into tears. 

You had been staying at Eddies for the past week or so; Wayne was off on some work trip for the whole week, leaving the place to Eddie and you to play house, and do all those silly little domesticated things together, that the two of you didn't realize how badly you craved it.

Your calves are sticky and sweaty from where they're sprawled across eddies thighs. He's got a pair of old gym shorts low on his hips, and his chest is bare, and you can't help peak over the top of your book every now and then to admire the sight of your flushed boyfriend.

You keep asking Eddie if your legs on his are bothering him, offering to move them but he insists that you keep them there, gripping them tightly when you try to move them away, so you keep them there. Letting him trail his fingers up and down the lengths of them while he watches the tv with heavy lidded eyes. That lethargic feeling that only comes from the end of a hot summers day; when a nap is just around the corner, and the thought of an oscillating fan rippling its breeze over you and the thin sheet you'll wrap yourself in later sounds better than anything else you could think of. 

Eddie groans before stretching his arms up over his head. You loll your head to the side to stare at him fondly. 

"I'll be back" he says patting your legs lightly before moving them off of his lap and standing up. 

You continue reading your book, listening to Eddie rummage around the small trailer doing whatever it was he was doing. 

A few minutes later he returns to you, handing you a small bowl of fruit cut up with a fork. He hands it to you before sitting back down, grabbing your legs and putting them back across his lap while he sips a beer thats in his other hand.

You hold the bowl in your hand awkwardly, ready to pass it back to him, thinking he handed it to you to hold while he sat down, but he just raises an eyebrow at you. "What?" He says.

"Did you want this back?" You ask.

"No? It's for you babe" he said like it was the most obvious thing.

"What?" You're absolutely shocked.

"It's yours?" He says with a raised brow. "It's like three o'clock and you haven't eaten anything since breakfast, so" He shrugs, still looking at you with a confused expression. "Did... you not want it?" 

You continue to look at him shocked. He just, brought you a snack? without you even asking for it, or even muttering a word about being hungry. He just... did it. 

"You... Made me a snack?" You ask quietly, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, and the back of your throat burns as you attempt to keep your emotions at bay. 

"Yeah?" he says looking over at you, still confused. His face softens when he sees the tears in your eyes. "Baby are you crying?" He asks softly, setting his beer down on the table. 

"No" you lie, chucking your book down onto the coffee table to wipe at the tears that escape. "S'just really nice of you" You mumble, sticking your bottom lip out in a pout while you look over at him. So in love, and definitely embarrassed that it brought you to tears.

"Well you deserve nice" He says firmly, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your lips before stealing a strawberry slice out of your bowl and popping it into his mouth, he reaches down to grab another and brings it up to your lips. You open your mouth and let him feed you, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to it. 

[rosiesgambit]

Streuner || michael kaiser/reader

summary; if anything, you were persistent. kaiser didn’t understand why you insisted on lounging around him, but there certainly wasn’t anything he could feasibly do against it. you found it cute. he reminded you of a stray dog, really.

tags; sfw, psychological, character study, reader is about as mentally stable and nice as kaiser, mentions of kaiser’s past

author’s note; every day I am reminded that kaiser’s favourite animal is a stray dog, and i think that says everything about him.

this is also a prequel fic to “Wie schön, dass du geboren bist” and there will be more fragmented stories I will sort into a timeline as i go on!

“You are a dog.”

“What?”

If his head has snapped around any quicker, surely he would have broken his neck. His eyes narrowed, anger bubbling from deep inside him, the grip on the book he was reading tightening.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. The words left your lips as casual as a bated breath, like the one he was holding in right now. His entire body was tense, beating with something so visceral from deep inside him he couldn’t place it.

“Isn’t that what you are doing right now? Looking for an answer?”, you nodded your head into the direction of the countless psychology books he was ingesting on the daily basis, “What you are I mean. Or whatever messed you up. You want an answer.”

You remained eerily calm. It was almost nonchalant, the way you spoke, as a shiver ran down Kaiser’s spine. His body screamed at him to find some small nook to squeeze and hide in. He lunged forward, grabbing you by the collar as he nearly pushed you out of the open window. Despite that, you remained calm. Collected. A frustratingly unyielding gaze.

He towered over you like this, the only thing preventing you from falling the hand clutching into the fabric of your jacket. His eyes were blinded by rage, hiding anything beyond that deep inside.

“Do you feel better now?”, you asked, your gaze never leaving his.

And that was somehow the worst part. You sounded genuine. You didn’t even flinch at him.

He could have killed you right now. He could have simply let you go, yet, there was… something, behind your gaze.

Trust.

You looked up at him, with unwavering trust as your life dangled between his fingers.

His shoulders slumped. He moved back and let go, allowing you to sit properly inside again, smoothing out your shirt, like nothing happened.

Suddenly, Kaiser felt very small. The silence was deafening, beyond the calm crinkling sound of your shirt that you concerned yourself with.

“You are like a street dog yknow?”, You continued as you turned your gaze back to him. He didn’t return your gaze, “You don’t even know why you bite the hand that loves you.”

You drew your knees closer, resting your head on them as you analysed Kaiser’s form, mere inches away from you. He looked small.

“You can deal with a hand that hurts, because you know how to. You can’t deal with a hand that doesn’t, because you don’t know how to.”

He was sure if he opened his mouth now, only a pathetic gurgle would leave his lips. Instead, he bit down, hard enough to draw blood. The pain calmed him. It gave him something to focus on.

“Anyway”, you said, standing up, gaze fixated on his table, picking up a book,”you are not going to find it in “Das Ich und das Es” from Siegmund Freud you know? Had that guy in high school extensively. He is kind of full of shit.”

If he wasn’t so focused on adverting your eyes, looking away so you couldn’t see his face, the way it was scrunching up so pathetically, so weakly, he would have retorted with something snarky, something arrogant about how you simply couldn’t understand something as complex as Freud. But the fear in his chest told him you did. Far better than him.

“It’s getting kind of late so I am going to back to my dorm now, but good hang out Michi.”

The nickname rolled of your tongue as if the two of you were old friends.

“Hang out?”, he echoed, his confusion enough to overpower the quiver in his voice.

“Well we are friends of course, aren’t we?”, you retorted, turning around, your hand already on the door handle, “Sleep well Michi.”

Only when the door closed and he was alone at last, the tension left his shoulders. His hands were shaking. He felt naked. Perceived. It made him uncomfortable. To be paid attention to to this degree… he wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was fear and anger in his heart.

When people looked at him, they looked at the role he was supposed to fill. Street trash. Star player. But when you looked at him, he didn’t know what role he filled in your eyes. And somehow that terrified him more, not knowing what part he was supposed to play. And it made him angry for even concerning himself with something as foolish like that in the first place.

Why-ever you always invited yourself over to his dorms, scrolling on your phone in silence while he read, he didn’t understand, but you didn’t disturb him… usually. You didn’t respond with anything when he had asked at the beginning either, and you didn’t even budge under threats.

He looked at his left hand, the one he had held onto your shirt with, the thorns of his tattoo raking around them. Even your heartbeat had been perfectly calm. How foolish must one person be? You couldn’t possibly trust him this much. That would be absolutely insane. You looked up at him as if he could never hurt a soul. It was absurd.

He took his blanket, and his ball, and curled up underneath his table. He fell asleep, clutching his ball, just like he had always done. The bed felt to daunting that night.

[lilygoofywritingcave]

Happy Valentine's Day !!!!

Oh, it seems a certain member in Slaughterhouse has sent you a letter, are you brave enough to open it?

Spoilers warning for character names

Misaki, the ever silly contract killer

"To Y/N, the chaos to my mayhem (or Whatever Romantic Crap I’m Supposed to Say),

Alright, so listen, uhh I was just planning on sending you a pic of a raccoon holding a heart and call it a day, BUT APPARENTLY that’s not “romantic” enough. Smh. So now I’m here, struggling to put actual words together instead of just sending you a keyboard smash and hoping you get the vibe.

So. Uh. Lily. You menace. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to me?? I’ll see something stupid n immediately think, “Oh, Y/N would laugh at this.” Like. That’s so weird. That’s EMBARRASSING. I save memes just to send you at 3AM, YOU are why Im having sleep deprivation (the good kind ofc). I would smile at my phone like an absolute idiot whenever your name pops up. It’s sick. You did this to me.

Also. Explain why you write me like I’m some cool badass when I’m just some gremlin with a knife and a rifle. Like. Hello??? Ma’am???? I do crimes, that's no news, but then you come along with your little fics n suddenly I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not just the sum of all the bad things I’ve done. I don’t know how to process that. Or you. You make my brain short-circuit without needing to doomscroll Tiktok.

ANYWAY. Point is, you’re mine now. No take-backs. Stuck with me forever, I will continue to be the most annoying gremlin in your life, sending you unhinged voice notes, and remind you every day that you matter. Because you do. A lot. (EW I HATE HOW SAPPY THAT SOUNDED MOVE ON PLS...)

...Okay, I think I’ve reached my emotional limit. I need to go set something on fire to balance this out. Or at least, like, flip a table.

Happy Valentine’s, silly.

Misaki Katsuo"

V, cold outside but cares more than you know

"To dear Y/N, Valentine’s Day seems to demand people to express affection for each other, something flowery and poetic. Although I consider traditions like that often exaggerated, but it felt unfair for you. So, I’ll keep this simple, for your sake.

You... matter to me, more than I would want to admit. You’ve become a part of my life in a way I didn’t expect, it is frankly troublesome how often my thoughts wander to you. And despite my usual preference for order, I don’t mind the chaos you bring. In fact… I think I’d miss it if it were gone.

I could compose some poetical metaphor, comparing you to the moon, the stars, or whatever romantic nonsense one is expected to write in a letter such as this, but I won’t waste your time.

Just know that if you ever need me, whether for something important or as simple as spending time together, you have only to say the word and I'll always be there.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.

"Valentin Viljoen"

Angel, sweet and dangerous like a rose

To My Love, Happy Valentine’s Day.

I know, I know, cheesy, cliché, overhyped day… but I don’t care. Today is just another excuse for me to remind you how much you mean to me, and I’ll take it.

You, you are the one thing in my life that feels real, no cameras, no flashing lights, no expectations to be perfect. Just us, and I need that more than I ever realized.

I’m not easy to love, am I? Always getting caught up in my work, in my image, in making sure everything and everyone is okay… but you? You remind me that I’m more than what people see. That I’m allowed to breathe, to be a little selfish, to take up space in someone's life without feeling guilty.

You make me feel like I’m enough. And I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before.

So, for today, no, for always, I want you to know that I love you. In the quiet moments, in the chaos, in every way I know how. I love you when I get overwhelmed and you remind me to rest. I love you when you make me laugh so hard I forget whatever stress was eating at me. I love you when you’re just, you.

I don’t say it enough, but thank you, for seeing me, for staying, for being the best thing to ever happen to me.

Now, let’s turn off our phones, ignore the world for a while, and just be together. That’s all I really want.

Your Angel,

Maria de la Rosa

And lastly, the devil himself, Ronin

to my dearest darlin’ Y/N,

there’s always a certain rhythm to a heartbeat. steady, but unique for everyone. funny little thing, really. you press your fingers just right, and there it is: life, thumpin’ away under the fragile skin. but oh, how delicate it is. how easy it Is to destroy

. tell me darlin', have you ever wonder, what it takes to keep that aorta singin’? how much someone’s got Left in ‘em before rotting away? or how love can sink its teeth in deep, turning even the purest souls dark, twisting the light ‘til it don’t shine the same no more?

ironic, ain't it? how even the worst of ‘em, either gutted or broken, still has a heart. just like yours, still beating, lively as ever, a reminder that you’re here and you’re real. that you’re eVerythin’, my everything.

and isn't that a beautiful thing? to havE you readin’ this, seeing the devil puttin' his feelings into words. there ain't no poetrY sweet enough, no god powerful enough to take it away.

Over and over, i think about you, about the way you laugh, the way you exist. about how this world feels a little less, rotten with you in it. Understand this, darlin', you got me by your side. for as long as that pretty little heart of yours beats, you and i will face whatever this shitty world throws at us, together.

Don't ever forget that. And don’t think for a second i’d ever let you go. Remember this and Listen close. It's always been you and you only. Nothing will ever change that.

happy valentine’s, darlin’.

—r. beaufort

(P/S: you know how i play, let's get that pretty brain to work)

[ducktoonsfanart]

Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold in another world and depart from the mortal world - Adult Huey Dewey and Louie with older Donald and Glomgold's nephew Slackjaw Snorehead - Shocking discovery - Quack Pack AU - Duckverse, Ducktales and Duck comics - My style and my version

WARNING: This is just an alternate future, and it doesn't necessarily mean it will be my canon (maybe some ideas are), so don't think that Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold are really dead because they aren't, at least not in my Quack Pack. This is an alternate future of the Quack Pack and what happened when they went to the other world. And it contains only my joke and don't take it at face value.

Inspired by how my friend @michimonie did the Quack Pack version of Donald's nephews as adults, I decided to do something in my own way, in my own version. And yes, this is inspired by the Donald Duck comics and Ducktales 1987, and has nothing to do with the Ducktales 2017 version. Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold, long-time rivals and the richest ducks in Duckburg and the world, have gone to another world. And as usual, they still have their rivalry matches and their quarrels. However, in the end they decided to see how their heirs, that is, their children, inherit their wealth and what they see they cannot see with their own eyes. They were related all along! Glomgold's nephew Slackjaw Snorehead was in a love affair with Scrooge's niece and Donald's sister Della Duck and they secretly married and Della Duck gave birth to her sons and named them Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck. Donald actually gave them their names. Since they were not allowed to tell their uncles, they had to wait until the right moment until they went to the other world and eventually Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck grew up and found out about their biological father, and as adults they inherited both Scrooge and Glomgold's fortunes. So much for how the feud between Scrooge and Glomgold and their families being blood enemies actually fell through. Scrooge and Glomgold can't believe what they see from their previous mortal world. XD

Yes, since I can only see them growing up through Quack Pack, I determined and drew what Huey, Dewey and Louie would look like as adults. Huey is the president of McDuck Industries Corporation and is mainly involved in the management of video game production, as well as sports clubs, and he also plans to be the president of his country one day. Dewey is a scientist, more precisely an astronomer, but he also does programming, chemistry and physics and works at the Duckburg Science Institute. Louie is a bodybuilder who also runs a gym, but he is also a basketball coach, as well as writing and drawing comics, plus he is also a historian and the guardian of the Duckburg Forest. By the way, the triplets in this drawing are somewhere between 25 and 30 years old, maybe over 30. Donald and Slackjaw, as you can see in my drawing, have aged quite a bit. And yes, Glomgold in this version of mine is a mix of the comic book Glomgold who is Boer and the Ducktales 1987 Glomgold who is Scottish. And as long as Slackjaw wasn't with Della, Flintheart wasn't related to Scrooge.

I hope you like my idea and these drawings and feel free to like and reblog this, just don't copy these versions of mine and these ideas of mine without mentioning me. Thanks! Plus, this is just an alternate future, which means it doesn't have to be accurate nor is it my exact headcanon for my Quack Pack version. But certainly the occupations for the Quack Pack triplets that I assigned them are their future occupations. Although honestly I'm not so sure Huey, Dewey and Louie will be fully grown, but that's just my opinion.

For those who can't see what it says on these drawings of mine that I drew, it says this:

Scrooge McDuck: "Kills me bagpipes! So you joined me in another world?" Flintheart Glomgold: "Voetsek! (Go away!) Gonnae no dae that. (Cease your actions. I feel sick and am going to throw up.) You may remain the richest duck in the mortal world, but your legacy will perish." Scrooge: "Did I? I don't think so, my nephew and my grandnephews are the legal heirs and will do as I asked." Scrooge: "Your lazy nephew has no chance against my family." Glomgold: "We'll just have to see." Later... Scrooge and Glomgold: "WHAT?! ARE WE RELATED?! YOUR KIDS INHERIT YOUR WEALTH?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Also Scrooge: "So my niece Della was with my rival's nephew the whole time?!" Quack Pack Dewey and Louie as adults to Slackjaw Snorehead: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Thank you for accepting us as part of your family!"

[unriding]

a … a gift from the talented @kruinka 🥹 thank you so much!! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Okay challenge mode. You are a therapist and Eridan Ampora from Homestuck has just walked right out of his intro page into your office. How do you fix him?

put him and karkat in a room with a pile of stuff and tell them they can't leave until they've jumped into it and talked about their feelings

[chronic-cynic]

I know everyone wants a Solitaire movie (and so do I) but I honestly think they'd fuck it up beyond anyone's imagination.

[morningstar-the-king-himself]

Lucifer tried to stifle a bit of a chuckle but it sounded sweet coming from Alastor, and now that they were serious for each other, Alastor knew he was only a degenerate for him.

"Huh...happily noted," Lucifer said as he realized all the times he and Alastor tested limits, Ombre was hopefully enjoying those moments as well. He smiled at seeing the shadow's antics.

His heart really did flutter whenever he heard those words. It's been so long since he's heard them in this context. Longer than Lilith's disappearance, though no one knew that and he was horribly ashamed to even try to bring it up. And to have Alastor say it...well, it wasn't exactly unprompted yet it wasn't something Lucifer had to drag out of him.

"For the record I am going to tell you I love you outside of this. I don't want you thinking just because you're tending to my needs...hands on my cock...that I'm saying this without substance...I...I wouldn't have allowed you so close...I wouldn't tease like that...I don't say what I don't mean. My fall proved to me that any desires that I have, anything I speak...has intention. I love you..." Even with all of the arousal spiking through him, it was in equal measure to the affection and love he felt for Alastor.

He leaned in and kissed Alastor again. "Intimacy can be creative...it's not all barbaric fucking. Though that can be fun...Being the King of Hell...promising to be good...results may vary?" He replied cheekily. But very eager to see what they can do together. "I want to explore this. What we both like...what we can...take? Ombre's form was very powerful...given the state of this room wasn't just you in your bigger form. I unleashed a bit of my demonic form, which in fucking, I haven't done in eons..."

Alastor snorted and laughed at Lucifer’s words. He loved when the other was goofy, it placed him at ease and was a sure-sign he was exiting his spiral. Which was what he wanted for him. He let go of his hands after squeezing them with a loving smile, though it soon turned to confusion at the other wiggling his eyebrows. He noticed Ombre doing the same and looked over to him in question before blushing lightly when the shadow explained. “Degenerates, both of you.” He commented before sighing. “Yes, there’s a way for all three of us to be involved in any which way… Technically no matter which of us you touch we both experience it, so it’s always like that.” He explained.

Ombre laughed at Alastor before looking to the king and grinning when the other looked to him. He gave him a wisp of a shadow heart again and then happily “caught” the kiss.

Alastor returned the soft kiss and smiled, crinkling his nose. “Then I’m not going anywhere.” He assured, ignoring the comments about him being hot to take Lucifer’s hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of. “I love you, Lucifer.” He told the other softly. That was still relatively new, saying those words not just to Lucifer, but to anyone. The only one he ever said he loved them to before was his mother and obviously that was a very different kind of love. “That means every part of you, even the mischievous side no matter how much it irks me when it’s aimed at me.”

“And that even means this insatiable new side you’re showing.” He commented, his eyes becoming half-lid as his voice dropped an octave to a purr as he reached forward and playfully ran his claw over the underside of Lucifer’s cock. It wasn’t like it was hard to see the other was excited again as he still didn’t have pants on. “If you promise to be good, I’ll feed this curiosity. What do you want to try?” He asked.

He was willing to give Lucifer the chance to tell him what he wanted and have him stay this time to follow through. If only to clear himself of his slight wrong doings here so later he could get his revenge without conscious.

Or that’s what he told himself at least. In reality, he just wanted to please the king and get his mind as far away from Lilith as possible.

[aeolianblues]

pop stars aren't born in the 70s anymore like they used to be. These days they're born in a year uncomfortably close to my own which makes me clutch my chest and cry out

[coquelicoq]

i fucking love prereading. getting documents about what's going to be discussed in a meeting and reading them and then going to the meeting and having context for all the things that are happening. if i could do this in all areas of life i would. send me a list of the words i'm going to need the definition of in order to understand what you will be talking about. give me a rundown of what topics might come up during this social encounter. provide detailed documentation of what to expect in a new setting. i will read the fuck out of that shit.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible