#here’s some symbolism that I included but didn’t know if it would be obvious
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okay i have more (critical) barbie thoughts under the cut.
i really did enjoy it overall. it was fun, cheeky, surreal. i loved the experience of watching it in an energetic theater. i even cried a couple times. but i’m baffled at how powerful it was for so many people when it fell so flat for me. honestly, maybe what i’m feeling is just because i’m trans and it didn’t resonate as strongly with my experience of womanhood or masculinity.
i keep coming across people using gloria’s monologue to dismiss criticism by saying “anyone saying barbie isn’t feminist enough are doing the exact thing gloria pointed out! women have to be perfect but it’s just never good enough!” Y’ALL. having issues with a high-budget, corporate funded movie that has the same milquetoast girl-power messaging you’d find in teen mags from the early 2000s… is not the same as oppressing women under patriarchy. you can critique media and still resonate with aspects of it. good grief.
another response i’ve seen to critiques (specifically of gloria’s monologue) is that the movie’s messages are meant for barbie herself! not for the audience! it had to be super tame and generic because otherwise barbie wouldn’t have understood! all those speeches and ideas are aimed solely at barbie who is learning about all of this for the first time! it’s not for you if you already get it! what?????? that’s not how media works and you know it.
also, the idea that it’s meant to be palatable for a “wider audience” so it couldn’t have included intersectionality without losing people. translation: “wider audience” means white suburbia? white men? cishet people? where the most “representation” they can tolerate is a 3 second clip of a voiceless barbie in a wheelchair dancing? or a black president barbie who mostly says one liners and disappears? a wider audience being the same audience every blockbuster is catered towards?
i’m just spit balling here, but i don’t think it would have been impossible to introduce some unironic nuances like:
america’s latinx character experiencing sexism differently from stereotypical barbie?
maybe not using mount rushmore repeatedly to symbolize who’s in power?
avoiding comparing bringing patriarchy to barbieland to indigenous genocide?
a harsher perspective on mattel’s role in all this? where the outcome isn’t just will farrell’s character griping that he doesn’t even want to be in charge, he just wants to be tickled? (wtf was that lmao)
making a more obvious statement that patriarchy isn’t just a symptom of men stumbling across power and relishing it but that it’s rooted in violent white supremacy and capitalism? i’m positive there’s a way to address that without going full blown academic feminist theory mode.
having the black, fat, and disabled characters speak more than 5 collective minutes? (but at least they had screentime at all, right? ✨representation✨)
explicitly queer characters instead of “weird barbie” and allan being coded as the outsiders to an otherwise regimented cishet universe?
but all those ideas are irrelevant, right? because the movie was just SOOO self aware and layered in irony and if i was smart enough and hadn’t missed the point, i’d know the writers were in on it all.
#barbie spoilers#barbie#barbie criticism#h#okay one last vent#it’s wild to me that people are like ‘no one picks apart movies made by men like this! it’s because everyone hates women!’#creative work made by women is often more heavily scrutinized than work by men#so i think it's necessary to keep that idea of undue scrutiny in mind as we consume media#but at the same time it's not a reason to just avoid engaging with women's work critically#am i losing it?#i’m losing it#also specifically with movies like barbie#if they're going to very openly and specifically address patriarchy and misogyny to make a statement about them#would it not make sense that those themes would be at the front and center of criticism?
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i think we talk a lot about how frodo’s long-term reaction to the ring is a discussion of trauma, but i think there’s a really interesting conversation to be had about the intergenerational effects of the palantir on the house of stewards
so right out of the gate as a caveat, the palantir has a much less obvious impact on denethor than saruman. yes, it ages him, shows him the most hopeless version of the truth, etc (very alike to what we see with Hurin), but in some of tolkien’s non-lotr writing, it’s implied denethor had more of a handle on it than saruman because as acting ruler of minas tirith, he had a claim to use its palantir, whereas saruman didn’t have that magical right and his own stone rejects him. my point here is that until denethor essentially used the palantir to stare straight into the sun, its effects didn’t rob him of anything but hope and strength. i wanted that on the table because it’s a book detail that tends to get glossed over in adaptation/analysis
that being said, the palantir sits in the background of all the familial trauma going on in the house of stewards in a way that i think is fascinating
so the most obvious root of a lot of the familial trauma going on there is denethor, but it wouldn’t be wholly correct to suggest that the palantir “made” him miserable. we know from the appendices that he spent years jealous and suspicious of those who received his father’s approval (ironically including aragorn), used the palantir for a large amount of his stewardship out of a similar paranoia, and is generally characterized as unhappy throughout his life. it’s also implied a lot of his insecurities, jealousness, etc stems from his issues with his own father, Ecthelion II (tolkien leaves it up to the reader whether he was mistreated or just inherently jealous and insecure). denethor is also characterized as unkind to his family members long before he becomes a father. given the generally feudal social standards expressed for kings in the books, his choice not to remarry after the death of finduilas suggests she meant a great deal to him, but at the same time, some of tolkien’s non-lotr writings suggest his use of the palantir exacerbated (and may have even directly caused) her death,* so even if she made him happy, he wasn’t exactly the world’s most caring or attentive partner
another important implication there is that while yes, denethor’s misery and paranoia already existed (and, importantly, had roots in his family), the palantir fed on it and made it worse to the point of actively harming those around him: his wife and children. the roots of denethor’s own issues don’t have much to do with the palantir, but it explicitly exacerbates the side-effects of these issues to a deadly extent. his problems are already present, but his use of the palantir forcibly pays them forward
one of the things that really ties this all back to intergenerational trauma for me though is that so often, the issues in the house of stewards that tie back to the palantir are SPECIFICALLY familial. it’s not really shown in any of the movies, but until the very end, denethor isn’t an entirely shitty ruler. his one inarguably terrible strategic move is trying to kill faramir, which would rob gondor of any kind of leadership. even when the palantir screws up his brain to the point of actually hurting his people, the primary objective still has to do with family
the final thing that really nails this down as a stand in for intergenerational trauma is the way we see these cycles break. in the pyre of denethor scene, denethor renders the palantir unusable, and only then do we see faramir get a chance to get the hell out of dodge and do better than his dad. immediately after getting engaged, he promises to build eowyn a garden, whereas finduilas’s fatal despair was worsened by the lack of natural beauty in minas tirith. while i do recognize that gardens are symbolic of growth/rebirth/healing at large, they’re not the only symbol in the book with that meaning, and its use seems to be a purposeful juxtaposition against what denethor did wrong for their family
at the end of the day, the palantir of minas tirith symbolizes despair, and some of the horrible ways hopelessness can snowball into genuine harm. i think there are a lot of metaphors you could draw from this. on my first read through the books, i remember texting a friend something along the lines of “the house of stewards are living proof that depression is genetic,” which. i mean. yeah, palantir or no. but the point is, i think the palantir serves as a fantasy vessel for exploring trauma much like the ring does with frodo, and it’s a bit of an under-looked at side of the text that im glad i got to share with you guys. so hope that was interesting
*this detail isn’t mentioned in every retelling of the story, which is one of the unfortunate drawbacks on writing metas on an incredibly vast and incredibly incomplete universe like this one. however, the accounts that include the palantir detail don’t necessarily contradict the ones that don’t. they merely suggest that, while her despair was caused by the shadow over mordor, the palantir brought it to her front door in a particularly traumatizing way. i personally think it makes more sense than the alternative, otherwise citizens of minas tirith would be dropping like flies every time they tried to watch a sunrise
#forgive my lack of proper accents throughout this entire post#also theres the question of to what extent is his use of the palantir even a choice anymore#but thats another question for another day#lotr#denethor#boromir#faramir#lotr meta
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I’m making an extremely spicy take for one second after seeing how divisive recent episodes have been and then I’ll be returning to our regularly scheduled programming but a truly double-edged sword of this show is that it doesn’t hand-hold its audience. It leaves a lot to subtext, it’s driven by themes over real-life morality (with different lenses of morality per character, even), it gives characters dialogue that contradict their actions, it operates in symbolism and metaphors; it’s very show vs. tell, as most well-crafted media is. And this is part of what makes it so addictive and compelling; you can spend hours dissecting it under a microscope. But it also means that if you’re watching this show literally, you’re going to miss a lot of its intention—and because the show implies but does not tell, it can be easy to take things at face value even when the implication is something else entirely (or else extremely nuanced).
This isn’t necessarily an issue, but I say all this partially because I don’t think it would be so uncomfortable for us POC to see Izzy’s lack of apology to Ed et. al if the harassment in fandom didn’t exist. Because we know that this is how the show operates—a lot is assumed off screen, and long beats of open dialogue aren’t really a thing compared to the way characters are tonally portrayed. Tonal growth speaks more than words here (basically, Izzy’s silent growth speaks volumes). But this show vs. tell/taking things literally is also why the harassment started in the first place—because people took the literal violence of the toe thing more heavily than the tonal presentation of the “this is Blackbeard” scene, for example. So on some level, it now feels a bit like the show needs to do something about a problem created by fandom itself.
Do I want the show to change all this and be more obvious about what it’s trying to say? Honestly, as a viewer, no; I personally think it would be way less impactful if it was. But it’s definitely a cautionary tale that I’m genuinely not sure how much the creative team is even aware of. And what I think is most important is that while you as a fan are welcome to interact with this show however you damn well please, there are 2 things to keep in mind: a) POC are a part of this fandom space too and their feelings and discomfort shouldn’t be steamrolled just because you love your meow meow (you can love him, even I’m growing to, but you’ve gotta be mindful!) and b) this show, while a rom-com, is also so much more than that—and while you don’t personally have to engage with the themes of toxic masculinity and the question of what it means to be a man, you have to be okay with others doing so (and yes, that does include critiquing and critically analyzing Izzy for his role in these themes).
#as usual I only speak for myself so if any other poc have conflicting opinions I am all for others weighing in#I also think there’s something to be said about a dip in media literacy in conjunction with Covid and everyone becoming chronically online#but that’s another post that I will probably never make#I hope this is coherent#ofmd#ofmd season 2#ofmd spoilers#ofmd s2 spoilers#our flag means death#ofmd meta
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Got some grit in the gearbox, Daryl?
Kudos to Sylvie for cutting through the crap and getting straight to the important stuff:
Back in TWD 6x14 Twice As Far, we were all baffled to learn that Daryl, our favorite southern redneck, for some inexplicable reason didn’t know how to drive a manual car. Yeah. Super weird.
In fact, it was so utterly incomprehensible, that the only possible logic behind including that bizarre scene in the episode would be for symbolism purposes.
Because in fact, in TWDDD 1x6 Coming Home, Daryl's response to Sylvie’s question “have you ever been in love”….
...was to change gears. Very demonstratively.
So clearly the man knows how to do it. Why did tptb so badly need us to know that Daryl didn’t know how to drive a manual car back in 6x14 Twice As Far?
This was Denise’s death episode, and she spent a considerable amount of her last minutes on the show explaining to Daryl how to change gears. It all seemed a bit odd. Why?
I’ve answered that question already. They did it for symbolism reasons.
When Denise joined the show in season six, TD immediately recognized her as a Beth proxy. She was also ultimately killed off by taking an arrow through the eye (Sirius symbolism). Daryl was very distraught from her death.
It’s not for nothing that she, the Beth proxy, was the one who (for symbolism reasons) had to teach Daryl Dixon how to change gears properly. Because not only would Daryl on a normal day obviously be perfectly able to drive stick (he literally built a motorcycle from spare parts! Come on! The man clearly knows his way around gears), he was also the one who fixed the music box back in 5x11 Them (yes the one that totally symbolizes Beth).
His diagnosis? Grit in the gearbox.
(I wish I could remember who first made me aware of the link between Daryl’s inability to properly change gears and the grit in the gearbox. It was likely @wdway or @angelthefirst1, as they’re both experts on catching parallels like these)
I want to take some time here to remind everyone about the meaning of the numbers 11, or “one one”. I’ve written extensively about it, both in the past and more recently. 5x11 “Them” was the eleventh episode of season 5. Remember this post about the connection between the words “record” and “heart”? A music box is part of the “recording studio” symbolism. A record player is a music box, illustrated below by the record player Daryl got for Judith in season 11, a record player in a box, a literal music box. The music box from “Them” is part of the “one one recording studio” symbolism I’ve talked about so much recently.
And the music box that symbolized Beth had “some grit in the gearbox” according to Daryl.
Let’s move on to the clock for a minute. After escaping from Madame Genet’s Maison Mere, they find a police car (Police = blue). Before they start driving, Laurent gives Daryl the clock, and Daryl attaches it to the rear view mirror. Remember there are strong navigational themes around the clock.
Remember Morgan’s rabbit’s foot from 5x8 Coda? It was literally one of the first things we saw on the show after Beth had "died".
We later learned in a flashback (in 6x4 Here’s Not Here) that it originally belonged to Eastman, who in turn had gotten it from his daughter. He told the story of how it gave him hope and a will to survive, it was truly a good luck charm.
We also saw in in 5x16 Conquer, hanging from the rear view mirror of a car, much like we saw Laurent's clock hanging from the rear view mirror in 1x6 “Coming Home”.
I talked about the symbolism around the rabbit's foot and rear view mirrors in my Sirius/North Star master post. Back then I interpreted it as something that was about "looking back", like "back in time", plus the obvious "back" = "coming back" = "return". In fact, we also saw a walker that appeared to have her head twisted around so that she was facing backwards, something which in my opinion further indicated a theme of "looking back". Again, this was directly after Beth had "died", and symbolically speaking, looking back would mean looking back at Beth's "death". Like, "Reverse! Everything is not quite what it seems".
The link between Sylvie's question about Daryl's love life, the clock and the music box from 5x11 Them is the grit in the gearbox. The gears. Immediately after Sylvie has asked her question, and Daryl has successfully changed gears, the car starts malfunctioning. Could it be grit in the gearbox perhaps?
The music box had grit in the gearbox, but he fixed it...
#bethyl#daryl dixon#beth greene#team delusional#team defiance#beth x daryl#the walking dead#twd#twddd#grit in the gearbox#music box
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Okay real talk now
Can someone try to explain to me on a rational level why on earth was Effie Trinket left alive in the mockingjay book?
She literally has no reason to be alive. Everyone linked with the Hunger Games was either killed by the Capitol or the Rebels (except the ones in 13 and Enobaria, randomly). Everyone linked with the Rebellion was executed (mostly publicly) by the Capitol and any Capitol sympathizer was killed after the fall of the Capitol regime. Including victors, escorts, stylist, prep teams, gamemakers and so on.
Okay, Effie survived the capitol and had the condoning by the new regime thanks to Haymitch and Plutarch yada yada, okay, but HOW did she manage to survive the same fate of anyone else during war?
Everyone linked with the rebellion was sentenced to death, no matter their role in it. All Peeta’s team was executed publicly, and not just Portia (that had a closer direct relationship with Cinna), also his prep team was murdered, and by the premises and knowledge we have of Katniss’ prep team we can as well say they were clueless about all of what was going on outside of their little gossip circle. So it wasn’t the fact that she was clueless. War doesn’t really care about it.
Was it because she was a public figure? Doubtly so, every other person linked with the rebellion was killed regardless (Cinna was pretty well known as well by that time and it didn’t take them 2 sec to make him disappear. Or Seneca Crane, if we want a even better example)
Was it because she had connections? I don’t think connection really matters the moment a war explodes and you are directly linked with the opponent, so I think I’ll exclude the option, especially because it is subtly implied that whatever happened during that time scarred her bad.
Like, they killed people that had much less relevance in that part of Katniss’ life, why not her?
I can understand her role play while Peeta was kept in the Capitol, they could have used her to get through him somehow and effectively be her escort while the prep team was *crack noise*, but why keeping her alive after the evacuation? And, once again, if she wasn’t kept with the others where was she? Am I remembering it wrong or was she mentioned by Johanna at some point? Where the hell was she? In a less reclusive place?
Plus, killing the mockingjay escort LIVE? Big time for tv streams wouldn’t it? It would have made a big show, then why not? Did they have something worse in mind? Didn’t they care about execute her?
But what was the point? They were keeping her alive for what purpose, exactly?
Even if we want to take her as pure allegory… was she the symbol of what? That surviving doesn’t change you? That surviving does change you? That no one, not even the most perfect example of a citizen, is safe during war? We don’t know that, we know nothing!
And why WHY Haymitch and Plutarch stubbornly wanted to save her life when they had a lot of more important things on their plate by that moment? Friendship? Camaraderie? Was it driven by a sense of compensation for leaving her behind? Why did they leave her behind in the first place when they saved the prep team? (THEY are the example of perfect frivolous citizens that never asked themselves anything and didn’t change during time, not Effie) WHERE THE HECK WAS SHE WHEN THEY WERE RESCUING PEOPLE?! I don’t even care exactly what happen to her but why didn’t the Capitol kill her?!
I want her alive and well but it is so obvious she suffered somehow and my curiosity is intense here. We know so litttle… maybe it is better this way…
But why Suzanne Collins , why
#like… of course she was brainwashed by education and had twisted morality but wasn’t presented as a bad person by katniss#why did she deserve such fate#was it because she wanted to be known so bad she became basically forgotten? is that it?#why leaving behind such a well constructed character i do not understand there must be a reason#was effie at the toilette while they were evacuating the penthouse? it would be painfully fun#she’s nothing but a shadow#and I can’t with the thought#especially what happened to her after#where is she#someone anyone please give me your thoughts on the matter I can’t wrap my head around it#liz talks
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Weird place
Title: Weird place.
Ship: Steve Rogers X Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.!Reader.
Word count: 652 words.
Rating: Teen.
Square: O4 “AU: Horror”.
Summary: Steve and you went to an old HYDRA Base.
Warnings/Tags: Cursed place, hallucinations, lost of memory, some kind of magic.
A/N: This is my entry to @allcapsbingo. AC1078.
You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.
@saiyanprincessswanie
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.
I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.
Add yourself to my taglist here.
My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.
If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.
Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989
Today was one of those days when Steve felt very confused. Again, he had had some confusing dreams, but during all those years, you had never managed to make him remember his past.
The only clue and proof you had was Bucky. Even though he was in the organization with you, Bucky didn't remember anything about his past either; the only thing he knew was that Steve and he had been best friends since childhood.
Steve took his shield. He was ready for the next mission; it would only be him and you. You took your weapons and turned to see him.
"Steve, are you ready?" You asked, he nodded, and you saw the location; it seemed like a strange place, but you preferred not to say anything.
Everything seemed normal as usual; however, when you were close to the location, you hid the vehicle, and the forest you had to go through looked too creepy.
"Are you sure this is the location?" Steve was confused; the images you had been shown were completely different.
"That's right, it's correct; it's probably an illusion to prevent people from entering that place; it's obvious that it would easily scare someone away," you answered while making sure that everything was in order, especially your weapons.
You continued walking; the place was becoming more and more gloomy. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to have gone alone; you should have gone with some reinforcements. Of course, if the situation worsened, you would ask for some.
Steve signaled to you that it was safe to enter; the symbol on the wall caught their attention, and as you started to walk inside the place, he found some documents that didn't add anything.
"What is HYDRA?" you asked him when you saw one of the documents.
"I don't know; I had never heard of this; do you think it has something to do with...?"
"I don't know; we need to keep looking; maybe we'll find something."
Steve didn't realize at what moment you separated, but when he turned to look for you, you were gone. He tried to contact you through the intercom several times.
The damn base was empty. Was it a joke?
Had you planned a prank or someone else's?
Still, he had a bad feeling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw you pass by, or maybe it was one of the enemies; he wasn't sure, but he decided to go check it out, still taking precautions. However, he did not see you again, nor did anyone else.
Suddenly, on the intercom, it seemed to be working again. You signaled for him to meet you in the east corridor, but there was nothing there, and it was best if they left. He went as fast as he could to where you told him to go, but when he got there, you were not there; in fact, there was no one there.
"Steve, where are you?" you asked over the intercom.
"In the east corridor, as you told me," Steve answered.
"I told you I was waiting for you outside; there is something wrong with this place; we must leave immediately."
Steve felt that something or someone was watching him. Just as you had told him, there was something wrong with that place; it was definitely not a mission for anything but two people.
As fast as he could, he met with you, and he was also going to investigate further what Hydra was and if it had anything to do with what happened to him and Bucky.
"I think we'd better bring Maximoff and Strange; this place is cursed, and we need reinforcements, but not the usual ones," you said as Steve drove as fast as he could to get away from the place. Nothing was right, and you didn't want to be in any more danger.
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Sample of Upcoming "Enhanced Edition" CHICON 2007 Solo Jensen Panel
This sample was removed when I updated the full video with drastically improved video quality. I did not recreate the sample, but you can find the full video here.
Original post:
This is just a small, 1+ minute segment of a larger video that I’ll probably post next week. Thanks so much to the people who watched, reblogged, and/or liked the CHICON 2007 Enhanced Edition Breakfast video! It made me super happy to see some interest, and I know that was mostly thanks to those of you who managed to stumble across my obscure post and reblog it so people would actually see it.
I’ve started working on the main panels involving Jared and/or Jensen from the same convention. Jensen’s solo panel is next sequentially, so that’s what this sample is from. This clip was one of my favorite parts from his panel. I’m including Jared and J2 in the tags because Jensen talks about working with Jared here.
If you don’t have any particular interest in the subtitles, you can skip the wall of text below.
On this sample, I used a much lighter color of blue for Jensen’s subtitles. The more I looked at the shade I'd been using, the more I thought it was too dark to be read easily. It became more apparent to me while working on his solo panel because there’s so much more of it. I’d be happy to get opinions, good or bad. I was really attached to the idea of using blue for Jensen and red for Jared because of their marker tape colors, and I’m pretty sure the previous shade of blue was more accurate in that regard, but it’s far more important to me that the subtitles be readable than that they be symbolic!
If people like this color better, I’ll go back and update the subtitles for the Breakfast video to use the same color for Jensen. Subtitles are a separate file from the video, so it’s not too difficult to make changes and switch the subtitle file out without affecting the video itself.
Speaking of which, feel free to let me know if you catch any errors with the subtitles and I’ll fix them. Also, if there’s a subtitle that I marked as [inaudible] and you’re confident that you know what they said, let me know. There were parts I marked as [inaudible] even though I felt sure I could guess what they’d said based on the context, but I couldn’t hear any sounds or see any mouth movements to clearly confirm it. I tried not to put words in their mouths that they might not have said, and I didn’t want to force my own interpretation on anyone. Sometimes though, there were places where I felt like I should have been able to figure out what they were saying but I just couldn’t get the sounds to make sense to my ears, so someone else might be able to hear those. Other times, I would hear something for the umpteenth time, often when I was focusing on some other aspect of the video and not thinking about the subtitles at all, and suddenly it would seem blatantly obvious to me what they were saying.
As far as issues with the videos themselves, I can’t easily change them after I publish them because it would create a new video link on YouTube and I'd rather not create a confusion of links. However, please do still feel free to let me know if you catch any errors in my added content. I’ll keep a list of errata for my own notes in case I ever do have a reason to update the video. If it’s particularly egregious, I can at least put a note in the video description. (And since this is a sample, if you catch any issues, I can fix it for the full version.)
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you are an evil person. the way you’re focusing on how doomed by the narrative the fushiguro siblings are? the way you’re really highlighting how the siblings are so protective of each other & are so willing to sacrifice themselves for the other to live happily? THE WAY IT SHOULDVE BEEN SO OBVIOUS THEY THREATENED TSUMIKI?
oh i’m in tears. i’m mourning who i once was before this fic. i’ve never been so invested in a fic before. i would sell my soul for the lore to this story.
NAOYA. i feel like im overlooking things but was naoya like purposely copying some of gojo mannerisms (the hair ruffle, the clapping) as a big “fuck you” to megumi?
regardless of that, i’m just waiting for the day that gojo (& yuuta) fucking tortures the shit out of naoya for megumi. i’m also just waiting for megumi to wake up to just everyone being so protective of him even though he hasn’t met half of the people so invested in his life before.
(maki being so proud of megumi because of his “if im dying we all dying ” mentality? oh megumi & maki are going to be menaces when megumi finally heals. yuuta will never know peace again.)
Megumi: *finally wakes up* I—Who are you people?
The first years, already murderously defensive of him: your protection detail
they love him a normal amount
Tsumiki was really the only thing I could see them holding over his head. I won’t get into the details here, because we’ll get into them in the fic itself, but Tsumiki’s safety and happiness is very regularly the thing that locks Megumi into action. For Megumi’s start in this world, Tsumiki was what made him sacrifice himself.
At the end of the day, all each one wants is for the other to be safe. And the narrative makes that mutually exclusive. They really are uniquely doomed by the narratively, and that’s what makes their relationship so tragic.
See, I think storytelling is just such a flexible medium that each interaction with the story itself is different. The story I write may be slightly different from the one you read. You can absolutely read in that reason behind Naoya’s actions—it’s the kind of sick shit he would pull, and the narrative will never contradict it directly. I actually love that reading of it. It’s more than a little twisted and viscerally terrifying when you’re in megumi’s shoes.
I just won’t claim I was planning that personally when I wrote it, because I didn’t think of that myself when it was being written. I still love it and think it’s a great interpretation of his actions. I just didn’t come up with it myself.
I included that bit because I thought it would be kind of a perversion of the relationship Megumi should have had with Naoya in a way that was a little cruel and really underscored how terrified Megumi was in this moment.
Naoya should have been Megumi’s blood family. He should have been his uncle. And in a good world, they would have loved each other. Naoya would have never hurt him.
Wrapping an arm around your nephew, ruffling his hair—that can be a very healthy expression of familial affection. It’s something you do with someone you love. Someone you feel safe with. Naoya is mocking the role he should have had in his life. He’s too rough with him. He ruffles his hair like Gojo does, but it shoves Megumi’s entire head around, and he uses his grip on his neck to force him into a car. He’s using symbols of family love as a way to hurt megumi.
It’s a facsimile of affection meant to make megumi feel uncomfortable and unsafe. Because Megumi’s fucking terrified of Naoya. This was his worst abuser for a long time. And Megumi’s not someone who really likes physical touch.
Megumi isn’t safe enough to assert his own boundaries. He isn’t safe enough to pull away. He just had to sit there and take actions that are hurting him. It’s invasive and humiliating, and the forced intimacy of it probably hurt him worse than punching him in the face would have.
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Our Ciel Will Die By Drowning.
The title is self explanatory as for what this post is.
We have reached chapter 201, there is still a long way to go. But through all the content we were given something is apparent: our protagonist (short one) will die before the series ends.
Now, I honestly think that it will include Sebastian (duh) and have something to do with the contract. But my gut says that our Ciel’s death will not be fully controlled by the demonic involvements.
Before I begin justifying why I think Ciel will die by drowning, I want to make it clear that I feel as though until we reach the hotel mini-arc, a lot of puzzle pieces will still be missing so any detail involving characters (other than Sebastian) are simply speculations.
Ophelia
In chapter 23, the police come to the Phamtomhive Mansion in order to conclude the crimes committed Indian Butler Arc by Agni. While touring the mansion, one of the police stalk about the drawings on the wall. He goes into detail about the painting titled “Ophelia”
Ophelia a is from Shakespeare’s Hamlet who upon learning that Hamlet didn’t choose to end up with her, goes out to collect wild plants but fall in water and drowns. (It is also written as a note in the English fan translation I found)
Here is the painting:
In the following page, the painter Waterhouse is also mentioned. I wasn’t able to decpiher which painting the police guy was talking about as he didn’t give a name and the image in the manga isn’t enough. Waterhouse has painted Ophelia as well.
Although it would be easier to assume this is just a silly reference, every little detail in this manga series can create avalanches that end up characters who have been presumed to be dead for years reappearing.
The rejection can be Lizzie’s relationship with them and choosing R!Ciel after everything. Or it can be applied to broader sense and be accepted as everyone turning their backs on O!Ciel after the true heir shows up.
Lau’s Omnipotence
Lau is known for always saying something serious then following it up with a random funny remark. It is still very noticeable that he always says less than what he truly knows. The following panels follow each other (right to left). They are in different pages so I had to separate the images.
(In the official translations I have, it uses “to drown” in the second panel directly in my native language)
There is a picture of someone (probably OC) sinking in a body of water (bog, as it is said here). It may appear as just a metaphor but the image and Lau’s general creepiness makes it seem like a variety of this will actually happen.
Anime Opening 1
The anime is very different from the manga with there being additional characters and storylines. Still, many of them still bear similarities to the newly introduced characters in the series. However, for this post I believe the anime is not a good justification for the theory. So I will just stick to the opening of the first season.
There is this very obvious scene of O!Ciel drowning. That, of course, is the first thing that needs attentions. Afterwards, Sebastian does extend his hands in as though he is trying to save him. But there is no scene that shows he does so. This detail only counts towards their contract’s dynamic. But it leads my to believe that this moment will be the “checkmate” for O!Ciel. Sebastian will no longer need to stand behind him anymore kind of thing.
The seconds evidence is the scene that comes just before the one mentioned in the paragraph above. O!Ciel is seen floating in a lake with flower petals falling. Notice how he is positioned to look like a body that’s in a coffin. He is motionless as well. Some religions/myths include water bodies being passageways for afterlife so it may be symbolizing that.
The flower patels are not from a white lily (the flower that symbolizes death and is seen on every grave in the series), but they are plain white petals. Them falling could be to create the same effect as in Madam Red’s funeral, when O!Ciel made red flower petals fall down in the church. I also think that the flowers make the image be perceived as the Ophelia paintings.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
I wrote this post 5 months ago, and been saving it as a draft but I decided to share it after all since I couldn’t continue writing it for a long time. There may be a part to in the future as this only includes evidence until the cruise tragedy and I think there can be a lot of clues after that too. Anyways, thank you for reading. If anyone else has already thought of these, please tell me and I’ll edit it accordingly.
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The intended symbolism behind my Hangman Tarot card
I wanted to do a write-up of my thought process behind each major part of this picture. Please note I’m writing this on an iPad while I have covid, so there are bound to be mistakes and weird autocorrects I didn’t catch. If any part is incoherent or weird, let me know and I’ll try and fix it.
Here’s a link to the full hangman piece for anyone who hasn’t seen it/wants to look at it for reference.
So, I wanted to start out by discussing this piece a little bit. Yes, this had a ton of thought put into the symbolism and a lot of the picture had direct meanings I was trying to get across. I think I made it a bit ham fisted at times, but I did make me super happy to see how much people appreciated and noticed the thought put into it. Often times, I would include things because I needed to solve a compositional problem, or I wanted to include something I thought was pretty. So I would try to find a way to solve those problems/include those elements while tying it back to the main picture. I also had some things I didn’t mean to include, but were pointed out in various tags/comments, so I included them at the end because I think they’re super interesting! Overall, this picture took me about 7 1/2 hours from start to finish.
The Hanged Man
My major reason for choosing this card was simply for it’s name. However, I did do some research into it, as I wanted to ensure the card would actually fit him. There’s lots of different meanings depending on where you look, but a common thread was letting go and metamorphosis. I personally really liked these meanings, and decided to make this illustration about that- his change and growth as a character. I started drawing this in the middle of his reconciliation with the Young Bucks. I think as a whole this picture is about him letting go of the trauma associated with the Elite: both he guilt over the hurt he caused them, and the anger over the hurt they caused him.
TL;DR: It’s about letting go of guilt/anger and growing as a person
Broken Mirror Halo
This has a direct 1:1 moment it’s meant to reflect, which I think everyone could guess
This is arguably his lowest moment, but also a major turning point. I wanted to explicitly make this mirror light halos from religious art. Part of this was for aesthetic- anyone who knows me knows I love light halos. But, often the worst points in our life can lead to major changes of the self (like a metamorphosis, winkwink) and turning a moment of despair into something “holy” was imagery I was really interested in playing with.
TL;DR: Sometimes the worst moments of our lives are also where change begins. And what is more divine than the human act of transformation?
Tangled in his Own Noose
This is the biggest example of solving an issue with imagery. In the original sketch, his legs were just sort of cut off at the frame, which looked really weird once I started to clean it up. Originally, the noose was hanging loose around his neck (an homage to his old gear), but while cleaning up the sketch I couldn’t find a way to make the hanging noose look good.
This was meant to represent him being tangled and tied down by his mistakes and strained relationships. The two major elements of this are him being tied tightly to the frame covered with images of alcohol, and to the belt. The belt became a way for him to “redeem” himself, but reality is rarely ever that simple and getting the belt wouldn’t solve everything. I also liked the idea of mixing something representing his mistakes with something representing Kenny’s corruption (the belt). While the ropes may be plentiful, they’re sloppily tied and can still be undone.
TL;DR: the ropes are his mistakes
The Frame
The frame is a little obvious- we all know our favorite cowboy has had his share of problems with alcohol. I did consciously choose to have the alcohol spilling out of the cups and bottles, as if they’re being disposed of. Something I couldn’t quite execute to it’s full potential was the fact that one of the whiskey glasses is directly below where his hand is. I wanted it to mimic him pouring out the drink. Lowering the opacity shows this a bit better.
TL;DR: Hangman likes alcohol too much but he’s better about it now.
The Monarch Butterfly
I was in the middle of working on this when he came out to save the bucks in his monarch butterfly pants. I immediately knew I had to include the butterflies in this pic, and I’m so happy I did. They were mostly there to connect to the recent episode, but I did do a little reading into meanings associated with Monarchs. They’re often associated with transformation. Considering this piece is directly about him growing and changing as a character, I was very happy they fit so well with the theme. Most of their placement was based off of aesthetics- I simply chose what I think looked best. The one conscious decision was to put a butterfly on the noose- a symbol of his new growth on top of the symbol of his previous mistakes.
TL;DR: Butterfly pants, but also transformation.
Unintentional Symbolism
Upside down horseshoes look like an Omega symbol- this was entirely a happy coincidence! I drew him in the in-ring gear he wore during Full Gear 2021. Maybe that was something they intentionally thought about when designing his gear? I’m always a sucker for wrestlers including other wrestler’s motifs in their gear, so having this pointed out was a delight! But since it’s not something I actively meant to include, I don’t have a lot to say about it.
Moonsault Pose- I think this one is really interesting. Him actively being in motion rather than being stuck hanging has really interesting implications. Like before, it’s not what I actively meant to include so I don’t have anything in depth to say about it. But it did make me stop and think about the piece in that context, so I thought it would be interesting to include here as well!
Some things I didn’t get to include/don’t have much meaning.
Dark Order- I didn’t really find a good way to include the dark order in this picture. I wish I did, but I couldn’t find a good way to include it without feeling busy. Unfortunately the purple + eye aesthetic didn’t look very good in this picture.
Bullet Club- I really wanted to find a way to include the bullet club into the noose that’s tying him to the frame, but couldn’t really find a way to that without it being distracting. There just wasn’t a good place to put any bullets or skulls. I did find a better way to do it in the Young Bucks + Flowers pics I did a whole ago.
The background pattern- the simple flower pattern was chosen because that’s what I thought looked the best. It was meant to mirror the flowers on his pants, but no additional meaning was put into that.
The Suns in each corner- the yellow circle in each corner of the frame is the sun. There’s no extra meaning to it, they just looked good with the color palette and matches the “riding off into the sunset” imagery he likes to use.
The End
That’s all for now, folks! This was surprisingly fun to write us. As a thank you for everyone who stuck around and read to the end, here’s the janky rough sketch, along with the final sketch that I ended up lining:
#Adam page#Hangman Adam Page#text#i hope this post gets me a good grade in understanding hangman’s character#something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve
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IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF JOHN AND YOKO IN JAPAN (PARTS 4 AND 5)
Part 4
Next morning’s first priority was to check out Cafe Rizanbou, where John Lennon and Yoko were regulars during their summer stays in Karuizawa.
After a quick drive, we found the place, a bit off the beaten track from downtown Kyu Karuizawa and the Manpei Hotel, where the Lennons stayed.
It’s easy to see what Lennon and family found so endearing about the place. — it looks the same as it did over 40 years ago — a large rustic wooden cabin nestled in a forest with luscious greenery all around— such an enchanting and magical space that it swept John Lennon away!
While not a memorial like Strawberry Fields in Central Park in New York City, Cafe Rizanbou has become a place of secular pilgrimage for John Lennon worshippers and fans from all over the world.
There are no tables to sit at inside the main room of the cafe…only tables with all kinds of cafe merch for sale and lots of Lennon memorabilia, especially photos of John and Yoko’s life in Karuizawa, covering the walls. (I think I heard Beatle’s music playing softly in the background.) I took my time inspecting all the photos and posters and art that makes up this homage to John Lennon, and was really struck by how happy John and Yoko looked together during this period of their life. (Sadly the pictures of John and Yoko pleasantly idling on their summer vacation here in Karuizawa in 1979 are the last photos of the two of them taken in Japan).
Next, we walked out onto the adjoining veranda and sat down at the end table, which we were told was the world famous rocker’s favorite. The young man working there (a relative of the original owner who befriended the Lennons and is still around) recommended ordering John Lennon’s favorite drink — a tall glass of blueberry juice. How could we resist that pitch!
I took a long slow, deep breadth, started sipping on that glass of blueberry juice,
and my mind zoomed way back in time to recall my incredible personal experience meeting John Lennon at his “Bed-in for Peace” back in ’69. I remember that year was a horrible time for the global legion of fanatical Beatlemaniacs, (myself included), suffering from the break-up of the Beatles, the world’s greatest band. And we were furious at the mysterious Japanese woman we blamed for driving a stake in the heart of the Beatles. When I heard John and Yoko were in Montreal I somehow had to get in to see them and say to her how could she do it!!!
As soon as I walked into their room — suite 1742 — I felt the vibe that everyone inside was so ecstatic to be there in the presence of John and Yoko and the euphoria overcame me. Telling myself to calm down, I tried to take some photographs but I was too far behind the throng of well-wishers surrounding the couple’s bed. I knew I needed to get closer and lucky for me the crowd started to thin out and soon only a handful of people were left lingering in the room.
I thought I was losing my mind when I heard John’s unmistakable voice call out to me. “Hey did you get some good shots?” I confess I was speechless. He beckoned me over to his side of the bed. In that moment, with my heart pounding, he told me stuff that made me come to the realization of just how kind and deep a thinker he was.
You probably would like to know what he said to me but i’ve kept it personal all these years. Let’s just say his words have been like a guiding light for me.
As for Yoko, over the years I decided it was best to let go my feelings for what she did or didn’t do to the Beatles. John Lennon went on to become a great solo artist and inspired so many of us as a symbol of the peace movement. And it was also obvious, he truly found his bliss with Yoko.
So like Beatle George Harrison’s song says —“all things must pass.”
Part 5
When we got home from Karuizawa I pondered if it was my kismet and karma that led me to Karuizawa or was it just a fortunate stroke of serendipity.
I started to sing one of my favorite Lennon (Lennon-McCartney songs).
“I am the egg man
they are the egg men
I am the walrus,
goo goo g’joob”
© Gary Bush 2023
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I Still Have That Sticky Note Ring
I don’t believe I told this story while I was on my last two weeks. Or maybe I did and I accidentally posted it on a different one of my Tumblr blogs. Really pray I didn’t. Anyway, I went straight to Reddit or some other site to ask about it because I was just so happy I was about to cry. So here’s the story:
Back on my last two weeks of work for my last job I was about to clock out and I noticed the cute girl I had a crush on was working the front desk that day. I don’t know how we got to the topic, but she mentioned she left her snacks at home, Swedish fish and cool ranch Doritos. So I offered to walk over and get her some from the Walgreen’s across the road. She said I shouldn’t because she jokingly said she would propose to me right there. So of course I did it. It was raining so I took the umbrella from there and came home because I left my card at home. I grabbed it and said I left my phone back at work so my parents wouldn’t question why I popped back in and out. I grabbed one of our umbrellas so I didn’t owe my work an umbrella. I walked over to Walgreen’s and bought her the candy/chips and a Vanilla Coke because of something she said while we talking about how she wanted one (she didn’t ask me) and I got a Fanta to give to the other guy working at the front desk so it didn’t seem as suspicious. I waited a while at Walgreen’s because apparently half of the neighborhood’s power was out including the Walgreen’s so I had to wait a while to check out. I came back and she squealed and hugged me before saying “Wait, now I have to do it-“ and rushing to fold a little yellow post-it note ring for me. She got on one knee and I said yes, trying to make it perfectly on the borderline so it wasn’t obvious I liked her but not enough so that it made it seem like I only wanted to be friends. She hugged me again and I was red as hell. I walked back home with the ring on and was grinning all damn day looking over at it.
I still have that sticky-note ring. It feels so bittersweet to look at it now. I mean you could just say it’s a symbol of friendship, but I always take it as a reminder of what will never be. Keeping what was just a joke so long and treasuring it like it was a sign of something. I know that that’s the best I’ll ever get. The peak. With someone like me that’ll end up in a loveless marriage with someone that’ll cheat on me and rape me damn near every night because I don’t fit what normal people want. The life I want is unachievable. I don’t deserve it. I’m not worthy of it. I’ll never work hard enough for it. It’s nice but it hurts to think about. So fucking pathetic. Do you think normal people keep shit like this?
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[ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices?
Prompts I’d like to receive part 1 from here @rahge
Most aesthetics come from canon material like Tommy’s love for his classic (and in our mind nowadays old) cars (or the Bentley of Tatiana), his love for horses, the whisky, his tattoos, the cigarettes, the suits and accessories he wears (including his black leather gloves and the sapphire he got for Grace), the gun he uses and the beret he wears with the included razor blades. Also the whole Birmingham and London aesthetics (including furniture and the mansions) around the 20s - 40s with all the fog and dark filters they used. So all that is pretty canon I would say but what I added are aesthetics for his Harry Potter verse which adds Slytherin aesthetics (snakes, skulls, potions, dark green colors, black & silver wand). But since Harry Potter also takes place in London and the Fantastic Beast movies play around the 20s while the first war with Voldemort was around the 40s and his school years were around the 30s (and we got a few flashbacks from that), the aesthetics about the buildings or furniture or outfits collide a lot. Seeing Tommy’s style in Peaky Blinders and the mansions he lived in and all the luxury he was surrounded with while carrying such a darkness just reminded me so much of Slytherin families (especially the Malfoys and also Blacks) that for me it was obvious to have him in such a verse and it was very easy to add these kinda magical aesthetics cause it fits to the mood and his character anyways. Besides that I mostly try to stick to canon material when I play a canon muse and just expand some details. I think that’s why I also didn’t write him in a very modern verse yet cause this whole dark and somehow noble aesthetic fits him very well and I don’t know if it fits to Tommy to be the guy in jeans and tshirt 🤣 but you never know.
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some art, because I lost speech earlier and that sucked because no one around me could know, and also because autistic Jon rights
[ID: Jon Sims from the Magnus Archives, drawn in purples with pink shadows. He is at the bottom of the frame and is drawn from the shoulders up, and behind him the rest of the space is taken up with unsaid thoughts and scripted conversation starters. He looks nervous and uncomfortable, and says quietly, under the other thought bubbles: “uh…”. Jon is pictured as a thin, British-Indian man with short cut hair with small streaks of grey in it, square wire glasses, a somewhat patchy beard, a few round scars on his cheekbones, jaw, and neck, and a line scar across his voice box. He is wearing a plain light t shirt.
The thought bubble directly above Jon’s head, in bold, says: I can understand you, you know. The bubbles around it, are in various shades of light purple and pink, the pink ones with quotations around them. The purple bubbles read, in no particular order: I want to join in on the conversation if you just let me. / This is going to be awkward, isn’t it… / I feel useless like this / Please don’t leave me out / I wish it was quieter here. The pink bubbles read, in no particular order, some of them cut off partially: “did you see the game last night?” / “how’s your partner these days?” / “how’ve you been lately?” / “damn, this weather, huh?” / “how are you?”. The artist’s url is in the top left. /End ID]
#Also him in ace colors#here’s some symbolism that I included but didn’t know if it would be obvious#Jon is drawn entirely in various shades of purple but the light on him and the shadows on him is more magenta#all of his thoughts that aren’t masking or scripts are also in purple#which was partially because it looked nice and also ace Jon#but also to represent how you can stand out when you’re autistic or otherwise nd#even if you keep trying to appear nt and people cast an nt light on you (literally in this case with the pink)#rusty quill described#my art#Jon sims#autistic Jon sims#tma fanart#TMA#Jonathan sims
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The Shield
Paring: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
Word Count: 5595
Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, John Walker, Emotions, Character Death, Mentions of Blood, I know people had a hard time with that last scene so please take caution because it is in this part! GIF at end is the ending scene, so be careful when you get towards the bottom! I feel like I’m forgetting some, so just know this one’s a bit more than the others.
A/N: Here it is, folks! The Part we’ve all been waiting for! It’s the longest one I’ve written so far but so much happened and I couldn’t find a better spot to end it than where the episode ended. Thank you all for being patient with me today. I know I didn’t get this out as quickly as I would’ve the past few weeks, but you guys are so awesome! Seriously! I love that you understand I do have a life and work comes first! Thank you, thank you!
This Part is a doozy, guys, and…I’m sorry? But not really. I’m SUPER excited to see where this is gonna go, especially considering Episode 5 is supposed to be the real tear jerker. I can’t believe there’s only two more episodes! I’ve grown so attached to these characters just in the past month! I’m so glad I’m able to share some of my thoughts and feelings with you guys, too! You’re honestly the best!
I’ll be doing more One Shots this week, so look for those on the Masterlist. I’m still taking requests for them, so if there’s anything you want explored about the reader and her relationships that you don’t think will be explored in this Series, just ask and I’ll try to add it to the One Shot list.
As always, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you for reading, be kind to yourself and others, enjoy this part and stay tuned!
FATWS Masterlist
cjsinkythoughts Masterlist
(I couldn’t decide on which GIF to use because there are so many good ones! Thank you Tumblr Creators!)
!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!
“Doll…hey. Doll. C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta get moving.”
You cracked your eyes open begrudgingly, squinting up to see Bucky’s amused grin, head tilted and eyes soft. “Huh?”
He chuckled as you rubbed your eyes, confusion lifting an eyebrow. “The funeral. Zemo said we’ve gotta go if we’re gonna make it in time.”
“Wait, but…huh?”
Sniggering again at your reaction, he held up your phone. “You passed out in the middle of a chapter, sleepyhead.” He teased lightly, grabbing your hand and gently pulling you to sit upright. “It’s almost been an hour.”
You huffed tiredly, stretching and placing your feet on the floor, taking back the phone he held out to you. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You haven’t been sleeping well.” He stated, like it should’ve been obvious. “How’s your arm feeling?”
“Better than earlier. It’s just sore. That’s all.”
He studied your features for any hint of a lie. Not finding one, he nodded, holding out his hand. “Okay. But tell me if it starts bothering you.”
You placed your hand in his, marveling for a split second at how big his hands were compared to yours - something you noticed every time but still it never ceased to astound you. He tugged you up, and you looked up to meet his worried eyes, remembering his question.
“I will, Buck. Promise.”
He nodded, tilting his head towards the door. “C’mon, cuddle bug. We don’t wanna miss this.”
A groan passed your lips, but you nodded and followed Bucky out into the main room, where Sam chuckled at you from his spot at the table. “Sleeping beauty has finally awoken.”
You flipped Sam off groggily. “Are we going or not?”
“Do you wanna wake up s’more first?”
“No.” You answered the one armed brunette. “I’ll just splash some water on my face or something. I’ll be fine by the time we get there. Where’s-”
“Looking for me?”
Zemo strolled out, now dressed in that coat of his, that smug smirk on his lips. You scowled. “I wish I wasn’t.”
Sam stood up, standing subconsciously between you and Zemo. “Let’s head out.”
You nodded in agreement, shooting the Baron one more glare, before following him out the door and into the city, Bucky right besides you, shoulders brushing as if you weren’t ignoring him just hours prior.
The walk was mostly silent, a few jests between Bucky and Sam plus a couple comments from Zemo here and there. You talked about strategy, with Sam bringing up the fact that he wanted to try convincing Karli to step down. Zemo didn’t look pleased with the arrangement, but both you and Bucky relented, agreeing to let Sam at least try.
It wasn’t until you were close to your destination according to Zemo that anything exciting happened.
“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!”
Hell. No.
The moment the voice registered in your brain, your jaw tightened, your teeth starting to grind together as you held back the very not nice things you wanted to say.
“Ah! How’d you find us now?” Bucky called out, tucking you into his side protectively, and a little possessively you noted, as Walker and Hoskins came down the steps, the two groups nearing each other.
You were relieved when the subject of Zemo escaping jail went by relatively quickly, Walker latching onto the fact that you were going to talk to Karli instead of focusing on the escaped fugitive in front of him.
You very nearly punched him when he ran in front of you after Sam told him the plan, making the four of you stop in your tracks, but Bucky’s arm tightened around your shoulders, holding you in place next to him.
“You’re gonna let him do this?” Walker questioned Bucky in disbelief, self righteous judgement practically dripping from your tone. “You’re gonna let your partner walk into a room with a super soldier alone?”
Bucky’s jaw ticked. “He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”
“And you?” Walker narrowed his eyes towards you. “I expected more from you; the last original Avenger.”
You snorted, shaking your head. He obviously didn’t know how chaotic the Avengers were. What Sam was proposing? You’d seen it a million times with Steve alone. Not considering Nat, Clint, Thor, even Bruce and Tony. All of them willing to try to negotiate before running in, bullets raining and hell rising. “First, I’m not the last original. I’m technically not even an original. Second, I trust Sam with my life and I’m standing by his decision. He’s my brother. As a soldier, I would’ve thought you understood that.”
Before he could respond, Sam stepped around Bucky. You saw the reluctance in Walker’s eyes as he admitted a temporary defeat once Hoskins agreed with Sam. The fact that he was so unwilling to try to save more lives - including Karli’s - made the truth that he wasn’t, and would never, be your Captain harden deeper into your heart.
Ignoring Walker’s confusion as you followed the little girl Zemo befriended - which was weird, you’d admit, but it was getting you closer to Karli - Bucky’s arm slipped from your shoulders, hand sliding across your back and skimming down your arm to grip your hand. Even through your jacket, you felt goosebumps erupt along his fingers’ trail.
You finally came to your destination and you let out a small breath. If everything went smoothly, this mission could finally be over and you could go home and take a bath, get take out, get out a bottle of wine, watch TV, and just relax.
What a dream.
“Hey.” You stopped Sam before he could go through the entrance of where the girl said Karli was, holding his forearm. “You want me to come with you?”
He shook his head. “I think it’ll be better if I go alone.”
You nodded, letting go without any hesitance. “Okay. Be careful.”
“Always.” And despite all you’ve been through, no matter how many times he’s followed Steve’s lead in doing something stupid, you knew he meant it. You nodded again, before he disappeared around the corner.
You leaned back against the wall, Bucky once again wrapping an arm around your shoulder now that you weren’t walking - he liked having mobility on the move, hence the reason he held your hand instead - leaning besides you and pulling you against his chest.
Ten minutes. You tried looking at Bucky’s watch, which was on the wrist of the arm around you. He noticed and turned his wrist slightly, bending his elbow more, which brought you even closer to him, showing you the time.
Giving a small sigh, you nodded slightly and dropped your head back against his bicep, your hands shoving in your pockets, one of your feet coming up to rest against the wall. Bucky shifted to your other side so he could stand in front of the doors to where Karli and Sam were, pulling you against his back, arms wrapping around your shoulders tightly.
It was a long ten minutes. You kept eyeing Walker, and you couldn’t help the anger burning through you as he held the shield in his hands. That damn shield. It wasn’t his. It would never be his. And he would never understand it. The fact that the shield didn’t make Captain America. The shield isn’t what made Steve a good man. Not even the Serum did. He already was one. Steve made the shield what it was, not the other way around.
But then you remembered a conversation you had, years ago, and your eyes flitted up to Bucky’s hardened face, the brunette staring intensely at the ground.
~
You didn’t get it. You were confused. You knew how important Barnes - Bucky - was to Steve. But apparently you didn’t understand it quite yet.
You watched from the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall, as Bucky went under once more.
Steve stood there for a moment longer, before turning and walking towards you. “Why’d you do it?”
He raised an eyebrow at you while you turned to walk with him down the hall. “Do what?”
“Give up the shield. And don’t say it doesn’t belong to you. It does. Howard gave it to you. You’re the reason it’s…a symbol.”
He hummed. “And what exactly is it a symbol for, honey?”
You scoffed. “Uh, freedom? Justice? Resilience? The defense of the whole life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness thing?”
He stopped, facing you with a strange expression on his face, thoughtful. “I dropped it because I can’t be that anymore. Not right now. People don’t have the same beliefs they used to have. How can I stand up for freedom and let the Sokovia Accords track every person they deem a threat, just like HYDRA tried doing? How can I be a symbol for justice and let Bucky take the fall for something that he wasn’t in control of? I can’t. And until the world is ready to change…I can’t be Captain America.”
~
And suddenly, it seemed to click. Steve gave up the shield for Bucky because the world wasn’t ready to admit it was wrong. Just like Sam gave up the shield for himself and his family because the world wasn’t ready for the truth that would come with him becoming Captain America.
God…when did a metal circle become so complicated?
“What’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ head’a yours?” His whisper in your ear startled you out of your thoughts, his nose brushing against your temple tenderly as he placed a chaste kiss on your cheek.
You looked up at him and shook your head. Of all the things Steve gave up, he never gave up Bucky. And it used to confuse you, but you understood then. His blue eyes sparkling with curiosity and slight concern, his fingers tracing patterns along your collarbone with a barely-there touch that was so light it didn’t seem to exist. You finally understood. Not just Steve’s decision, but Sam’s too. And maybe you didn’t understand it fully, and that was okay, because you weren’t them, so you never would, but you understood a little bit.
“Nothing.” You shook your head, keeping your voice down so the others couldn’t hear, the conversation being a private one, “I’m just waiting for this to be over.”
He hummed, nodding in agreement, setting his chin on your head. “Me too.”
Walker started pacing the room about half way through, getting too antsy for your liking. “Shhh.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, feeling you tense as Walker started talking. “It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”
“He knows what he’s doing.” Bucky stated confidently, straightening slightly from his leaning position, arms falling from your form. The two of you exchanged glances as Walker checked the clock over on the far wall, blocked from your view.
“I’m going in.” Walker strode across the room, heading for the entrance, no doubt willing to steam roll anything - anyone - in his way.
Bucky stopped him with a hand on his chest. You glanced back and forth between the two as Walker spoke, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Buck…we promised him ten minutes.” You reminded him, seeing his resolve crumble a bit. You could guess he was thinking of the nightmares. The people he couldn’t save. The blood he already considered on his hands.
Walker used his moment of hesitation, shoving past him roughly. “I’m not waiting.”
“John!”
“Walker!”
You followed after him, you and Bucky arguing with him and Hoskins about giving Sam more time, but it was too late.
“Karli Morgenthau! You’re under arrest!”
“Fuck.” You hissed out when you saw Sam’s panicked expression, looking at you confused. Walker was flown across the room when Karli punched him, Bucky shoving Hoskins out of the way to run after her.
“Y/N-”
You threw your hands up. “I tried, Sam! C’mon!”
You and Sam ran over to some stairs, turning corners and trying to remember what the building looked like from outside to cut her off, but you only ran into Bucky again.
“I wish we had the layout or something.” You grumbled. “We were that close-”
“We’re not done yet, doll.” Nodding, you followed the boys out, Bucky pausing every so often to try to hear anything. “I’ve got gunshots.” At that, the three of you took off towards the sound, Bucky leading the way.
Just around the corner from where Bucky heard the gunshots, you thought you saw a couple people slip around another bend. Noticing you had stopped, Bucky backtracked. “You okay?’
“Yeah.” Deciding it wasn’t worth the pursuit, you turned to him and nodded towards the doorway Sam already went through. He gave you a look, but nodded and the two of you jogged into the room.
You sighed heavily, seeing Zemo knocked out on the floor, Walker standing over him and broken vials that were previously full of, what you assumed was, the Serum. Hoskins ran in right after you, meaning no one but Walker and Zemo knew what happened. Meaning you would probably never get the full, true story.
What fun it is to work with manipulators and liars.
********************
“I don’t like him.” Bucky grumbled, the two of you walking up to the place you were staying in, Bucky holding the door open for you.
“I know you don’t, Buck. I don’t either.” You had asked Bucky to go with you to get some fresh air once you got back, Zemo having woken up a few minutes after and Walker and Hoskins had to make a call or something official like the good soldiers they were. “He’s hiding something.”
“You think?” Bucky scoffed, giving you a look.
You rolled your eyes. “I mean…I don’t know. When we found him and Zemo…my gut twisted.”
He nodded in understanding, his face twisting into a scowl. “Yeah. Mine did too.”
You stopped him before you could walk through the door to the main room. “Do me a favor?” He nodded again with a little hum. Catching his chin between your fingers, your free hand moved to smooth out the creases between his brow. “Stop brooding so much. It makes me worried.”
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, features softening slightly. “Are you really gonna leave in the morning? I know you’ve had a lot of people telling you to take a break, and it’s selfish for me to ask you to stay, but…I dunno if I can finish this without you.”
“I-” You sighed, ducking your head as you thought of a response, before looking up in his wide eyes, begging for you to stick around longer. “Let’s just finish the day and see what happens next. Okay?”
He bit his lip, nodding slightly. You gave him a smile, before tugging on his hand. “I need a drink.”
He chuckled at that. “That I can fix, doll.” He, again, opened the door for you, and the two of you walked in.
“What a gentleman. Straight outta the 40’s.” You joked, making him roll his eyes.
He took off his jacket, heading to the kitchen, while you sat on the opposite side of the island. “Somethin’s not right about Walker.”
Sam gave you two an amused look. “You don’t say.”
“Well, I know a crazy when I see one.” He opened the lid of the bottle he grabbed, starting to pour two glasses of whiskey for the both of you. “Because I am crazy.”
You rolled your eyes as Sam responded, “can’t argue with that.”
“You shouldn’t have given him the shield.”
Giving Bucky a disapproving look over the rim of your glass, you sipped your drink, narrowing your eyes when he ignored you. “I didn’t give him the shield.”
“Well Steve definitely didn’t.”
Your glass slammed down on the counter. Why did he have to bring this up right now? Seriously? You were just having a nice conversation about places you wanted to visit while taking a walk outside. Why was he suddenly snapping?
Before you could scold him, the doors burst open, making your head whip over as Walker stormed in, “ordering” you to hand over Zemo.
You stayed sitting, leaning on the counter and facing the opposite wall as Sam told him off, giving an amused snicker as you sipped your drink. Bucky sat besides you, facing Walker, and you recognized from the angle he was positioning himself that he was blocking you from Walker’s view, whether intentional or not.
You raised an eyebrow, turning in interest when Walker put down the shield, knowing Sam wasn’t about to fight the man. What an ego the blonde had.
Before anything could happen, however, a spear pierced through the air, lodging in the pillar next to Walker’s head.
Your frustration with Bucky’s comment flew out of your head as Ayo and a few other Dora Milaje walked in. Bucky sat up straighter and you stood up, leaning ever so slightly against his arm.
You nearly facepalmed, a sound of complete disbelief leaving you as Walker introduced himself. Sam looked over at you two, an entertained, slightly incredulous smile on his face.
Sam tried warning him. He really did. But Walker, you’ve come to find, was an arrogant, egotistical narcissist who only wanted to win and would do whatever it takes to do so. Even when there wasn’t really a winner. At least, not in that situation. It seemed that Walker liked ignoring the gray area in the world, which wasn’t good. Not in the least.
Which is why you couldn’t really feel sorry for the man. You saw it coming as soon as he told them they didn’t have jurisdiction. And the moment he touched Ayo?
You put your chin on Bucky’s shoulder - who had stood up from his spot - watching the Dora Milaje kick Walker’s ass, wincing and cringing mockingly at the right moments, making Bucky smirk at you.
“We should do something.” Sam said, although he didn’t look thrilled about the prospect.
Bucky crossed his arms. “Looking strong, John!”
You gave a slight snort, not wanting to encourage anything, but unable to hold in your amusement. Bucky winked at you, clinking his cup of whiskey with your own, before taking a gulp.
“Bucky.”
You huffed and stepped back at Sam’s tone. “C’mon, Buck.”
“Fine.” Bucky grunted. “But ‘M not happy about it.”
Soon, the three of you, plus Walker and Hoskins, were all occupied with a member of the Dora Milaje. You knew you couldn’t take them; they were on a higher level that Natasha, and you could barely beat her. But you weren’t necessarily trying to win.
It was a strange fight, knowing that no one - except Walker, probably - actually wanted to hurt anyone. Of course, that didn’t stop one of them from exploiting your injured shoulder that she spotted rather quickly. The hits were quick and precise, the tip of her spear cutting along the graze, hitting the spot just perfect enough to reopen it. The stitches that had been placed only a couple days ago ripped, making you wince and clutch your now bleeding shoulder.
“Oh fuck.” You groaned. “You were always good with those things.”
She gave you an almost apologetic look, before she looked over to Ayo, who stepped through the room towards the bathroom where Zemo had locked himself in during the chaos.
When you caught sight of the shoulder thing she did to Bucky, his metallic arm now laying on the floor, his eyes wide and his stance stunned, your jaw nearly dropped. You guessed it made sense that they had a way to do that, but, still. None of you were expecting it.
“Did you know they could do that?” Sam asked once they started leaving, Bucky picking up his arm and connecting it to his shoulder.
“No.” The arm whirred as he swung it, getting it back to normal.
You couldn’t help the little giggle that left you, making Bucky raise an eyebrow at you. You tried holding in more laughs, but they just kept coming. “She-she...she disarmed you!”
Bucky rolled his eyes as you chortled, holding your stomach and bending over. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Oh come on!” You straightened and wiped your eyes. “That was good! Wasn’t it, Sammy?”
Sammy chuckled and nodded. “I’ll admit, it was pretty good. This, however, is not.”
Your laughter died as Sam made his way over to the bathroom, the light air that came with your cackles dissipating as quickly as it came.
“I can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo.”
You stared at the drain that was uncovered - large enough for Zemo to slip inside and escape. He did it. The son of a bitch finally did it. It took him long enough. You would’ve betted against him days ago.
“I can.” Bucky turned and grabbed your hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
*********************
“I thought you told them.”
Bucky looked up from wrapping your shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“I thought you told them. The Dora Milaje. Wakanda. T’Challa. I thought you told them about Zemo.”
He leaned back with a sigh. “It was kinda a last minute decision. You know that. You were there.”
You nodded. “I do. But I also know what they’ve done for you. Shuri and Ayo. I was there for that, too. And you know what he did to them. To their country. Their king.”
“I know, I know. I almost died several times because of it.”
Your eyebrows pinched in confusion. “So why-”
“I thought it’d be quick. I thought, maybe, I could do it without them finding out and then we could get to Karli and they wouldn’t be disappointed. Win win.”
Your cheek caught between your teeth as you thought. “You could’ve just asked-”
He shook his head. “They would’ve said no. You know that.”
“Okay. Fine. Yes. I know that. But…but giving them a warning would’ve been better than this.” He hung his head, closing his eyes. “Bucky. Hey,” hooking a finger under his chin, you tilted his head back up to look at you. “I know it’s been hard for you. Everything has. And I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I shouldn’t have let you come along. You should be healing, and it’s my fault you’re not.” He opened his mouth, face scrunching up in disagreement, but you shook your head. “It’s true. I just…I didn’t know it would come this far.” You gnawed on your bottom lip studying those captivating eyes, before sighing. “Which is why I’m not leaving.”
He perked up, those pretty eyes going wide, jaw slackening. “You-you’re not?!”
You shook your head. As much as you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. “It wouldn’t be fair to you or Sam. I promised to help, and I brought you into it. So I’m gonna stay.
“Are you, uh…are you sure? You don’t hafta if you don’t wanna, doll. I know I kinda pushed you earlier, but-”
“I’m sure Buck.” You nodded firmly. “Just…do something for me?”
“I dunno if I can promise not brooding, sweetheart.”
You giggled at his words. “Not that. Just…stop giving Sam a hard time. About the shield. Please.”
His soft features hardened and he scowled. “If he didn’t give it up-”
“He thought it was going to the museum. I told you about that, remember? I told you we’d go when I got back.”
Giving a slight nod, he sighed. “We never did.”
“We will. But, I’m serious, Buck. Please. It’s not his fault. He did exactly what Steve did.” At Bucky’s confused look, you pursed your lips, looking down at his hands, starting to play with his fingers. “Remember how I was thinking during those ten minutes we had?” He nodded. “I was thinking about how Steve gave the shield back to Tony. After saving you. In Siberia. You remember that?” Another nod was given, so you continued. “It was for you, James. Because you made him realize that he didn’t want to be the face of a country that preached one thing, but did another. And that’s what Sam did. He did it for his family. For himself. Because no one wants to fight for a country that goes against your personal beliefs, no matter what they say.”
“I-I don’t understand.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, his brow creasing as he tried processing what you were telling him.
“That’s okay. Not everyone will. Really only they can understand their own reasoning. But you have to try to understand that he did what he thought was best for himself. For Steve. For the shield. And I know - dammit do I know - that it’s the last thing left of him. But it is just metal. Isn’t it? Steve’s the reason it is what it is. No one else. And no one is going to change that.”
Bucky took a breath, glossy, worried eyes meeting yours. “Walker’s going to ruin it. I know he is. I can feel it. Everything Steve worked for. I don’t care about Captain America. I care about the kid from Brooklyn who wanted to make a difference, no matter how little he was. I trusted him. I followed him through bullets and blood, with only that shield between us and them. He was home on a battlefield in Italy across the ocean from New York. And that shield was the welcome mat. It doesn’t matter what it says, what it looks like…but it protected my home when I couldn’t. But now? I feel like it’s tearing my home down. Pulling out the bricks. And it hurts. It was never about the shield, Y/N. It was always about the man it protected when I couldn’t be there for him. And now?”
Gathering him in your arms as he trailed off, you gave a couple little sniffles, pressing your face in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck lightly. “I’ll be your welcome mat, Buckaroo.” You offered.
He shook his head, pulling away to hold your face between his hands. “No, sweetheart. You’re not the welcome mat. You’re the new bricks replacing the old. You’re…you’re my home, now, doll.”
You swallowed thickly, unable to handle the rush of emotions that just poured through you, the sudden change in topic making you feel more vulnerable than you’d like. You leaned forwards, placing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling him go lax in your arms. “And you’re mine.” You murmured softly, before getting up and heading out for the room, unable to stay any longer. You still had a mission to do. One that became even more desperate with Zemo loose, Walker unhinged, and Karli being so close.
******************
There was a silent agreement to not bring up your conversation. Not yet, at least. Sam had eyed you both when you came out of the room, saying you were ready to get moving, but he didn’t say anything either.
None of you really knew where you were going, only what you had to do. Find Zemo and get to Karli before Walker could. Both of which were a lot easier said than done.
Until Sam got a call from Sarah, who told him Karli contacted her personally and threatened her and her sons. She left a contact number for Sam, evidently wanting to meet. His phone dinged not a minute after he texted the number.
“She said come alone.”
“Well that’s not happening.” You opposed, crossing your arms.
Bucky nodded with your sentence. “We’re coming with you.”
Sam didn’t say anything against it, the three of you exchanging glances, before heading out to the location, changing into your tactical suits along the way.
Karli didn’t seem to mind you and Bucky tagging along, and you understood why the moment she mentioned not killing Sam because he wasn’t hiding behind a shield. It was a distraction. They were going after Walker.
It was confirmed only moments later when Sharon contacted Sam. “Looks like he found them, or maybe they found him.”
As soon as Sam announced that it was Walker, you jumped into action, Sam disabling Karli for just the right amount of time for you to get a head start. “I’ll send you the location. Go.” He told Bucky, who nodded and took off in his super soldier sprint. “You hitching a ride?”
You rolled your eyes at his slight tease. “I hate this so much.” You grumbled, catching his hand as he took off in the air with his bird costume. He held onto you tightly, like the millions of times you’d done this before, although it didn’t make you any less dizzy, traveling that fast, that high, with only his hold keeping you from dropping. “You’re lucky I trust you so much!”
He gave a small chuckle at your shout over the wind. “We’re landing! Brace yourself!” You followed his order, just in time for him to break through the glass ceiling of the building Walker was in. The both of you landed on a platform on the staircase just as a Flag Smasher was thrown through double glass doors, down the stairs, and into a power box. Your eyes went wide as Walker strolled down the steps, oozing a confidence that made you nervous. The moment Walker stopped the Flag Smasher - the Super Soldier - from hitting him with the pipe, you knew even before he twisted it like a pretzel.
“Sam.” You breathed out. You couldn’t even do anything, only watching as the Flag Smasher got up from being thrown again, and running down a hall.
“What’d you do?”
“They got Lemar.” Was the only reply he gave, brushing past you and Sam. You gave Sam a look, but he just jerked his head down the hall, in the direction the Flag Smasher went and the way Walker started heading. You nodded, willing to drop it for now to save someone’s life, but you were so bringing it up once this was done.
Jogging into the room, you should’ve expected the ambush in the room, but, to be honest, they didn’t take as much advantage as they could’ve, so it wasn’t too difficult of a fight. You had trained with Steve millions of times before, so you knew how to go against a Super Soldier. Granted, your Cap wasn’t trying to kill you while training, but it was better than nothing.
You protected your shoulder, knowing that was your weak point, while trying to disguise it so whoever you were fighting wouldn’t realize your Achilles’ Heel. Something you often found while dealing with Steve, and even Bucky, was that Super Soldiers, as quick as they were, tended to favor the super strength side of their enhancements. This made it easier for you to dodge the attacks, knowing most of your blows wouldn’t do much.
Knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay on the defensive for long, you decided to try to get an advantage over them. Disarming them and taking their knife was easy enough. A small advantage, yeah, but now you had a weapon, and you could work with that.
You weren’t exactly sure when Bucky joined the fight, but he did, immediately coming over to you when you body kicked your opponent, helping you up. “That was a Steve move.” Your eyes caught sight of the Flag Smasher behind him and you shoved his shoulder down, throwing your knife, making it land solidly in the man’s shoulder. Bucky looked up at you from his crouch, impressed. “And that was a me move.”
You shrugged. “I’m a visual learner.”
You, Sam, and Bucky were about to go for another round with the guys when a sickening crack sounded behind you, and you whipped around.
Hoskins was against a split pillar, a crimson streak running down his forehead, head lolling to the side, lips red and cracked. The fight stopped as Walker rushed over to his friend, but you knew there was no way he survived. A punch from a Super Soldier? That hard?
Eyeing the Flag Smashers, you turned to Sam and Bucky when they started dispersing, Karli running out as well. They nodded towards you and the three of you took off after her, not wanting to let her get away again and, for you, at least, wanting to give Walker some time.
You weren’t expecting his grief to turn into such raw hatred.
Running up to the city square, you didn’t actually see it happen. Just the aftermath. Which was good, considering you nearly threw up just seeing that.
You heard the change in Bucky’s breathing, barely recognizing the way he stepped in front of you, only realizing you stepped closer when you felt his sleeve against your palms, fingers tightly wrapped around his forearm. A choked sound came from somewhere, but you didn’t know it was you, even as Bucky reached his arm around to hold your waist, keeping you behind his shoulder.
Tears leaked down your face silently, eyes unable to look away as Walker straightened, sliding the shield on his arm, too nonchalantly for someone who just murdered another in front of a crowd full of people, cameras pointed towards him.
The shield. That piece of metal you had been wondering so deeply about the past couple of weeks. The link to the first person you’d ever loved. Ruined. Tarnished. Stained.
You could barely breathe, your throat clenching so tightly it was a wonder you were able to get anything out at all.
“James…”
#cjsinkythoughts#cjswriting#cjsspoilers#fatws spoilers#tfatws spoilers#falcon and the winter soldier spoilers#fatws#tfatws#falcon and the winter soldier#fatws series#fatws pt 5.2#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x avenger!reader#bucky x avenger!reader#bucky barnes#❤🐦💙🦾#💙🦾
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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)
Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.
A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…
@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!
Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈
He doesn’t look like a demon.
Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.
He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.
Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.
He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.
“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”
You nod.
“And you don’t want to be.”
You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.
“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.
Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.
“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.
Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.
Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.
‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?
You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.
“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”
You swallow. “How long do I have left?”
“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“
“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”
“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”
Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”
“Simple enough. What else?”
‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”
Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”
“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.
Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.
Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.
“Ow?” You wince.
The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”
He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—
“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”
Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.
“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.
“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.
…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”
“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”
The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”
“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”
Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”
This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.
Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”
Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.
You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”
“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.
Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.
“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.
Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”
“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”
“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”
You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”
At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.
He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.
“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.
Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!
“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.
Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”
You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.
“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.
“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.
This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.
You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).
“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.
“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—
you stop breathing.
It doesn’t hurt.
Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.
No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.
“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”
“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.
You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.
“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”
Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.
“Not here.”
“What—?”
You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…
Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.
Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.
Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.
You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?
You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”
“You should know this place.”
And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“
“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.
The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.
“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”
“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.
“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”
The…promise?
A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”
“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”
A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.
“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.
///
Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.
Of course it wasn’t just a ring.
Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.
“Look at me.”
And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.
“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.
“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.
He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”
Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.
A good girl wouldn’t like this.
Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…
“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”
Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…
But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.
You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.
“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…
And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?
It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.
“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”
“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“
“Then look at me.”
It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.
Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.
Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.
“Does it hurt?”
A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“
“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.
And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”
This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—
and it doesn’t hurt anymore?
You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“
The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”
“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”
“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.
You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.
“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”
“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”
“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”
“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.
“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!
And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.
You didn’t know it was like this.
Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:
because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?
///
It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.
What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.
Overhaul’s still here.
He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.
You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”
“Yes—”
At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.
“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”
“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.
Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.
So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.
Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.
It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”
He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.
When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.
“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.
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