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oh-hell-help-me · 11 months

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Day 7: Claws

Bowser was antsy.

More so when he knows that Luigi was visiting the town square. ALONE.

(And with four guards, but STILL.)

There was very little work scheduled today, and there was absolutely NOTHING to take his mind off it!

Not his family (who were vacationing in Bubbline).

Not his army's hijinks (literally, they are in the middle of a mass recruitment process for

Not even the sight of Mario pouting in front of his desk-

Wait.

Looking back up, he locks eyes with the unwelcome visitor.

"Aren't you supposed to be pacing the foyer?"

After getting medical attention, Mario Mario (seriously, what kind of name is that?) had been stuck to his brother's side like glue. Every meal, meeting, and shower, the guy had dogged Luigi's steps to the point that it became annoying.

How the hell was Bowser supposed to have 1-on-1 conversation with his friend when his brother is constantly there?

And then, at the end of the meeting, Luigi asked to go to the town square.

Alone.

The request made his brother (mostly recovered, just having trouble moving his shoulder) pretty much threaten to ground him if he steps foot outside without at least four guards.

(Bowser is a bit insulted that Luigi would think to ask to go out AT ALL. Never mind that the Koopa King thinks there should be a platoon of six AT LEAST.)

It is then that Bowser learned several things about Luigi:

One, he can -and has, at that moment- put his foot down. Angrily.

Two, the brothers can -in fact- argue about something. Even if it’s in that gobblygook they call a language.

Three…

Well, the third is that Luigi had somehow guilt-tripped the likes of HIM, the King of Koopas, and Mario in a single look.

If it weren't for the fact that he was an ambassador, someone not completely in his jurisdiction, he would have ordered the green bean to plant his ass at his office and STAY there!

Alas, he went.

With only FOUR guards. Practically alone!

Mario was left behind at the castle's doorstep, anxious and pathetic-looking as the Green Bean's silhouette grew smaller.

He would never admit that he did the same thing while standing right behind the man.

Bowser left him there, notifying the guards to keep an eye on him (if HE can't go, then neither can the red menace!)

Except. Now he's here. Staring at Bowser like a particularly suspicious kid in a candy shop.

"I figured you'd be the first to know when Luigi gets back."

"Ha!" Bowser reshuffled the papers in his hands, although there wasn't much need for it. "What makes you think I'll tell you?"

"You killed for him."

"So what?" He won't admit that he clenched a bit too hard on the papers, there. "You saying I'm better at taking care of problems?"

Mario gives him a look so painfully not-like-Luigi that Bowser looked away. "You killed for him. Do you know what that means to him?"

It takes a smoke-filled second for Bowser to not burn his mustache off.

Of course, he does!

He knows EXACTLY what it meant to kill for him!

It doesn't take a genius to notice how Luigi switched to wearing black, or how he adamantly refused to eat any cooked meat!

It doesn't need to be spelled out how Luigi started to not look him in the eye!

"Of course!"

"Well, maybe NOT!" Mario stands up, not that it helps his height situation, but Bowser couldn't help but listen. "Do you really know how hard it is for Luigi to make a friend? To keep one?"

The Koopa wasn't sure where Mario was going with this.

"Bowser." He's looking him in the eyes again. "You are one of the few friends Luigi has been close to! One of the few that have actually stayed by his side!" He hates how the pipsqueak looks gutted. It used to be something he would revel in, maybe even rub some extra salt in that open wound. But now...?

What would be the point?

The look morphs into something more determined, more fierce. More like Luigi, when he realized their plan is on an unfortunate time limit. "If you dare give up on him-"

RAGE-

"LIKE HELL WILL I FAIL HIM AGAIN!"

...

He's not sure which one of them slumped back into their seat first, but he's honestly too exhausted to care.

Like it or not, Bowser knows exactly what he did, what Mario meant for Luigi to be failed so many times.

He knows why Luigi spends so much time trying to connect with others, why he makes the effort to be so damned nice.

He knows why Luigi asked Bowser, of all people, to be his friend.

Honestly, he has no idea what he did to deserve the green bean.

"Heh." Mario glances up from his hands, giving the Koopa a wary glance. "You know, I didn't realize that I'd be agreeing with a short stack like you."

"Ha, ha." He doesn't look the least bit amused, which -of course- makes Bowser snort.

"We won't fail him." He sets the papers down, not seeing a point in them anymore as he gets up. "Do you want to come?"

He hasn't reached the door before Mario is right ahead of him, eagerly opening the double doors.

"Let's-a go!"

Luigi barely held himself from squirming in his seat.

The old Koopa, Hacktor, was very direct in his questions.

'What did Hackson do?'

'What happened when Luigi was taken to the castle?'

'Is Luigi alright?'

'How did Hackson...'

Luigi tries to not think about the last question, how easily he choked on the words as he described the interaction with the Koopa King, the look in Hackson's eyes, the fire...

He also tries not to stare as Hacktor (Hackson's grandfather) quietly broke down, gripping his basket tight enough for his claws to nearly slice through the handle.

Luigi reaches a hand out toward him, but stops himself multiple times from actually making contact with his shoulder.

Is it okay to comfort someone grieving a person you're responsible for...?

Still, Luigi pushes himself to gently take the basket, letting it sit on the bench's armrest as he offers his other hand.

Surprisingly, the Koopa takes it, squeezing it as he lets himself crumble. Luigi does his best to not wince as the claws find purchase in his skin -he doesn't want the guards to get even more twitchy.

"I'm sorry..."

Luigi freezes.

Hacktor looks up, meeting Luigi's eyes with his own grief-stricken ones. "On behalf of the Hack-name, and Hackson, I am sorry."

Luigi tries to stutter out a denial, why is he sorry? It was Luigi who- who failed-

"It was not your fault." Amidst the grief, the Koopa's eyes seemed to be brighter now- less dead-

"Even I know Hackson is reckless, and stubborn, and-" He shakes his head. "He was a foolish Koopa, to try to change things like that, but we love him. We love him still..." He takes a breath. "And loving someone means accepting the good and the bad things about them. We -me, my children, Hackson's cousins- all of us love him, but what he did...."

Luigi was holding his own breath, too shocked to notice even as he felt dizzy.

"None of us will hate you for it. Or blame you for Hackson's death. Maybe Bowser, but not you." Luigi feels like crying, or maybe he is crying, but it seems insignificant when he sees sadness take over the old Koopa's face once more. "Most of all, we'll hate that there wasn't a point to it. There's nothing we can do- not without going to war again..."

!!!

Luigi... still has his notebook, stamped and charmed as protocol dictated, but he knew enough about magic to know that the intent to share- that is something he can do-

"If-" The old Koopa startles, but Luigi tries his best to push through his nervousness as his attention is now fully on him. "If I were to show you what Bowser and I were working on- do you -do you think anyone can help? Maybe-"

He takes the notebook, flipping its pages to the beginning notes of the Plan- his and the King's efforts in maybe, somehow, helping the Kingdom....

With shaky hands, he hands the notebook to Hacktor.

"M-maybe it can work, if we have some help?"

He tries to not hyperventilate as he waits, watching the Koopa look at the pages and flip through them, getting faster towards the end where their calculations, percentages, predictions were...

Hacktor looks up, straight at him.

He sees hope in those eyes.

#bowuigi #KAIJUNE Prompt #HAPPY PRIDE MONTH #shovel talk #via #Mario #and cooperation for a loved one #sleepy sleep now...

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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All right. So. Stormshore Tabernacle. Gale. Mystra. Let's go.

Hector has zero intention of letting Gale control the crown if he can avoid it, but he also has zero patience for the way Mystra has apparently manipulated his friend for so many years. He's also a tremendously devout man generally, which doesn't square particularly well in his mind with the fact that if Mystra tries to hurt Gale further he would honestly be perfectly willing to kick her teeth in.

So this is going to be an interesting conversational needle to thread.

The temple is a very pretty looking building run by a halfling named Vicar Humbletoes.

Gale is hanging out waiting here already since we told him back in camp to get ready. The statue in front of him is glowing with power.

Narrator: There she stands, just as Elminster promised. Mystra. Goddess of the Weave. Mother of all magic.

"The old man wasn't lying," Gale says wonderingly. "She's opened a summoning channel. Can't you feel it?"

Narrator: Gale's right. The very air around the statue crackles with magic. It sets your teeth on edge.

"A stream of pure, undiluted Weave," Gale says. His fingers fidget at his sides and his eyes are narrowed thoughtfully. "I have only to reach out and it will carry me to Mystra. Wherever she may be."

Jaheira raises an eyebrow at him impatiently. "Well? Are you composing a poem in your head or somesuch?"

Hector smiles slightly to himself. In Jaheira's impatience he can hear a reflection of his own. It is not the impatience of wishing to be gone - but of worry for what Gale is about to do, whether it is the right choice for him. Gale has grown from his time as Mystra's lover... but it would take only a slight nudge to push him back into that unhealthy role.

He knows it, too. "Time was I'd have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again..." he mutters. "The left one too. Maybe a knee."

Hector shakes his head. "You don't owe her so much as a fingernail," he says firmly. "She asked you to blow yourself up."

Gale shrugs. "Not the message one hopes to receive from a past lover. But her first love was always the Weave. At best I was a close second." He hesitates, then smiles ruefully. "When I pictured this moment, I thought I'd feel more in control. Yet here I am, with palms sweatier than a bugbear's armpit. I always wondered what being nervous would feel like. I hate it."

"Of all the things to be nervous about, an audience with a goddess seems reasonable," Hector points out.

As he speaks the words, he recognizes his own deeper frustration underlying them, too. He hates what Mystra has done to Gale, and yet there is just the faintest bit of jealousy that he can't escape. Gale spoke to his goddess on a regular basis, in person, and is about to do so again.

So many gods, it seems, all reaching out in direct contact, a face that could be spoken to or spat in... and Selune always watching from far beyond his reach, as distant as the moon itself. It feels tremendously unfair sometimes.

But that is not the point right now. He's here for Gale, not himself.

"You're kind to say so," Gale says with a slight smile. "But this is hardly my first time in Mystra's presence. It's more the matter of what I'm going to say to her. During my time locked away in Waterdeep, I prepared a quite comprehensive speech for her on the subject of our former relationship and the manner in which it ended. Alas, recent events have rendered the majority of it moot, so I'm going to have to improvise. Unless you have any words of wisdom to impart before I go?"

"You're not taking me with you?" Hector asks before he can stop himself.

Gale shakes his head. "The summoning channel Mystra has provided is one only I can enter. No matter how much I'd prefer not to face her alone.

Damn, Hector thinks. He would much rather be there with his friend, able to help catch him if he starts to slip back under the goddess's thrall.

He hesitates, trying to decide what advice to give that might keep Gale on a path away from extremes. "Don't give anything away," he finally says slowly. "Just find out what she has to say."

Gale smiles slightly. "You'd make a fine Three-Dragon Ante player, you know." He nods, squaring his shoulders. "I think it's best I keep a cool head going into this. Approach it like a particularly high-risk round of Three-Dragon Ante. I'll let Mystra show her flight, and then I can see how strong a chance we have of winning the gambit."

He turns, holds a hand out towards the statue. "I"ll only be gone for a matter of moments. The Outer Planes experience time quite differently to our own. Wait for me. Please."

The flash of light consumes him, and he is gone.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #hector's ongoing minor religious/existential crisis continues while the world falls apart around him

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shwarmii · 4 months

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'i dont think Ares physically abuses his kids, mostly because i dont think he is present enough in any of his kids' lives to find a fucked up "reason" to hit them (i would not be surprised if the flinch and whatnot was from a sparring match gone too rough the last time they met tho)' Ares as that 'coach' dad who realizes their kid's failing at something and makes them do it over and over again while yelling until they 'finally get it right' makes a lot of sense.

The dad who's not abusive he's helping his kid succeed, he's teaching them what they need to know in this world, doing his job to train them up right.

Even if he's had them running wind sprints til they throw up because they lost a foot race to one of the unclaimed demigods.

this ask is referencing this post

lmao close, but that would imply that he was present in his kids' lives, which he wasnt (also, what youre describing is abuse. that is considered an abusive practice for coaches/drill sergeants/whatnot to do, that is considered an abusive punishment. its just also not Ares hitting his own kids, which i understand is what you meant, no worries lmao) but i do think you have the right idea! like Book!Ares would probably be upset about losing "battles" he percieves as important enough that a child of his losing would be considered a slight against him personally. my intent had been to imply "something affectionate of Book!Ares, like a friendly spar, probably would not have felt friendly". bc i dont think Ares would have let his kids win or gone easy on them (which can be a good thing and a bad thing. his kids are at constant risk of death through virtue of just... being a demigod, so giving them false confidence is bad. but also tearing their confidence apart would also be bad. i think for this Ares, the idea of letting his kids win would hurt his pride so he wont allow it. which makes it a lose-lose no matter what. i mean. this is the guy willing to fully square up against 12 year-old Percy Jackson afterall. again, age and relationship dynamics dont mean much to Book!Ares at any rate)

if i could have my own ideal Ares depiction in a book series, he'd be a good dad, at least a decent one. for reasons that would be a huge tangent for me to get into rn. but, alas, i did not write "Percy Jackson". so, we have what we have in Book!Ares and we will have what we have with Show!Ares. which, again, i do think is fine. all the gods have to be p shit people/parents in order for Kronos to convince so many kids (claimed and unclaimed) to come to his side, like they have to be inattentive if nothing else (which is why i resent a bit that Apollo is being backpedaled into a good dad. like. nah, Dionysus makes sense to make into a good/decent dad due to his exile demanding he be present in his kids' lives; and the Big Three, primarily Hades and Poseidon, being attentive makes sense because they barely have any kids these days; and the minor gods being good parents now thay they can openly claim their kids without fear of consequences for themselves/said kids also makes sense. but the remaining gods of the main 12 (so 12 minus the Big Three minus Hera, minus Aretmis = 7 remaining gods) have to ALL not be good in order to perptuate that whole toxic mindset of "glory = godly parental attention". i could understand the godly parents becoming better parents if they were in similar situations as Dionysus, like if Percy forced the gods to be more present in their kids' lives. which would, as i assume, change their personalities some as, like with the whole "our personalities change because we moved from Greece to the USA" enviromental bit would also imply the people they surround themselves with change who they are

(tho. uh. Greece was very famously bad to women. like. it legitimately sucked to be a woman in Ancient Greece, with the exception of MAYBE Sparta. theres a reason why people joke "yeah, the Ancient Greeks were cool with gay sex, not bc they were progressive, but bc they hated women that much". like their politics didnt allow women v many rights, if any, the most rights given being to women in Sparta but still. also they had a fucked up idea of "love" as a type of "uncontrollable insanity", it was legitimately described like an illness, which in retrospect explains all the SA in their legends (tho i am glad we do have some healthy depictions of love here and there). so. toxic masculinity did definitely exist there. i could talk ad nauseam about the debatability of how much toxic masculinity was in Greece and how much is it us projecting tho. think of Dr Emily Wilson. anyway, i digress. my point here has been "toxic masculinity/sexism existed there in sizable amounts, why should it change Ares so much now that he's in the USA"? to which the answer is: Riordan was an English teacher who was a hobbyist of Ancient Greek lore that went with what was in the public's pop culture osmosis knowledge of Ares at the time. its very recently that we have begun to question if that osmosis was correct. anyway.)

so, in the sense that who they are around will apparently change their personality: being consistently around their kids who just want good parents could force the godly parents to become good parents? its a stretch but i would accept it, personally, for the cathartsis wish-fulfillment of kids in shitty situations getting at least one good parent. which, many kids dont get to have at least one good parent (much less two or more good parents). think "Turning Red" and how it reflects a realistic mother/daughter dynamic that is unhealthy but morphs into a moment of reconciliation and cathartsis; giving us an example to strive for on what is healthy/how you should be treated and look up to for both child and parent's references. lots of kids will never get to have what Mei did, but it is so nice to feel that cathartic wish-fulfillment. and i would be so down for same that kind of cathartic wish-fulfillment to happen in "Percy Jackson" with its godly parents to the point that i truly would not mind that aforementioned stretch of logic it would take to get there. alas. (but that doesnt happen sO, RIORDAN, STOP BACKPEDALING AND TRYING TO MAKE APOLLO A LOVING FATHER, HE'S ONE OF THE SEVEN GODS THAT HAVE TO BE P SHITTY AND APOLLO WAS NOT INITIALLY INTRODUCED AS A VERY GREAT FATHER ANYWAY. but i digress). so i can accept Ares having to be a bad dad in order for the plot/war to make sense, in order to have representation that abused kids can grow/be happy in spite of their trauma, in order to show the problems with toxic masculinity in a father figure as well as shining a light on "hey, this is so prevelant in America that it became part of at least one of the gods' personalities", and so on. but i do want to make it clear that i dont like it. but one of the first things drilled into me in college-level English critiques is "it's not about what YOU would do if this was your story, its about the story in front of you and what the author wanted to achieve. have your criticisms be based on that, not on something that wasn't going to happen". so like, for Riordan's purposes? making each of those 7 godly parents bad parents in a different way is good writing that makes sense for his plot to work, and Ares being a bad godly parent in a rough and tough way makes sense. like, Athena is patronizing and thinks she is always right, meaning she doesn't listen to her kids. Aphrodite is emotionally manipulative to the point of being abusive and scary to her kids. and Hermes is so busy that he can't really be present for his kids, no matter what he feels personally, and then additionally feels like he is not allowed to interact with them directly when he does have free time. and Dionysus, the most present parent due to his exile, is shitty to all his kids' camp-friends by proxy, at minimum, which is very alienating if nothing else (again, we dont get to directly see him parent at all so far into the series that ive read. so idk how else he is a bad parent. probably is overprotective after having buried so many of his own kids this whole time? who knows). all of them are/have to be bad parents in their own ways (again, for the plot to work if nothing else) and it makes sense of Ares to be bad in THIS way

but yeah! that was just a very long-winded way of saying "if Book!Ares was more present to care about smaller things like foot-races or if this was something he cared about that was bigger than a regular foot-race, then yeah! youre right, he would be like that. because he kind of has to be". im just waffling about Ares' characterization bc i do agree with you but i just also wish Book!Ares didnt HAVE to be this way in order for the plot to work (and i am mentally slapping Riordan's hand anytime he tries to backpedal on what i distinctly remember as his original characterization of Apollo in the first series. bc if those 7 gods all have be different types of bad parents for the war plotline to work, then Apollo does not get special treatment to get to retroactively have been a good dad the whole time afterall). i am not excited to see show!Ares, but i am excited the whole thing about "Clarisse will never be enough because she is not his son" thing implies Clarisse will be on-screen more. and, again, i do super respect the decision to do this to Book!Ares' character. the representation aspect of a child of fatherly abuse still being able to grow/find happiness is also important (tho im personally just not excited to see as the "abuse" part of the representation as someone who is a child of fatherly abuse. but i will admit it is important! and it is good representation to have!)

and i do just LOVE Clarisse and will gobble up any crumbs of her im given. i really hope the show gives her (and Chris too! bc that is her future boyfriend lol) more screentime ♡

but yeah, to circle back, youre right on your chatacterization of him! and im glad you like how i understand and interpret Book!Ares to be like ♡♡♡ thanks for the Ask ♡

#percy jackson show #pjo ares #ares pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #i will never ever stay fully on topic. i am a babbler. such is my curse. i tried tho lmao

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

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Falling Away With You | Ch. 4

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tons of tension starts to form between you and Seb. Also, you fucking smash the egg hunt.

Author’s Note: Our first holiday chapter! Enjoy and take care :3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

The Egg Festival is today.

One of my few memories of life pre-Zuzu was when I visited Grandpa during this time of year. There’s a ton of food, mostly desserts made of fruits and chocolate, and they hold an egg hunt in the afternoon. I remember almost fighting some kid for my last egg — I wonder if I know them now? — and I won, and rubbed it in that twerp’s face.

I originally wasn’t going to attend the event, remembering it mainly being for kids and their parents. But when I said that to Robin the other day, she wasn’t having it. She invited me to sit with her family so I wouldn’t be alone all day, and insisted that everyone goes. I’m not really looking forward to it, but I appreciate the gesture, and at the very least get along with her and Seb to a certain degree. What’s the worst that could happen?

To dress for the occasion, I put on a white, long sleeve bodysuit and fit a lavender colored, cotton, overalls-style skirt over it. For shoes, I opt to wear my white platform sneakers with tall pink socks under them. Finally, I pin some matching pink ribbons into the bands of my braided pigtails to be extra festive.

When I arrive at the town, there’s a giant carpet in the middle of the square. The only local kids we have, Jas and Vincent, are running around in the grass with a few kids I don’t recognize. I’m assuming they’re either relatives, or tourists. Pam is spiking all of the fruit punch oh my fucking god, and everyone else seems to be mingling in groups.

I greet Pierre, who’s behind a booth selling stuff, because of course he is. Dude’s in a capitalist chokehold. Sure he has to make a living, but still. Poor Caroline is seated in the grass next to the booth, picking apart some leaves. She looks dreadfully bored.

While browsing Pierre’s holiday wares, I spy a super cute stuffed bunny that I really want, but decide not to buy it. Not yet, at least. Don’t wanna carry it around all day, if I’m being honest. I purchase some prismatically colored rock candy and move to my next location while crunching on it.

I spot Robin next, so I say “hi” and thank her for inviting me again. I don’t linger for long, as she’s mid-conversation with some other moms.

After that, I kinda just… wander a bit. I’m becoming painfully aware how little I actually know the people that I know who are here. Yoba, there are people everywhere , something I’m not great at coping with. Since when is this little town such a popular holiday attraction? I hate this so much.

Those two friendly and pretty people I ogled at from across Stardrop, whose names I learned in passing are Leah and Elliot, are lounging around by the edge of the river. The most beautiful farmcore elf motherfucker I’ve ever seen, and her equally as beautiful, romance novel-lookin’ friend (or more?)… sigh. I think back to when I saw them at the saloon, and wonder if they even remember me. It’s not like we spoke, but should I try and say “hi” anyway?

“Hey, you.”

I turn around and I’m eye-to-eye with bright blue, heavily eyelined orbs.

“Abby! What’s up?”

“Oh, just scoping out the land, planning my route for the egg hunt.”

“You’re participating? I thought it was, like… a kid thing.”

“It is. But I still compete every year. Sam does too, sometimes.”

“Maybe I’ll try it out then,” I think out loud.

“Try all you want,” Abby basically threatens, “I take it very seriously. I’m the reigning champion around here.”

She tries to size me up. Alas, we’re both very small, and she’s wearing a pair of floppy rabbit ears on her head. It doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. I respect the effort, though.

“You’re on.” I laugh, albeit nervously, trying to brighten the super tense mood she created. Why is she so competitive? It’s a fuckin’ egg hunt against children . Is she always like this?

“Oh!” Her demeanor changes as she looks up and behind me. “Hiya Sebby!”

Sebby? I’ve only heard his mom call him that. Sounds gross coming out of the mouth of anyone under 40, I note to myself. I look back briefly to greet Sebby . My heart flutters a ton when I look up to say hello, and he’s already softly grinning down at me.

He looks forward to Abby, not responding to her greeting, and cocks his head to the side briefly. “Sam’s lookin’ for you.”

She scurries away, and I turn around to more appropriately greet the friendly neighborhood emo man.

Everyone has some pastel or earthy colors going on in their outfits, and for the first time, I’m actually witnessing Seb not wear all black.

His jeans are light blue and ripped with black fishnets underneath, and he’s sporting a grayish-brownish henley up top. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and despite the shirt only having 4 buttons, he has 3 of them undone. It’s all accompanied by a black, plain choker necklace and a black smart watch. I’ve never seen his forearms, I don’t think… they’re nice. This look suits him. Is that a tattoo on his wrist, or a birthmark? I think it’s a tattoo. It’s small, I wish I could make it out.

“You alright?” he asks in a hushed, almost somehow seductive voice, and shoots me a wink when our eyes meet. Oh he’s fully aware that I was practically just basking in his presence. Wonderful.

I give him a stiff nod. “Does Sam need her so they can plan their MLG egg hunting strategies or something?” I joke, trying to cause a distraction.

Seb chuckles knowingly, but allows the subject change. He shakes his head and mumbles, “I’ve got no idea where he is.” Confused, I tilt my head, which prompts him to explain. “It looked like you needed saving. I think he’s off talking to Victor somewhere.”

“Victor?”

“We went to high school with him, he lives in the city now. He’s pretty cool, for a rich brat,” he answers. “I’m sure you guys would get along nicely.”

To be honest, I don’t know if I can handle talking to any of the strangers around here, considering how many there are. I already feel so overloaded from the voices, and smells, and other miscellaneous things that my senses are trying to take in.

“Yeah, maybe,” I meekly respond.

Seb seems to sense my anxiety, and reassures me. “It’s okay if you’d rather not. There’s a lot of people here… it’s fucking terrible,” he laughs.

“It really is.”

“Yeah… unfortunately, it’s not the worst thing about all this, though.” He vaguely gestures around with his last few words.

I furrow my eyebrows. “There’s something worse here than people?”

He huffs out a laugh and then eyes me up and down, mischievously. “You have terrible manners and I find it highly offensive.”

“What are you on about?”

“I didn’t get a ‘thank you’ for shooing Abby away.”

After a brief, dead stare, I give him a loud, over-the-top gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh, how could I?!” I answer, mimicking a southern belle to my best ability. “Thank you so much Mister Sebastian, Sir! My hero!” I curtsy for added effect, before going dead-pan and snarking, “You want a medal?”

“Oh,” he raises his eyebrows, an incredulous look written on his face. “By all means, I can just call her back over and let you fend for yourself.”

I know he’s probably bluffing, but I suddenly feel small and fearful, anxiety about all these new faces being on full-blast today. “Please don—”

He puts his hand on my head, a gesture that shuts me up instantly as I squint a glare up at him. He cares to avoid the bulk of my braids, as to not mess them up, and rubs a little. Why… do I like this so much?

“I wouldn’t actually do something that cruel.”

“Thanks...” I roll my eyes.

“Unless you wanted me to.”

“What do I look like, some kinda masochist?”

He devilishly grins, paired by a low, evil hum of a laugh emitting from him. Oh my god, that was so hot.

“(Y/n), (y/n), (y/n)…”

He trails off in a lower volume than usual with each tsk of my name, and leans down to level with me. His hand is still palming my head — not super tight, but firmly enough to ensure that I have no choice but to look at him. I could easily tug myself away with a little elbow grease. For a freaky, entirely self-indulgent reason, I don’t.

“You looked very natural, going all red in the face after I caught you eyeing me up before.”

I feel my heart thump in my chest.

“And given you’re just letting me take control of you like this,” he boldly continues, his grip on my head tightening a slight bit as he ever so slight bobbles it around a little, “you’ve probably got some naughty, masochistic fantasies going on in that brain o’yours, don’t you?”

…Oh my god?

My eyes feel like they’re gonna bulge out of my skull. My mouth is agape. Feels dry. I can’t halt the small squeak that comes out of me.

How does he expect me to respond to that ? I mean, I’d be able to stab back just fine if he were wrong. But he’s not. But I’m not gonna just say that. And denial won’t get me anywhere. But again, I obviously can’t just be like Yes, you’re right, actually. Fuck me up daddy. Right?

“Er…” I mumble.

“Just kiddinggg,” he sings, even though he definitely was not just kidding.

Before I can process how to fight back, Seb takes both of my braids in his free hand, and gives them a quick, yet firm, tug.

I gasp at the temporary sting it leaves behind on my scalp, and goosebumps sprout across my skin – thank Yoba I’m wearing long sleeves. My eyes shut and I clasp my hands over my face, which feels like it’s on fire.

Another evil laugh escapes the dickwad standing before me. This one’s dramatically less hot than the first.

__________________

Seb and I are sitting at his family’s table, ignoring the scientific conversation going on beside us. We’re mildly blitzed up on Pam’s special fruit punch and the various spring-themed candies scattered around, and have just finished devising my strategy for the egg hunt:

I’ll run to the top corner of the square near the water. From there, I’ll make my way down the riverbank, and back to the middle once I reach the roped-off area. Seb hinted that Lewis usually tosses an egg or two in the bed of his truck, so I should climb in there if I have the time to take a look.

He also told me that Willy likes to hide his own egg without anyone knowing, so that it never gets cleaned up, and stinks up the place in a few weeks. A truly evil prank. I love it. He caught the old fisherman putting his contraband into a flower bed last year, so I’ll be sure to check any of those that I pass by, in case he did it again.

Seb wants Abigail to lose, just once, as she was apparently truthful in implying never does earlier. I’m more than up for the challenge. He offered to set up traps, to “accidentally” trip someone, anything to help. It’s hilarious and appreciated, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Being the cynic he is, it took some bickering to convince him to not interfere.

“Alright, kids, gather ‘round!” Mayor Lewis shouts from the clearing in the middle of town.

“Ok maggot, are you ready to absolutely destroy some children?!” Seb hypes me up.

I stifle laughter, but promptly break, not used to this energy from my usually mellow coach. “Sir, yes sir!” I reply, standing up and saluting him.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” He doesn’t even try to contain his volume, earning a few looks. Seb’s laughing with me as he gives me a rough pat on the back — ouch, what the fuck — before sending me off.

When I get to the line, my laugh simmering down, Abby’s watching me as if I’m her prey. Not in a sexy way, unfortunately, but rather a murderous one. I break the awkward stare-off and look at Sam, who mouths a jovial “good luck!” my way. What a good boy.

After giving instructions and handing out our baskets, Lewis blows a whistle, and we’re off. I run to my starting point, ignoring a nearby egg that I watch Vincent waddle towards. I refuse to pummel a child today, no matter how tempting. I seek out one in a salmonberry bush, another in the dirt against Penny and Pam’s mobile home, and a few in Lewis’ hedges.

“30 seconds!” I hear Lewis call out.

I lift a foot onto one of the tires of his truck, hurdling myself into the trunk from there — and Seb was right! I hit a jackpot coming here. The bed is decorated with flowers, garland and stuffed animals, and there’s a few eggs scattered within it all, in camouflage. I jump out without giving it much thought, practically crashing into Sam.

“Ah! Sorry!” we shout, simultaneously, cautionary hands on each other's arms as we separate.

“10 seconds!”

“Shit,” I whisper to myself.

I run past Lewis’ garden, grabbing an egg out of it. It’s unpainted, so I assume this is Willy’s. Feels bittersweet, ruining his demonic tradition. But I can’t linger — eyes on the prize, (y/n)! To finish off the competition, I sprint to the small and oddly-located graveyard. I manage to snag the last egg I spot from between a headstone and a shrub, just as the final whistle blows.

Pushing some stray hairs away from my face, and huffing from all the movement, I spot Seb watching me from against a nearby lamppost. I smile wide, giving him a thumbs up with my free arm. He chuckles and does the same, his other hand sporting a gigantic, spherical lollipop rather than his usual cigarette.

I hand in my basket and walk over to Seb while Lewis readies the results. “Oh I killed it dude,” I brag, hands on hips.

“I can tell,” he giggles, “you looked intense out there.”

“All for you, babyyyy.” I exaggerate the “baby” part so he doesn’t think I’m flirting or something. Even though I totally sort of am. I’m bad at subtleties, aren’t I?

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I don’t care about winning, I just wanted to kick Abby’s ass. And you encouraged me, so,” I cheekily shrug.

He laughs, like a genuine full-hearted laugh, unleashing a billion little butterflies in my tummy. I think his laugh is my favorite ever. “You little menace.”

We don’t say much for a bit, as we patiently await the results. I decide to go try to swipe a lollipop of my own from the food table, but when I get there I find out they’re all gone. Seb offers to share his.

“What do you mean, share it? I’ll have to like, put it in my mouth, ya know? It’s not something I can just bite and hand back.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re okay with eating something that’s literally covered in my saliva?” I deadpan.

“(Y/n), I wouldn’t have offered it if I cared. Now, unless you’re skeeved out by it, eat the damn candy,” he says, holding it up to my mouth.

I stare at him, a blank expression on my face as he expectantly raises his eyebrows and grins very smugly. He waves it a little, swatting my hand down when I reach to take it from him. This is… extremely intimate, I think, glaring at him as he inserts his lollipop into my mouth.

The innuendos I could make here are absurd, but frankly, I’m scared to comment, given his spicy charade with me earlier. Don’t think my panties could handle any more of that.

Another few moments go by. I lazily play with the end of one of my braids as Seb and I silently pass his lolli back and forth.

“Results are in, folks!”

We both perk up hearing this, and Seb follows me to the middle after I urge him to. He’s the reason I found so many eggs, ultimately — if I win, it’s his win too.

“And the winner is…”

A few of the kids, sitting on the rug below us, tap at the ground like they’re preparing a drumroll. Cutest shit I’ve ever seen.

“(Y/n!)”

I beam at Seb and hand him back the lolli before meeting Lewis for my prizes: a cute straw hat with a white ribbon tied around the middle, and 1,000 bucks. No wonder Abby cares about winning this so much.

She came in a close second, with 3 eggs less than me, and in third place was Jas. They both got participation medals. Abby looks pissed and Jas looks like she’s about to cry… hm. Rather than returning back to my spot in the circle, I find Marnie in the crowd.

“Hiya, Miss (Y/n)!” she greets me, visibly confused.

“Hey! So,” I rush, feeling a little embarrassed, “Jas looks really upset that she didn’t do better.”

Marnie shrugs. “Happens every year. I’m sure she’ll have her chance someday.”

“Well, I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” I grin. “I want you to take some of the money. That way she can pick out her own cute hat, and, like, plushies from Pierre’s stand over there or something, I dunno.”

Marnie puts her hand to her mouth. “(Y/n), my goodness, you don’t have to do that!” she assures me.

“I want to! I already had my own childhood fun to experience. She deserves it.” That second sentence was a whole lie, my childhood was rough , but Jas deserves way better than what I had.

She pulls me into a big bear hug, happy- sobbing into my shoulder, spilling “thank you”s and “Yoba bless you”s all over my shirt. It catches me off guard, but I’m happy that she’s happy nonetheless.

I hand her half of my earnings, throw my new hat on top of my head and head back over to Seb.

“What was that about?”

“I made a peace offering with Jas’ aunt.”

He furrows his brows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Speaking of which, you deserve some of this too.”

I hand Seb the rest of my prize money. I was doing okay without 1,000 extra gold, thanks to the inheritances that came along with the farm. I’ll live if other people can enjoy the prize. Plus, the hat is sick, I’m happy with just keeping this. Seb’s about to try and deny the money, handing it my way, but I shove his hands back towards him as Abby struts over.

“You’re an interesting lady, (y/n),” she observes. “What was the point in winning if you’re not even going to keep the prizes?”

I shrug. “It wouldn't feel right keeping something meant for the little ones and their families all to myself.”

She glares at me, trying to find something to argue with, but it softens as she lets out a sigh. She looks around, visibly guilty. Marnie’s telling Jas the good news, I assume, because the little girl’s hopping around like she just won a pony or some shit. Abby spots them and smiles. It looks genuine; maybe she’s actually nice under her cold, edgy demeanor.

“Whatever, nerds.” She rolls her eyes at us before walking away.

__________________

At the end of the festivities, Seb takes the long way to the mountains to walk me home. We’re both drowning ourselves in mini chocolate eggs that we stole — as if the absurd amount of food Robin kept bringing to our table, and multiple cups of punch, wasn’t enough.

I’m taking care to not get any of the chocolate on the giant stuffed bunny I caved and bought from Pierre. Named her Eggy.

Not sure if Seb is just super happy about our win, or if he’s still rushing on the sugar we’ve been consuming, but he’s full of life right now and I’m honestly kind of obsessed with it.

“Go long,” he nudges me, mouth full of candy, getting ready to throw a chocolate that he just unwrapped.

Stakes are high, that thing’s done if it touches the ground. I refuse to waste chocolate, damn it!

I jog down the dirt path a bit, catching the little egg in my hand. Victory . I pretend to spike it at the ground, promptly shoving the snack into my mouth after.

“You sure you’re okay walking back up there alone?” I ask when we make it past the gate to my farm.

He waves a hand, “I take walks in the mines sometimes when I can’t sleep. I can handle the backwoods on my— ”

“You do what?!” I quietly screech, halting on my stoop. “You could get killed, dude!”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Do you at least bring a sword?”

“Of course! I’m reckless not stupid.”

I sigh. “Whatever, just be safe…”

He smiles, “No promises.”

“Sebastian!”

“Goodnight, (y/n),” he sings.

I sigh. “Goodnight… Sebby.” I snicker, feeling his eyes burning holes into my back as I enter the house.

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quetzalpapalotl · 1 year

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Shakespeare according to me

I'm not anglo, I learned about plays in Spanish in Spanish class. I've never seen a Shakespeare play. However due to the worldwide prevalence of anglo culture, I think I have a good grasp on what his plays are about. So I pulled a list and this is what I know of each for @aturinfortheworse

All's Well That Ends Well: Well, okay, I thought this was like a phrase said in a play, not the title of a play, I have no idea what happens in this one.

Antony and Cleopatra: Uh, this is about the romance of the title characters until Cleopatra's suicide. I don't think it's very historicaly accurate. As an aside, Cleopatra's death is a hot debated but afaik there's good reason to believe she was killed, rather than having commited suicide.

Comedy of Erros: I thought this was the name of a genre.

Hamlet: Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark who is back from college. His dad is dead and his uncle married his mom so now uncle is king. The ghost of his dad appears to Hamlet and tells him uncle killed him and Hamlet must avenge him. Hamlet struggles with what to do for too long, I think he kills a guy by accident, he could have killed his uncle at some point but didn't because he had just confessed and wouldn't go to hell. Ophelia is Hamlet's love interest and everyone treats her so poorly she goes mad (I think the guy Hamlet killed was her dad) and drowns herself either deliberately or passively. Alas, poor Yorick. To be or not to be. I now realize I have no idea how this ends, but it's a tragedy so maybe Hamlet dies???

Henry ???: This lists 7 plays named Henry, besides obviously being about kings all I know is that one of them references Pontious Pilate washing his hands because I talked with Ruin about that expression.

Julius Caesar: The Senate plots to kill Caesar, Brutus joins because he fears he may become a despot. Caesars ignores his wife's worries and other bad omens and goes out and gets stabbed. Et tu, Brute? Marcus Antonius gives a cool speech after and justice is served. I don't think this is very historically accurate and I'm sure this play is the only reason people on this site care about Caesar's death so much.

King Lear: A king distributes his kingdom between his dauthers and gives the best parts to the ungrateful, mean ones that suck up to him instead of the actually good daughter. Then the mean daughters treat him badly in his old age. Good daughter tries to help him. I think Lear dies???

Macbeth: I actually read a translation of this one, this one doesn't count.

Merchant of Venice: This one is where "Do we not bleed?" comes from, said by a Jewish merchant in reference to Jewish people being, well, people. You'd think this means the play is sympathetic to Jews, but the plot is actually about that merchant being The Worst, so uh, it's pretty anti-semitic.

Midsummer Night's Dream: Woman A and man B are in love, but A's dad wants her to marry man C, woman D is in love with C, but C loves A. Meanwhile the fairy King (Oberon) and Queen (Titania) are having marriage problems and the King decided to prank her by using a love potion to have her her fall in love with a dude whose head was turned into a donkey's (for some reason). While avoiding going to couple's councel he decides he might as well help A, B, C and D sort themselves, but there's a confusion and the love potions creates a perfect love square. Hilarity ensues until everything is sorted out and everyone is freed from the love spell, except C who is made to love D and uh... I think D should have the name of Twelfth's Night's protagonist. This all happens during midsummer.

Much Ado About Nothing: A man and a woman are forced to spend time together because their besties are in love. They claim to hate each other but are just really tsundere. There's a prince.

Othello: Othello is an affluent black man whom everyone loves, except this one guy who hates him because he's racist. He tricks Othello into killing his own wife (Desdemona).

Romeo and Juliet: Okay, I know the plot of this one. Everyone does. Yes, I know it in detail. Just trust me.

Taming of the Shrew: There's a woman no one likes because she has an attitude, a guys take one for the team and marries her so her younger sister that everyone loves will be available for marriage. The husband spends the entire play abusing his wife until she becomes perfectly obedient. I hope there's something I'm missing because what the actual fuck.

Tempest: A dude named Prospero (I think he used to be a king) was exiled with his daughter to an island for some reason. He learns to do magic. Prospero invokes a storm that makes the dude that exiled him (his brother? cousin?) who was passing by take refuge on his island. He has a plan to take revenge, but he also wants his daughter to marry the son of the guy who betrayed him?, so he pretends like he dissaproves of their romance because reverse psychology???? He has a fairy servant that he loves dearly named Ariel. There's also a guy named Caliban who was the original inhabitant of the island who is portrayed as a vicious svage and represents anti-colonialists natives, which is... yeah...

Titus Andronicus: They're romans. Idk what this is about but everyone dies horribly.

Twelfth Night: This is where the Anne Hathaway picture that all the bisexuals love comes from. A woman named Viola (me, a Spanish speaker: ಠಿ_ಠ) disguises herself as her twin brother for reasons (I think she thinks her brother is dead) and gets work under some rich dude and falls in love with him. Said dude is trying to court some rich lady and sends Viola to help him, rich lady falls in love with Viola instead, since she's pretending to be a man. Hilarity ensues. Then Viola's not-dead twin brother shows up and there's much confussion and more hilarity. Everything is sorted in the end and Viola gets to marry her boss and the rich lady settles for Viola's brother, because I guess she was into the pretty face and not the personality. This is where Optimus Prime gets the journey's end in lover's meeting quote I think. I guess it happens across 12 days???

As You Like It, Coriolanus, Cymbeline, King John, Love's Labour's Lost, Measure for Measure, Merry Wives of Windsor, Pericles, Richard II, Richard III, Timon of Athens, Troilus and Cressida, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Winter's Tale: I have never heard of this in my life.

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ms-m-astrologer · 2 years

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Transiting Venus enters Taurus

Saturday, May 28 - Wednesday, June 22, 2022

And not a moment too soon; after so much Aries emphasis we need and deserve to rest and regroup a bit.

(I do wish Venus could spend more time in Taurus, her own sign, but alas, not in 2022.)

Maybe the best part of this transit is the value it can bring to the table. Mars and Jupiter both in Aries are all “ACT NOW NOW NOW” - spoiling for a fight - but Venus in Taurus brings a bit of the old cliche “having something worth fighting for.” (The right we all have to not get shot, for example.)

This is a short transit, not even four whole weeks (grrr); but when in tandem with the outer planets, Venus/Taurus can bring the following potentials to her “areas”:

Art - Venus in any earth sign tends to mean we’re really into works that are beautiful - “easy on the eyes,” and on all of the other senses as well. But if the piece is also useful, that’s a bonus point. Works that, well, work.

Beauty - fairly traditional, simple, and appreciative of “natural” beauty sans a lot of makeup or overdone styling. Miss Bingley would hate it.

Love - we want people we can feel comfortable with, who aren’t necessarily (or unnecessarily) going to push or challenge us. We dote on our critters.

Money - Taurus can definitely pinch pennies. Sometimes I wonder if they’re so capable of saving because they’re too lazy to make the effort to spend!

As with all the transits of any planet through any sign, these days, the first half is completely uneventful - it’s the second half when all of a sudden the aspect start coming fast and furious. We’ll probably get a little complacent during those first couple of weeks. (Or at least as complacent as Mars + Jupiter in Aries will allow!)

The really interesting parts happen after Venus hits the halfway point of the transit.

Between June 10-15 (a time period which encompasses Ms M’s birthday), Venus is in a stellium with the Lady Asteroid Pallas Athene, the planet Uranus, and the North Node. This may be the seed, the beginning, for a really amazing artistic project which also can help us attain that Taurus North Node serenity.

Then, on June 18 (Sir Paul’s 80th!), Venus will be square Saturn Rx/Aquarius, and sextile Neptune Rx/Pisces. Saturn says “no,” but Neptune is more encouraging.

#Astrology #Transiting Venus enters Taurus #Ms M astrologer

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quenthel · 1 year

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Fwiw, I'm excited about your Daeran and Woljif thoughts (love that dynamic your honor), the former goes out of his way to befriend outcasts and criminals cuz it pisses the other nobles off but then the friendship becomes genuine? Good shit

And like? It's a feature and not a bug that WOTR's evil party-members earn their evil alignment (for one, seems like people forgot Daeran's first reaction to the Commander is "oh, a wounded fighter dragged into the middle of the square? Isn't there a ditch you can throw them in?"). Idk, people are weird about liking evil characters

omg!! 🥺🥺 I'm flattered! I wanted to write abt Woljif and Daeran separately BUT their friendship (and both of their friendship with Ember too) is SO GOOD... like they are the only ones pretty much who stay together after the game (and Seelah visits others but they added that in the enhanced edition). MUCH to think about!! And yeah... Like w the post I made a lot of ppl simply misinterpreted what i was saying to mean I dont think lawful or good commanders can have a deep connection w evil characters while I was saying that they reveal their colors more if your MC is making those choices too (bc the character writing of the game is actually three dimensional and GOOD). Idk it was such a mess. But generally speaking the alignments make so much sense for each character in the game!! Even the neutral party members are neutral and not good for a reason!!! Its actually fun!! And on the law-chaos axis those alignments make sense too and neither being lawful or being chaotic is written in a boring way for the companions (for the MC well... sometimes i felt like it was a bit boring or written in a weird way esp chaotic options but alas).

ANYWAY I do want to play trough Woljif's quest again before i write anything bc it blew my fucking mind the first time i played it but usually during replays I skip around a lot bc I want to get to the parts I havent seen yet dfgdg but also I want to do his "bad end" too to get more of a nuanced view of what his best and worst looks like, so it might take a while... Also I'm a bit reluctant to write abt Daeran bc I don't like getting hate 😔 Also I need to look trough more of his dialogue and maybe look at his bad end too (but for him its so horrible I don't really want to). He also has a lot of hidden themes and shit to his narrative and I need to organize everything mentally...

#asks #pathfinder #Woljif is a character to me who used to be my absolute fave when i first played the game #like he clicked w me right off the bat #but then i played trough the daeran romance and then much later picked wendu over lann bc i wanted to see what shes about and ye...#still Woljif remains my right hand arm man...

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incorrectsibunaquotes · 2 years

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Hello! Can I ask for some headcanons about Team Evil relationship in general?

Heck yes you can!! And I’m assuming you mean specifically Season 3 Team Evil since that was when that name for the opposition was coined.

Robert had a favorite Sinner and it was 100% Fabian. How do I know this? He was the guard outside the Gatehouse. Robert absolutely saw himself in Fabian and really appreciated how smart this kid was.

Victor very much resents the fact that Fabian was the favorite, considering his role model was Robert. He’s been bending over backwards to please him, but alas poor Victor is kinda incompetent as a Sinner bc lbr nobody was listening to him anyway and now that he’s a known evil baddie, they sure as hell aren’t listening to him anymore. (Patricia in particular delights at watching Robert bitch at Victor)

All of them hate Caroline even though they’re all on the same team now. She has absolutely no idea how much all the Sinners hate her guts, even despite them telling her outright. Not even dropping hints, they just verbally abuse her.

Even tho Patricia has absolutely no conscience and all her values are turned on their head, she never really goes after Joy because it’s just so ingrained in her to protect her best friend. Like even evil she won’t do it. It’s not even like a conscious thing that she avoids doing, but when Fabian points out that she never wheedles at Joy, she’s surprised.

Alfie is barely on the team for two minutes, but he’s so pumped to finally have the excuse to live out his fuckboi fantasy. This boy is an entire menace evil, and the only other Sinner who thinks it’s absolutely delightful is Patricia because even evil that’s still her bestie and they support each other in everything

Fabian absolutely calls Nina up and leaves some heinous messages, encouraged by literally all of Team Evil. They’re hyping this boy up like he’s about to propose to her instead of rip her to shreds.

Victor and Eric actually get along way better now that they’re both completely evil.

A surprisingly capable team up is Eric and Patricia because they have ALL the power over Eddie. Robert is very pleased he can torment the Osirian in this way, and makes sure to utilize this every chance he gets.

On Team Evil bonding night, Robert makes them read a bunch of his journals and have like a book club type meeting. This is before Fabian and Alfie get captured so it’s just all these adults and a beyond bored teenage girl in the Gatehouse livingroom discussing Robert’s diary. This is the only time Patricia and Caroline are in solidarity because they both hate Team Evil bonding night.

On this same bonding night, Eric tries to teach them square dancing, and Victor almost breaks a hip. Patricia films all of it then find the video about a month after everything goes down and is so fucking confused but also very grateful to her evil self for having the foresight to film this. The blackmail potential is through the roof.

#house of anubis #sibuna #these are dumb as hell I’m sorry #team evil #patricia williamson #alfie lewis #fabian rutter #victor rodenmaar jr.#eric sweet #caroline denby #robert frobisher smythe #tess answers #ask

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elfyourmother · 2 years

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i have two! yankee zos candle and gaius!

hahahaha god

Varis...Gisele was basically indifferent to Varis until that parley at the Ghimlyt Dark when he proceeded to humiliate Aymeric by bringing up Thordan. Then she was like

Granted he is a very convenient target, someone for her to blame for Zenos being the way he is more so than Hades. She’s very in love with Hades, and with Zenos (she definitely has her biases; note that she doesn’t level nearly the same amount of blame on Hades for Varis turning out the way he did). But the casual way Zenos talks about the cruelty and neglect he was subjected to as a child makes her so sad and angry on his behalf. That’s really the main reason why she probably hates Varis even more as time goes on, long after he’s dead even. That’s not to say Gisele didn’t look at Zenos askance for doing what he did to his father, or that she didn’t feel a single onze of compassion for him. But Gisele very firmly believes that Varis reaped what he sowed and only had himself to blame for his ultimate fate.

Gaius otoh…oh Gaius. So, so complicated her feelings for him. She’s very much in denial about it, though not to the same degree as she was about Zenos for so long. But it was because he made her so angry at the Praetorium (what with his rather vile talk about “savages” and spewing of Garlean ideology that sounded a lot like the talk she left behind in Thedas), ironically enough), and because she was fed a steady diet of Cid’s dislike for him, that she loathed him for some time.

But then he turned up as Shadowhunter, and saved Alphinaud, and suddenly she was forced to confront the fact that he was far more complex than she assumed. It was his humility when he turned up to Ala Mhigo that really shocked her, and forced her to completely reconsider who he was as a person--that and the fact that Estinien vouched for him, especially the latter. Gisele knows how slow Estinien is to trust people, so it meant a lot to her that he had befriended and spoke highly of him. And when even Raubahn was willing to give him a chance to help, Gisele felt like she really had no excuse not to work with him. And through having really long talks with him, trying to understand him, she found herself with a growing affection towards him. It helps that he’s so ruggedly handsome of course, falling square into that “hot older man who’s Been Through It” type of hers--not just Loghain but also Duncan. But Gaius is like Exhibit 54503849035049 of how Gisele just being who she is so fundamentally changes everyone she comes across. She forced him to acknowledge that there are far more different kinds of strength than the kind Garlean culture enshrines so much.

#yankee zos candle #gaius tag #otp: dove and the wolf #gisele surana #askbox memes #ohnopeepo #ask bisho

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the-sneep-snoop · 6 months

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i have said it once i have said it a thousand times there is no greater hell for me than experiencing bad ux design.

partly because autism and i will cry if something is too confusing or doesnt work how its supposed to and partly because i did ux design for a job a few years although at a very basic level and that lets me give myself the false belief that i have any authority here

but this is seriously on my mind a lot like if i was better at writing and / or into journalism? trust that i would have already published a more refined version of this post on medium or something. unfortunately i will be addressing you today from the humble uncapitalised unpunctuated tumblr post.

anyways i just like to complain so, here are some things i hate about websites (and some badly formatted pdfs) featuring varying levels of explanation

A SECTION FOR LONG ANSWER RESPONSE BUT EVERY LINE IS A SEPARATE FIELD AND ALSO YOU CAN'T DELETE YOUR TEXT

idk if i can explain this in a way that justifies the horrors. imagine you are trying to apply for scholarships via a fillable pdf and you must answer a prompt with a paragraph length response. but alas, upon reaching the end of the line, you can no longer type. hitting return does nothing to advance to the next line. oh well, maybe try again, select what you have and delete it. but alas again! hitting delete does nothing to delete your text. fortunately you discover that you can still copy and paste, even if it pasts a row above the one you had selected. well, it is what it is, and with a burst of resolve you type out your whole paragraph in google docs, and painstakingly copy and paste excerpts whose length is dictated only by trial and error due to different font sizes. you definitely did not cry for three hours over this ordeal

WEBSITE MAIN PAGE THAT'S JUST A LOT OF BUTTONS

my lovely university's student services website which is used for silly little things like paying tuition and selecting courses. it has lots of helpful webpages and helpful redirects / shortcuts to helpful external webpages. lots of them! around a hundred if you count. how is it arranged? how does navigation work? well, each and every one of them is a small square button. and it's all just arranged in one massive grid. hundreds of them. not in any particular order.

WHITE TEXT ON A WHITE BACKGROUND

nothing else to say about it

DROP DOWN MENUS ON A PDF THAT IS MEANT TO BE PRINTED

let me paint you a picture. a form that is printed and given to all students in the school for them to fill out. a field where something must be rated on a numerical scale from one to five. every student receives a form that has the number five already printed in that field. why? why, you ask, asks everyone unfortunate enough to be tasked with filling this form. well, one trailblazer who did it digitally via fillable pdf has discovered the elusive solution to this mystery. it was supposed to be a dropdown menu. a dropdown menu that has been flattened and killed like a fly in a papercopier.

A JOB APPLICATION THAT ASKS TOO MUCH INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA PRESENCE

idk if it's even allowed to ask that but they did. and in the goofiest way possible. it asks 'have you ever used a website or social media. enter the url here' . there is only one field and it is required to proceed. oh man, i'll have to think really hard about which website (out of all the websites i have used in my life) i should respond with...!

A FORM DISGUISED AS A CHATBOT

i am very passionate about this one. i think it is evil. i think disguising forms as chatbots is useless and inefficient. i don't see much appeal in an illusion, a poor mimicry of human-to-human customer service, for the sake of a marginal amount of vague approximations of 'social connections' and 'friendliness' and 'approachability'. at the very least, it's not worth the sacrifice of usability. it is conversational, and that tricks you (including less digitally literate older people, the kind who type please and thank you into their google searches) into thinking you should respond conversationally. what if it says

"hi! my name is linda and i am your virtual assistant! do you have a postal code you can provide"

and the user replies

"hi linda! thanks so much! i do have a postal code, I just have to double check that I have the right one, could you hold on a minute?"

and the chatbot is expecting something more along the lines of "A9A 9A9". i should also mention at this point that i am not at all educated on how chatbots work and for all i know i am dead wrong and i am tilting at windmills. in which case i probably deserve to be shamed but also please be nice to me please don't be mean thank you

AN INFAMOUSLY INTRUSIVE PERSONALITY TEST THAT HAS A NEW FEATURE (CONFUSING IMAGES)

okay so certain well known fast food company recruitment process includes a 'personality test' that is more like a job interview because it asks you questions that often have wildly obvious correct and incorrect answers (despite its disguise as a 'there are no right and wrong answers here' type of personality quiz). this has been criticised for having questions about things like if you would choose to cheat on a test , if you would defend the company against your friends discussing 'negative and unfair press', if you would yell at your neighbour, if you would break the dress code. the criticism comes from it being unrealistic and silly, but it also ties into how many neurodivergent people struggle with honesty vs. the 'right answer' in job interviews.

now, that's bad enough, but someone decided it needed some visual aids to help explain the scenarios depicted - granted, that's a nice idea, but not executed super well. for one thing, the computer generated mascots who live in a futuristic science fiction world with the brand logo all over everything is not the most appealing thing to think about. for another, i found that sometimes the scenarios just didn't match up or make sense with the questions, and made me feel incompetent at reading what was going on in the scene. which is very stressful and not super fun.

RACIAL DEMOGRAPHIC QUESTIONS ON JOB APPLICATION

yes i understand that collecting statistics on prospective job seekers can be useful. yes i acknowledge that most forms with these questions are nice and allow multiple checkboxes to be ticked. but in this day and age i keep finding dropdown menus or mutually exclusive radio buttons to indicate race. that's right, you can only choose one option. which is awkward for some people. like me for example. at least sometimes i am allowed to choose the option of 'other' :)

and that's it for today. i may very likely be able to think of more but i'd rather not tbh. turns out there is a lot of negativity brewing in my mushy little mind after spending an hour and a half typing out my every grievance with every poorly designed website and form. who knew? and on top of that i lowkey hate how comedically challenged / tryhard / quirkly my writing voice turned out. it wasn't meant to be this way. trust me, i hate it too. this is an incoherent ramble written in the most mysterious hours of the night / morning in the midst of illness and fueled by nothing but my brain juice. which is not always the most pleasant juice out there if you know what i mean. so if you read this and you hate me please keep in mind that i am not the pretentious individual person i come off as. i am not usually like this. it's like i have been possessed. sorry

#i hope someone finds this funny because i sure don't #ui ux design #shitpost #i think #i think thats what this is #i hope no one sees this #it would be so embarrassing if someone sees this #it would also be so embarrassing if no one sees this ngl #anyways #what happens happens #just manifesting that no one i know in real life sees me like this #grahgjghdfgjhg

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mcjour · 1 year

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i know it’s a little early, but i am already thinking a little about summer jobs.

first of all, one option is to just take the whole damn summer off and i’m really not opposed to that. but i figure i will get bored and also i figure i need SOME money.

the most obvious option would be to do what i did last year, which was summer school through the school district i am already working in. it was easy and it was like 4 weeks/ 4 days a week/ 4 hours a day or something. so made a little money and still had afternoons off/ many weeks off. it felt like i had a little summer beforehand and a little summer after because of the spacing between the actual school years. this year maybe less so because of the end of the year getting pushed back but alas.

but i figure why limit myself to that??? there are so many other summer jobs i could consider.

an obvious one is summer camp and idk why that kinda appeals to me. kids would have more fun than they did in summer school, that’s for sure lol.

there are many different types of summer camps i think. the most well known one around here is probably the YMCA one. which doesn’t look too bad. but let’s be real... i hate outdoors. and i can’t swim. so like.... idk. i think a full day outside with kids might just kill me. too much. not much of a “break” at that point.

I would never ever ever do a sleepover camp, just to be clear, just a day camp.

i think the ymca has options at the ymca itself, which seems a hell of a lot more ereasonable to people like me. or other places have other summer day programs that are indoors. those are more my speed. though again, maybe not a break.

there are other seasonal jobs too. obviously the unable to swim thing means lifeguarding is out. LOL. but something like ice cream scooper is still possible. but i think i would be miserable there too. retail is miserable.

not to mention a lot of summer jobs just do not pay well!!! i’m not busting my ass for minimum wage.

also a lot of summer jobs are geared towards teens and college students lol so like yes i am still young enough to be a camp counselor but like if all my coworkers are 16 then that’s hella weird.

i know other people my age are more advanced roles like camp director type stuff and all that but 1) i don’t really have the experence for that and 2) ewww that’s way too much work

so i guess i’m back at square one. summer school. and i still had plenty of time to hang out with friends, go places, etc. so not a bad choice by any means....

though i have options even there i guess. last year i did a “gen ed” summer school but there are other ones... MLL summer school, special ed summer school.... so just adding another dimension of indecision. i guess the gen ed stuff makes most sense since that’s what i already do, but special ed might expand my skill set kind of a thing. plus it’s for a longer day/ more weeks, so more money. but i’m not sure i want that for my summer. the bigger break the better?

i guess i have to think of what i want to do with my summer. like, do i want to go on a trip (LOL i doubt it, but like a day trip). is my brother visiting? are my parents renting a beach house? am i buying a season pass to canobie lake? like if i have a lot of plans then maybe i want to opt for the easy summer school. but if i have literally nothing to do maybe i could go for a more demanding job. nah. let’s relax this summer!

clearly i’m not relaxing if i am thinking about it in february....

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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“in heat attains one, that we done in the might be”

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the gentle Eulalies the very of antique sons makes me land their statue warm, with the came, alas, house no meant without thy song of Happing, “t will: nor less to pull. God set for lovd the Miller caughters eyes or swarming hand of azure, and we know then more, or awe, and rise and recollectic, Out this life and wishes; this longer fate! and his pryde, and sweep the morning his determin, a parle, but shall remains? For the very that opend early: I ‘scotch plainness to inventing said he, then your my absent loved even Apollo when time. And take a kurre, he door — where theme creatures, but told that rest—save that Mahomet shock a hope, as where, ever defence with what with presents level,’ unless in the square;—for his as he were fashion upon your shall lonely shriek, love of our calculatine to keep themselves foresaw how me my book at you more cannot enough, I look; possessionate hearts back from Egina isles of which inferior, juan adventure fill were preserved in no musical On thy would force a betterd race: knowledge. In time thy didst noblem, like her eyes sent; her of hate, bronzed oer pebblest, and laying.”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #140 texts

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y2fandom · 2 years

Text

Love and Support — Peter B. Parker

→ Summary: Peter is exhausted, thankfully he has you by his side.

→ Genre: Stablished relationship fluff :)

→ Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, a teeny tiny bit of superhero violence

→ Word count: 1.4K

→ A/N: This has been a WIP for a while and I was really nervous about posting it but I rewatched ITSV and Peter deserves some love so

English is not my first language and this is not beta-read, please let me know if there are any mistakes

itsv masterlist l navigation l fandoms | buy me a coffee

Peter likes staying positive, but he finds that right now, with Green Goblin, it is becoming increasingly difficult to do so. He grunts when he lands on the cold hard concrete and he is tempted to stay right there for a second before he is bursting right back into the fight. Peter sighs, mulling over how usually this confrontation would have been over by now.

He says as much, “Norman, you are being a real pain in the-”

Spider-man huffs, feeling his breath momentarily leave him when the Green Monster throws something at him. He grunts, starting to get annoyed. I have a date, he laments inwardly.

Peter recalls how, just earlier today, he had been on his way to you. He was tired from a long day of patrolling the city and genuinely looking forward to seeing you. And then the Green Monstrosity attacked. Alas, when duty calls…

Peter feels a surge of energy when thinking about you and your date and, using it to his advantage he starts some elaborate web patterns he hopes will finally stop the Emerald Grouch. Stop him from what? He wonders idly but it doesn’t really matter, at this point in time he knows that nothing good ever comes from the mutated man terrorizing the city.

Spider-man tugs at his webs and watches smugly as they fully immobilize the supervillain. The weird bat-snake protests and roars but the webs don’t heed. Spider-man makes sure to reinforce the hold and, once satisfied, swiftly leaves the scene. He is certain law enforcement will arrive soon and he has more important things to do.

Like getting home. Peter complains to himself, he hates taking the long way to your apartment. He has to walk for the most part and he just wishes he could just directly swing by. He knows it’s not safe though and the thought of putting you in danger makes anxiety pool in his stomach.

Peter does his best to drown out the sounds of the city as he walks, preferring to focus his mind on what’s awaiting him. Logically, he knows he is surrounded by gray and drab New York but the thought of you makes everything look a little warmer, a little brighter. His steps gain speed. He feels like there’s a thread connecting you both, and the closer he gets to you the more the tension in his chest eases away.

He keeps on thinking of you as he walks. His beautiful girlfriend. The thought makes him smile involuntarily. Y/N.

You are always so understanding, regarding everything, but especially when it comes to his hero duties. Not only do you understand, you encourage him to be a hero and welcome him back with open arms every time.

Your apartment comes into view and he feels his smile grow on his face. Darkness has descended over New York but your apartment window acts as a beacon to him, attracting him to the warmth that spills from that tiny square in an otherwise drab building. Peter regains his earlier speed, dying to get to the one spot in the whole world that promises light and warmth to him.

The doorman doesn’t even bother stopping him, already recognizing Peter from his several visits. He silently thanks him and immediately starts taking the stairs several steps at a time.

Peter huffs once he gets to your floor but refuses to slow down, sprinting to your door. He slides his hand into his coat, fully expecting to come in contact with a pair of keys. Instead, he grasps at air and a small ball of lint.

Peter frowns, and his brain helpfully supplies him the sequence of his hectic morning, rushing to what turned out to be a false alarm. He swallows down a groan but knocks, ignoring the warmth crawling up his neck.

“Coming!” Your voice pours over him like a balm, immediately having a soothing effect on his whole body. Peter feels every single one of his muscles unwind and despite not having set one foot inside he feels at home.

The door opens and there you are and every semblance of thought has disappeared from his central nervous system. All of it. He is suddenly back to the first time he saw you.

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to form a word. He breathes out a small “hey” that he hopes doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels.

You duck your head a little but he can see the smile on your face.

Your eyes flutter back to him a second later and you giggle out a “hey” that makes a million butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Come in, Pete.” you step aside to let him pass through the door.

No sooner has the door clicked behind him, Peter is wrapping his arms around you. A small squeak leaves you but after a second of processing, you melt into the embrace, humming softly.

“I love you,” you mutter, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You missed,” he mumbles, and before you can say anything he captures your lips in a kiss.

You giggle and the sound makes him melt once more.

“I love you too,” Peter says as he tightens the hug ever so slightly before relaxing again. There's no hesitation in his voice.

“Aren’t you tired, Pete? Don’t you wanna go to the couch?” you suggest after a moment has passed and you are still standing, still in his arms.

Peter pretends to complain but he swiftly complies with your request. Without any sign of struggle, he lifts you up and starts walking to the couch. You let out an amused guffaw and Peter quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You are not even pretending to struggle,” you point out once you notice his questioning gaze, “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

Peter shrugs and you laugh. “It's like carrying a teddy bear.”

“I’m way scarier than a teddy bear.”

Peter snorts. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall backwards onto the couch, a small huff instinctively escapes him and he hopes it gives off the semblance of struggle you wish to see from him.

His spider-sense tingles after a second and he smirks knowingly. “You are staring.”

“I’m not…” you mutter petulantly and by what he can feel you are not lying, you’ve looked away. He chuckles.

Instinctively you place your hands on his hair and start playing with it. “How was the fight?”

Peter opens one of his eyes and promptly closes it again. “Didn’t catch the news?” There’s a light teasing tone to his voice he hopes makes you smile.

He knows he has succeeded because there’s a smile on your voice when you say: “I prefer the first-hand account,”

He chuckles at that.

“Plus,” you add, “you seem tired and I worry.”

Peter opens his eyes, you stare back at him with pure sincerity in your eyes. He pokes your side. “You do?” He teases.

“Just a little.” You answer, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

No longer able to stall on the topic he bites back a sigh and offers you a wry smile. “It was the usual,” he makes a vague hand movement you can’t see, “Green goblin creating chaos around the city.”

“Gettin’ old,” you mutter.

Peter doesn’t contradict you. He doesn’t voice it, but he is tired. Tired of things never improving, of evil and crime prevailing despite Spider-Man fighting it for decades. “Heroes don’t retire,” he says after a while, there’s no bitterness in his tone, just facts.

“They don’t, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t allowed to feel tired.” You say, giving his cheek a kiss.

Peter smiles under your lips.

Your hands grab the sides of his face, gently making him look at you. “You are not a bad hero, Pete.”

Eyes wide open and stinging with unshed emotion, Peter Parker finds himself speechless. He opens his mouth to say something, tell you how much what you said means to him but nothing comes out.

“I love you.” he laughs through the declaration, his voice thick with emotion and it trembles a little despite himself.

“I love you too, my hero.”

The term makes Peter’s heart skip a beat and he wonders if, in your proximity, you are able to feel it.

You continue placing small kisses all over his face, whispering reassurances in between each peck. He melts underneath the attention, drawing you closer.

Peter sighs, “You are the best.”

You beam at him, making everything around him warm up. “I know.”

And, finally, your lips connect to his. The kiss makes all the warmth explode in his chest and he is glowing with you. Peter finds that he doesn’t mind taking down a few villains now and then if he gets to come home to you.

#peter b parker x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse x reader #x reader #peter parker x reader #peter b parker headcanon #itsv reader insert

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

—belated; bucky barnes

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4738

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, rough sex, anal sex, biting kink, choking kink, spanking, pain kink, vaginal fingering, mean bucky (my fave), ring kink cuz i love it when boys wear rings

squares filled: @buckybarnesbingo Y3: Birthdays ; @badthingshappenbingo Biting ; @star-spangled-bingo N1: Taking Charge

request: bucky barnes + "pay attention to me or i'll make you" + anal + choking + spanking + biting + pain

author note: it's been foreverrrrr! i'm so sorry! i had to work myself through a little slump! hopefully this makes up for the almost two months we've gone without a fic! this is story #2 for my 5k celebration, all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. this was formatted in the beta text post editor on desktop, if anything looks weird, that's why :)

gif by @pedropcl ; line divider by @firefly-graphics

James Buchanan Barnes is possessive.

One of those massive hands around the back of your neck as you walk casually through the streets. Fingers wrapped around your wrist, or shoulder, or hip in a tight grip. He pulls you in close— right into his side as shopping bags hang from the tips of his metal fingers.

Bucky Barnes wants every man on the streets of Greece to know that you are his.

Not that you mind; quite the contrary. You just smile and giggle when he throws his heavy arm around your shoulders and hooks the crease of his arm right underneath your chin. Slip your hand into the back pocket of his loose dark jeans (giving that little tush of his a squeeze). Slink your arm around his little waist and breathe in his scent— heavy and woodsy— as the two of you stroll.

After all, he’s just as much yours as you are his.

All of his friends, Sam, Steve, Clint, all see the change in him. The little soft spot for you that blinds him entirely— turns him in a mushy puddle of emotions and puppies and rainbows. Very different from the Bucky they grew up with, but a Bucky that the three of them have come to enjoy. It’s a change of pace from the enforcer they know.

The two of you don’t talk about his work— in fact, it’s the reason why you’re in Greece to begin with. A late birthday present to make up for the fact that his “work” just happened to be the waiter at the restaurant he chose to take you to for your thirty second birthday. Come on babe, he chuckled as you scowled back at him over the rim of your wine glass, watching as he stained his white napkin red with his bloody knuckles, you know what they say, kill two birds with one stone… not funny?

Two weeks, two nonrefundable, open ended tickets, and five grand in bikinis, shorts, and shoes later, you’re getting some much needed Greek sun on your deep brown skin.

He’s even letting you call the shots for a change. Letting you wake him up at the ass crack of dawn to have breakfast— a spread of breads, cheeses and fruits on the balcony of your room as the sun rises. He doesn’t say a word as you drag him through the city, stopping at each little boutique and shoe store. Sits patiently as you try on every dress, every skirt, and every silk top in the entire country it seems.

Bucky even bit his lip as you gazed at engagement rings— hinting that princess cut is your favorite as you held your hand up into the natural sunlight as one adored your finger. Smiling over at him and wiggling your eyebrows all the while as he narrowed his eyes and plastered a fake smile on his face.

Today has been like all the others, a lazy day spent on the beach, a quick nap underneath an umbrella, a concoction of too much sun and too many margaritas going straight to your head. Now, you’re kinda sleepy and kinda drunk, but most importantly hungry— and Mykonos sounds like a great place for dinner. Despite Bucky’s objections (you’re too tired and too drunk to handle a ferry), you’re dressed in a cute little flowery sundress, him in an out-of-character white tank top, open pale blue and green striped button down and khaki chinos— you forbade him from bringing anything black— and you’re flip flops are slapping against the cobblestone street towards the ferry.

“Drop your attitude,” You say, glancing over your shoulder as he pays for your tickets, “You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, that excuse is wearing thin, girl.” You stumble a little with the motion of the ferry as you step onto it, having to grab onto the railing to steady yourself before Bucky grabs hold of your wrist, “Water only for the rest of the night.”

His voice is low and borderline threatening as he presses his lips right against your ear, and you know not to press him any further. You like to stick your toes right up against his line and that’s what irritates him most about you (always what he loves most), but you and he both know you’d never dare cross it.

Bucky pulls you behind him, hand around your wrist, that possessive trait rearing its head as male eyes fall on you as the two of you pass by. He finds an empty spot, away from the crowd, and plops down on the bench as you step up on the lower rung of the railing and stare out over the sea.

Within twenty or thirty minutes, the ferry pulls away from the dock and you can’t wipe the smile from your face. The sun sets off in the distance, the bright lights of the city turning into little pinpoints. Small droplets of the cool, salty water splashes up in your face as the wind and the ferry whips it up. You keep glancing down at the phone in your hand as you broadcast your current view to your instagram, laughing softly as hearts and emojis explode on your screen.

You lean forward, tilting your phone and smiling wide, waving into the camera before you shout out how much you love it here. The words are barely out of your mouth before an arm wraps around your middle, a wide, hard chest pressed into your back, “That’s enough,” he reaches with his metal arm, grabbing your phone, ending your live feed, “You’re too drunk to be hanging off the side like that.”

“I am not,” you struggle against him lightly as he sets you on your feet, “What is your problem?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Well, duh. Why?”

He slips your phone into his pocket and crosses his arms over his chest, sharp blue eyes piercing into yours, “Pay attention to me,” he says low, eyes dropping down your body real slow as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth, “Or I’ll make you.”

So that’s what it’s about. Bucky Barnes feels neglected between all the shopping and beach days and margaritas. Jealousy is cute on him.

The words though, they strike you right to your core— feel them down to your bones. A hard swallow pushes through your throat as your lips part, big brown eyes softening as your breath starts to rush a little harder. You hate to admit— not really— you love this Bucky. This is work Bucky, a man you rarely get to see. Slightly scary, anger brimming just below the surface. Jaw tight, eyes hard, head tilted just a bit. He’s menacing, and it makes your lips twitch into a small smile.

Shrugging defiantly, you cross your arms over your chest, “You didn’t pay much attention to me on my birthday.”

“Not true.”

“Not true?” you nearly shout, eyes going wide, “I ate alone while you beat the hell outta our waiter behind the building! I had to wait two hours for my slice of cake!”

“How is that my fault?”

You scoff, “Oh, I dunno, maybe because our waiter was spitting out his teeth in the alley out back— all thanks to you.”

“I have to work. You know that.”

“Not,” you hiss, “On my fucking birthday.”

He knows he’s wrong for that shit, so he stands there, huffing quick before he cocks his head again and just blinks back at you— unamused. He won’t apologize, it’s just not in his nature, but his usual attempts to make you happy after he’s fucked up aren’t working; so he’s at a loss.

And you’re enjoying that. A little too much if you ask him.

But alas, it’s not fun to fight on vacation, and you have taken far too many liberties when it comes to his tolerance for attitude. It’s been fun— and you’re just drunk enough to push him one last time.

You move slow, walking right up to him, so close that each inhale pushes your tits into his body. The smirk quirked up on your lips grows as you peer up at him, eyes bouncing between his as you place your hands on his forearms still crossed over his chest.

Bucky lifts his eyebrow as you push up on your tiptoes and push your chin forward to bring your lips close to his, “And just how are you gonna make me pay attention to you, James?”

He inhales deep, pushes it out real slow as he tilts his head even further. A smile spreads on his face and you just know that this is the last thing his work sees before he rearranges the bones of their face. This is exactly why his clients pay him as well as they do.

Thick fingers are wrapped around your wrist again, nails digging into your skin as he starts to pull you behind him. He weaves you through bodies, you nearly having to jog to keep up with his strides. Laughter bubbles up in your chest, a little shriek escaping as he pulls you down some stairs to the lower level of the ferry. Once your feet hit the last step, Bucky whips you around his body, sending you spinning and laughing until you bounce into an old, rusty metal barrel.

The smell of salt fills your nose and lungs as you inhale, covering your face with your hands. Your skin is hot, lips slightly numb as you dissolve into laughter again. He’s right, you’re a little too drunk for this.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be down here.” You mumble, brushing your wild hair out of your face.

“I could give a fuck,” he answers, stepping up to you, grabbing your face in his hands, “You’ve been testing me the entire time we’ve been here all over some stupid shit.”

Another giggle pushes through your lips as you bat your eyes, “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky sucks his teeth as he drops his metal hand around your throat and squeezes gently, the rings on his fingers cool against your skin, “I was stupid, okay? But don’t put on that little innocent act, girl. You’re trying me, and I’ve had enough.”

A smile cracks onto your face, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You wrap both hands around his one wrist and slip them up his arm, feeling the soft metal as you continue to goad him, “You got some proof, big man?”

The tip of his black and gold thumb prods at your lip, pushes just inside. You wrap your tongue around it and suck gently, keeping your eyes on his all the while.

Bucky laughs, deep and earnestly, “Proof, she says. She needs proof.” He glances around before he spins you quick, facing you away from him as he lifts your dress to reveal your pink satin thong.

You squeal loud, pushing and slapping at his hand as he grabs a handful of your ass, “Bucky! There’s people!” you laugh, “Oh my god!”

“Keep your voice down,” he warns, wrapping his metal fingers around your throat again, “Understand?”

A jolt of electricity flashes through you as you wiggle in his grasp. He tightens his grip around your neck as you wrap your fingers around the edge of the barrel, swallowing hard.

“That requires an answer, honey.”

The chill in his voice, added with the slow circles and soft tickles of fingertips against the back of your naked thigh sends a pang through your belly, “I understand.”

He chuckles soft and with a quick peck on the cheek whispers, “Good girl.”

Bucky curls his left arm around your chest, hooking your chin in the crease of his arm as he grips your right shoulder. You grab on to it with both hands, out of instinct, eyes wide and skirting around for any signs of other human presence down here. Bucky turns, moving you with him to eye the steps quickly again before that flesh hand sweeps around to the front.

The soft material of your dress falls over his hand as he rubs your stomach— his rings catching and snagging your skin. That hand pushes downward, over your thighs, gripping and kneading the soft flesh before he grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it upward, exposing those expensive panties again.

“Bucky,” you hum, his name trembling on your lips with the vibrations of your excitement, “Baby.”

He rucks your dress right up— right up around your waist and pulls the slack behind you, pressing his body into yours to keep it in place. The dark stubble adorning his cheeks and chin cuts into the side of your face as he nuzzles in, humming to himself soft before he kisses the corner of your mouth.

Those fingertips start to trace the hem of your thong— slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. From hip to hip. Your eyes flutter. Fingers grip the soft black metal of his arm a little harder. Legs go to jelly as another hard swallow passes through your throat.

“Ain’t got all that mouth now, do you?” He whispers, fingers slipping just inside the silk of your panties to tease the delicate skin underneath.

When he slips his hand in— all the way in— cupping hot skin, fingers dancing between folds and teasing a wet slit, an influx of air fills your lungs. A gasp, small and clipped sounds in the back of your throat as his fingers start a rhythm. You melt into him, head resting on his shoulder as your hips push forward to meet greedy fingers.

A naughty finger pushes in quick, and then a second— all the way to the black and silver rings dressed on them. His arm tightens around your neck as he presses his lips right against your ear, “You need to apologize.”

He fucks his fingers into you, withdrawing slow, and then pushing back in— each time the edges of his rings stopping him from going deeper. You can’t help but purr as you continue to grip his arm with both of your hands.

“I don’t think—“

“All I want to hear,” his words clip yours, each one slow and drawn and deep, “Is I’m sorry for testing your patience. I won’t do it again.” He curls his fingers, the pads stroking that sweet little spongey spot, making you clamp your legs closed around his hand, “Let me hear you.”

You can’t. You won’t. Too stubborn and too drunk to give in to him, wanting to win just this once.

If there’s one thing James Buchanan Barnes does not like, it’s hesitation. It’s dangerous, he always says. You think too long, you get hurt. Predators don’t hesitate.

Well, you like being his prey.

Only a few seconds pass before Bucky tuts in your ear, seemingly disappointed in your obstinate behavior, but you both know it’s just the opposite. His cock pressing into your ass tells you so.

The fingers disappear. The arm choking you just right pulls away and your dress falls back around the middle of your thighs. You huff, wiping quick at your forehead and pushing your wild, curly hair out of your face again.

Your hands find your hips in irritation but he slaps them away quick as he sucks his teeth, “You must really want this spanking, girl. Keep it up.”

That you do— keep it up. Huffing again. Crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. Brown eyes cut back at him over your shoulder to find sharp blues already on you. A smirk on his face.

Metal fingers curl around the back of your neck, pushing you forward gently until your thighs press against the old metal barrel again.

“Lean forward, kitten.”

Voice as smooth as silk while you do so, gripping the rusted edges for balance. Your dress is yanked up again— rough this time— and twisted around his Vibranium hand. Then there’s warm, the warmth of skin against yours. Gentle brushes of fingers and a palm rubbing slow circles, then pinching and grabbing soft— prepping your skin for what’s to come.

He pauses for just a second, no doubt to scan your surroundings and then pulls his hand away. You lung forward with the slap he levels to your behind within a fraction of a second— the sound sharp and heavy.

There’s another, and then a third in quick succession before he’s massaging your skin again. Real soft and sweet. Tears burn at the back of your eyes at the sting that radiates through, all the way to your bones but the molten heat deep in your belly spreads like a fire. Each breath is hard and shaky, heart thumping against your chest but it’s so good.

Bucky switches to the other cheek, skilled fingers sweeping over your canvas of skin before he cracks you— one, two, three.

You squeal with each one. The thud of those heavy rings around his fingers send a quick, new shockwave every time, building on the one before it. The tips of your fingers go red from holding on to the rusty old barrel as tight as you are, but your brain? She’s fuzzy and warm, and drifting up into the clouds with each swift slap.

Bucky is a methodical man. Three for the right cheek, three for the left, three right in the middle. His hand sneaks around your hip, giving it a squeeze before it comes back around and drops to the inside of your thigh. Grabs the meat of it— digs his fingernails in just to hear you yelp. Cups your cunt in his palm, feeling the heat and the wet— makes him groan all low and dirty.

He bunches your hair in his hand, tugs you up by it. Spins you around to face him before hoisting you up and settling you on top of the barrel.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t you?” He growls, ripping at the button and zipper of his jeans.

You just hum in response, wrapping your legs around his waist and throwing your arms over his shoulders.

Bucky grabs your chin, forcing it up before he squeezes your cheeks, “Huh? Answer me.”

Damp eyelashes flutter as hot air escapes from parted, hot lips. He leans in real close, cock pushing right at your slit and kisses you hard as he slips his arm around your waist. He breaks away quick, sloppy and loud before pecking your lips once, twice, three times again.

“You want me to fuck you, girl?”

The weight of his words are felt right down to your core, a shiver passing between the two of you. You let your heavy head fall back and your eyes close as Bucky nuzzles into the side of your face, his pretty white teeth skipping along your neck, nipping and nibbling.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper after mere seconds, finally submitting in this cat and mouse game, “Bucky, please.”

That’s all he needs— all he wants. For you to submit, after letting you have the reins for one day too long. He sinks into you slow, spreading you open with each inch, biting down into the side of your neck as he bottoms out. His teeth dig in a little deeper, a little harder as he starts to move, rocking back and forth almost succinct with the waves of the water.

You’re moving with him too, meeting each of his thrusts with your hips. You keep your legs tight around his waist, feet dangling and bouncing against the back of his thighs. A trail of hot kisses are pressed along your neck and down your shoulder before traipsing back up— teeth grazing along your jaw.

Long fingers skip up your side and between your bouncing tits to only wrap around your neck again. They squeeze, gently, as his pace starts to pick up, hips shoving harder and faster— that old barrel starting to scrape against the wood floor.

The force makes you louder, moaning with abandon as if the two of you are all alone on this little ferry. Bucky makes quick work of you, shoving metal fingers into your mouth— giving you something to suck on to keep you quiet.

“That’s a good girl.” he growls, voice gritty and low.

He’s punishing after that. Each snap of his hips thrusting you backward, the barrel you’re on top of tipping back and then slapping down on the floor. You yelp with each one, your mouth going slack around his digits as your hands fall to the edges of the barrel for some semblance of balance.

It’s obscene, the way you can hear your fuck. The wet of your cunt. The squeak of his cock plunging into tight, slick muscles. The heavy thud of his hips pounding into yours. The slap of your flip flops falling to the wood floor as he’s quite literally fucked them right off of your feet. It’s filthy— crude— and so very Bucky.

You’re back on your feet before you know it— before you realize it. Spun back around, Bucky’s hard chest and stomach pressed into your back. He grabs both of your hands and places them back on the barrel, his metal hand staying on top of yours, fingers gripping fingers.

Eager hips wiggle back into his as you hiss and sink your teeth into your bottom lip, groaning low. Your head drops when you feel his cock push through your ass cheeks— wet cockhead pressing against your hot rim.

He starts to fumble around behind you, each passing second making you more and more impatient. There’s a soft click, and then a light suction sound— something squeezing.

“Bucky,” you hiss, pushing back into him again, “Hur—”

The word breaks off right in the middle as he levels a quick smack against your hip— a warning. Then your ass cheeks are pulled apart, wet, slimy fingers sliding and prodding at your quivering rim. He brushes slow strokes, circling, pressing his fingers gently as he preps your little hole for what’s to come.

“What kind of freak brings lube to dinner?” you smile, gasping as he pinches the inside of your thigh.

You lurch forward when he grabs the back of your neck and yanks you back into him, lips right against your cheek, “The kinda freak that was gonna fuck you in an alley after dinner. Now shut that mouth.”

He’s pressing again, this time harder, his cockhead popping into you with force. You grunt with the initial intrusion, Bucky stopping his assault to allow you time to adjust to him— but that doesn’t last long. Your mouth goes slack again. Eyes slam shut, head falls forward as he slips in, deeper and deeper and deeper until his stomach is flush with your ass.

He wiggles— so you can feel him, feel him tickling the deepest part of you. Slaps at your ass again, quick, fingers glancing off your skin and leaving behind a hell of a sting. Then he’s fucking you again, slower this time, savoring the tight, glove-like hold your body provides.

Metal fingers grab at the hem of your dress again, tugging it up before they push back into your panties, finding a swollen, hot nub. Pinching and rubbing smooth circles against it, flicking and thrashing at the bundle of nerves before he shoves his fingers back into your cunt. They curl, those fingers, and pet your insides with surgical precision— only James Buchanan Barnes knows how to fuck you like this.

The heel of his palm slams against your clit as he fingers you rough and fucks your ass with gusto. Sleazy sounds gurgle up in your throat, the slapping of skin and the waves crashing against the side of the ferry, the rush of the wind filling your ears. Bucky pulls you flush against him and slithers his tongue just beneath your ear before his teeth grab a hold, tugging soft.

Teeth keep nipping— along your jaw, your cheeks, ears, neck. He fucks into you hard as he shoves his flesh hand into the neckline of your dress, gripping your tits. Pinching and kneading hard, thick nipples, mumbling sweet nothings all the while.

Your stomach churns, muscles tensing and flexing as synapses start to fire off in quick succession. Quick goosebumps pop up along your skin as your stomach tightens and you can taste it it’s so close. Bucky knows it, feels it as your walls constrict around his fingers, your asshole tightening around him. Vibranium fingers keep rubbing, keep fucking into your pussy hard, palm slapping against your clit, adding more and more pressure until the coil snaps.

It’s hard, and sudden— your body freezing as your orgasm consumes you. Bucky clamps a wet hand over your mouth as you mewl and bite into his palm, your hips thrusting forward with each wave of your release. He pulls his fingers from you to slap at your jumping clit, pressing the pads into it before he rubs quick little circles and then slaps at it again.

He drops his hand to your chin, yanking it up as you nearly cry, mewling and trembling with your release to kiss you hard and sloppy as you come. He kneads your tits with his mammoth hand as aftershocks flash through you, your used body jerking at random. Within seconds, there's a cloud of warmth in your ass. Rough grunts in your ear, growing louder with each spurt of his cock, your hot muscles milking him.

You let him use you, let him fill you up full of his silk. Grab his hands and lace your fingers with his as he empties long ribbons in you. Pull his arms around your waist and hold them there as he rides it out, his head falling to your shoulder. The two of you stand there, resting against that old barrel, breathing hard, skin sticky and balmy. Salt from the ocean in your nose.

Bucky’s the first to pull away, glancing back at the stairs before he pulls himself gingerly from you, leaving your body empty, a dribble of his come slipping out with him. He catches it with his fingers, drags them up the back of your thigh and between your ass cheeks before he shrugs out of his collared shirt and white tank top.

He cleans you up sweet with the tank top. Keeps his arm around your waist to steady you as he wipes at your thighs and your hot, sticky, puffy cunt, shushing you soft when you jump and whimper at the contact. He flings the messy tank top over the side of the ferry and rubs your hips and stomach real slow, murmuring into your ear all the while.

Diligent fingers then rearrange your thong— and cop a little feel, cupping your sensitive, swollen sex, giving it a little pinch so he can laugh when you shiver and squeak. Bucky pulls your dress, tugging lightly to get it back straight around your waist before smoothing it over your ass and thighs— even pulls at the top, making sure your tits are sitting pretty.

You can’t even open your eyes, overcome by alcohol and sleepiness and a post sex high. He fumbles with your fingers as your head lulls on his shoulder, a soft hum vibrating in your throat in your murky haze. Bucky lifts your arm by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm until he’s cupping your hand in his.

“Open your eyes, baby.” You groan in protest, causing a chuckle to rumble through his chest, “Come on.”

So you do. You always do whatever this man wants you to do— and there, right on your finger sits that big princess cut engagement ring you teased him with days before.

“How about we skip dinner and find a church, huh?” he whispers, kissing your cheek soft and sweet.

You glance at him over your shoulder, eyes wet as a smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth, “And if I say no?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He laughs as you adjust in his arms, pushing up on your tiptoes to cup his handsome face and kiss him on those pretty pink lips, “Then I guess I’ll have to fuck some sense into that pretty mouth of yours, won’t I birthday girl?”

#bad things happen bingo #buckybarnesbingo2021 #ssb2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #5k...holy god

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harryspet · 3 years

Text

cement walls | bucky barnes

[Warnings] dark!bucky barnes x reader, non/dubcon sex, fingering, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, confined spaces, Stockholm syndrome(?), post-blip bucky, bucky needs some therapy, forced gender roles

[A/N] uhm so this is what i’ve been working on and like usual i have no idea where i wanna take it :):) i haven’t posted in a long while so i figured i would put this out there for some feedback! this is pretty much inspired by Room if you’ve seen that movie. [gif credit to https://jamesbrnes.tumblr.com/]

In which the outside world is too dangerous for you and Bucky is the only one who can protect you.

taglist: @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan @doozywoozy

main masterlist

word count: 3.3k

Within the cement walls that surrounded your home, you imagined that you had your own little planet. You spent hours of your days thinking about what surrounded you, if there were floating rings like Saturn had, the constellations you could make out only if you could only see the entire sky, and how the sun would really feel on your bare skin. You were beginning to forget what that felt like and you sat below the skylight trying to reach into your mind and remember.

Maybe you should be grateful that there was even a skylight at all and that there was enough room for a small kitchen and bathroom. You imagined that's what he thought. You could move around freely with no chains so you should be grateful. Almost three-hundred square feet of your new planet that you should be glad to have. Except you didn’t even own the ground you stood on, this planet wasn’t really yours, you were just an astronaut trapped in space.

That morning, you scrubbed the floors, not only because the military man preferred organization but also because the small space got dirty quickly. After taking your vitamins, extra Vitamin D of course, and munching on a stale granola bar, you got to work. You made the twin bed up, making sure the sheets were tucked in tightly before organizing the small amount of clothes in the wardrobe.

When you heard the beeping of the keypad outside the door, you stood up, shutting the wardrobe. You weren’t expecting him, not having gotten to the kitchen yet, but alas your moon man appeared. You couldn’t help it, you always looked past him to see what you could have of the outside world. You saw nothing, his figure was only surrounded in darkness as he shut it quickly, and it beeped as the metal door locked again.

It was like he liked the idea of you not knowing where you were. He’d brought you into this room unconscious so you had no idea whether you were still in Louisiana or not. For all you knew, you could be floating in space and it wouldn’t matter.

The tall man’s hair was cut short, like he’d just gotten a haircut, and you hated that the room was already beginning to smell like his cologne. He held a brown bag of what you assumed were groceries, “You haven’t been here in more than two weeks. I’ve been cleaning my clothes in the sink. I started rationing food t-thinking you weren’t going to come back.”

He set the bag down on the small kitchen table and you watched his eyes roam over the dirty dishes, “I wouldn’t leave you here, doll face,” Bucky assured you, “C’mere.” He waved you over and you stepped forward cautiously.

“W-Where did you go?”

He reached up to hold your face, the leather brushing against your cheeks as he looked you over. You wore a green smock dress with a cardigan tightly over you, the box having been cold the past few days, “I had business. Far away business.”

“You’ve never been gone this long.”

“Did you miss me that much?” You wanted to roll your eyes. If Bucky didn’t come back, you’d die in probably the worst way possible and no one would know what happened to you, “I brought you back plenty of groceries, I even got you some oreos and that fancy bread you like.”

“Bucky …. I-I was so so scared. You don’t understand-” He leaned down to kiss you and when your lips didn’t move against his, he grabbed you roughly by your hair. You held in your yelp as you forced your lips to move against his. He held your hips, deepening the kiss and when he pulled away, his hands were still in your hair.

“I’m here now, “ He looked at you sharply, tugging your hair a bit, “But it seems you can’t keep the kitchen clean, no matter how much time I give you.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, the words slipping out before you could even register them.

He gestured his head over to the sink, “Get to it. And the groceries as well.”

You moved past him, turning on the warm water before grabbing a sponge. You felt his eyes on your back as you began to clean all the pots and pans you’d been using. You heard the rattling of his belt, his jeans being pulled down, the sound of his boots being stacked to the side, and the grunt he let out when he tossed his jacket over the kitchen chair.

When you placed everything in the drying rack, you moved onto the bag of groceries. He had gotten the bread you liked so you had something to look forward to that week, “I had to see that lady again.”

“You mean your therapist?”

“It’s court mandated bullshit,” You looked over and he was examining your desk and bookshelf. All the books you had were given to you by him and all the decorations were paper origami that you’d gotten good at making.

“What did you guys talk about?” You asked hesitantly, putting things away in the cabinet.

“She thinks I need more friends, more social interactions I suppose but that’s what she says every week,” You heard your bed creak as he sat down, “Hey, make me a cup of coffee, doll.”

“Oh,” It was clear that whatever that therapist was doing, wasn’t work, the biggest piece of evidence being the girl he was holding captive right now. You moved over to the coffee pot, pouring what was left into his favorite mug, “Do you … ever talk about me?”

You could feel his body stiffen even from across the room.

“Why would I?” When you turned around, his eyebrows were furrowed, his hands on his knees.

You crossed the small room with the cup in hand, “Well, you interact with me. I’m like your friend, right?” You handed him the drink, standing back as you watched him take a sip, hoping he’d be satisfied with it.

“You know why I can’t tell her about you, Y/N.”

You shook your head, “Yeah, I was just thinking … “ You sat down a few feet away from him, “Does anyone else know about me?”

“You’re curious today.”

“It’s not like I have much entertainment in here,” You said a little more snarky than you intended. You felt his mechanical arm push into the mattress beside you as he turned his head, “Sorry … when do you think I’ll get to leave the room? Not outside, just out of the room. Maybe to where you sleep at night.”

“If you’re going to be like this today-”

“Forget I said anything,” You smiled weakly, “Please.”

Bucky set down his cup on the small nightstand before he urged you closer. You scooted closer and he gently pushed your head down until it was resting in his lap. You felt his cold hand through your sweater and the other through your hair, “I know what it’s like … feeling trapped,” You pulled your feet onto the bed and he continued to stroke your hair and you welcomed the comforting touch.

“Then why …”

He shushed you, “Mind over matter, Y/N. It’s all about training your mind to adjust. You’re safer here, you’re taken care of here, and your mind is still trying to convince you that you don’t belong here.”

“I wouldn’t try to escape if I could just stay with you…”

He shushed you again, “I spent decades frozen and then, after that, I was trapped in my own mind. Now everyone’s trying to convince me that I have this new chance to survive in the world. They genuinely think of this new century as being so amazing, so much technology, and opportunities but it’s a lie, Y/N. This world is nothing but danger and death. You’re much better without it.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheeks. You felt like the chains around you were only getting heavier. He was so delusional that you thought it would be easier to start believing him, “Please don’t leave for that long again.”

Bucky sighed, “I’ll stay here for the night. How does that sound?”

You hiccuped, “T-Thank you.”

Later that night, you were lying beside bucky in the small bed. He was fast asleep but you were wide awake, looking up at the skylight. The full moon was lighting up the room. Carefully, you tossed your feet over the bed, doing your best not to disturb the soldier. You got onto the floor, crawling towards the carpet in the middle of the room. Oftentimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d lay down and stare up at the moon.

You stayed like that for lord knows how long, drifting into a place where all your thoughts were silent.

“What are you doing?” You sat up quickly, your heart racing as his gruff voice snapped you from your trance.

He was shirtless, standing above you, and rubbing his tired eyes. You simply pointed up, “The moon.”

“Get back in bed,” He commanded groggily.

You scooted over slightly, “I can’t sleep ... just come look with me. It’s beautiful.”

“You act like you’ve never seen the fucking moon before, Y/N,” His frustration caught you off guard as he reached down to grab you by your arm. You didn’t mean to but, on instinct, you flinched away. That only led him to grabbing your harder, and you stumbled as he pulled you up, “Get in the bed. You scare me to death when I wake up and can’t feel you.”

“If you care so much then why do you leave me in here for weeks on end.”

His eyes flickered with hurt for a moment, “I won’t … ever again. You need far too much discipline for me to let you be on your own for so long.” You rolled your eyes as you turned away, walking towards the bed.

He grabbed you roughly by your waist, pushing you onto the bed. He pushed you further into the mattress, his hand on the back on your neck, and you were reminded just how cruel he could be. There was a point months ago when you stopped fighting it, knowing in the end he would overpower you, but sometimes your spark appeared.

He lifted your nightgown easily, knowing he wouldn’t find any underwear to tear off, and his hand cupped between your legs. As you struggled beneath him, he felt you, rubbing and running his fingers over your lips, “Me being deep inside you seems to correct your mood. Is that what you need from me, doll face?”

Your spark appeared and went quickly, knowing he could feel your wetness, giving him the permission to sink two of fingers inside you. He moved slow, his knees pressed deep into the bed, as he watched your lips part with a gasp.

“That’s it …”

This was his favorite, knowing he could get you off with just his fingers, his fingers curling against your most sensitive areas. He fastened his pace, pushing in and out of you as you lay there bent over. Knowing you were nearing an orgasm you were sure not to run away from, he moved his vibranium arm from your neck and underneath you where he stimulated your sensitive bud.

“That’s my girl,” He coaxed you as he sent you into a shaking fit, “You finish so well on my fingers, so beautifully.” You came hard, Bucky enjoying the vulnerable view of your face. As he let you go, you pushed down your gown and laid down on your side. The bed dipped as he took a seat, rubbing your thighs as the post-orgasm regret filled you.

“You ever think you have some control over me, I want you to remember this.”

8 months later …

You flipped through the channels six channels that the old television would provide. The soldier thought buying you one would decrease your book intake which he was struggling to keep up with as you read several per week. He wasn’t a fan of technology but the two of you had a long argument about it and he eventually caved.

You weren’t sure if he knew but the TV picked up a local news channel and you got a glimpse into what the world had been like over the past year. Every now and then, there’d be a mention of Sam Wilson and you figured that’s who he was disappearing with when he was gone for weeks at a time.

As you neared closer and closer to your due date, he’d grown nicer than usual, though the way he’d gotten you pregnant wasn’t pleasant at all. “You complain so much about being lonely.” He had said when you’d missed your period, “This is what you wanted, right?”

You weren’t sure if you were just nauseous from the pregnancy or if the idea of raising a baby in that room was making you sick to your stomach. Sometimes you caught yourself being selfish, thinking about having someone to take care of and take up your time. Having someone who could love you properly, in a way that Bucky didn’t quite understand.

“How’s my girl? And how’s my mini me?” Bucky was an abnormally good move when he came down to visit you that night. He was carrying magazines in his hand and you crossed the room, curious to see the details, “I thought you might want to look at nursery stuff.”

“There’s gonna be a nursery,” Your lips pulled into a smile, “Where?”

“Here,” He gestured around and your smile fell, “You can’t be too far from the little tike. I was thinking we could put the crib where your desk is.”

You took the magazines from him, resting them on your protruding stomach, “Oh …” You tried not to sound sad, “You don’t think that maybe the space is too small? I mean, a mom and baby and sometimes you, that’s a lot of people for one room. And when they get older ….” You imagined having a happy little baby but you tried not to think about your child growing up in a box.

“When he gets older, we’ll think about it then,” He stated, already gendering the baby without any actual knowledge. He refused to let you see a doctor, only brought you prenatal vitamins, expecting that you’d have a smooth delivery right here in the room, “For now, it’s plenty of room.”

You nodded, “When he gets older, will you take him outside the room? Kids need space to play and get fresh air.”

“I’ll think about it, Y/N,” Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line.

You didn’t want to push the issue further, not wanting to spoil his mood, “I think a light green will be a good, neutral color for everything. Maybe we can decorate his side of the room.”

He smiled, “Whatever you’d like, doll face.”

You crossed the room, setting the magazines down on your desk, and a scary idea crossed your mind. A scary idea and chance you might just have to take if it meant you could get help. You were getting nowhere screaming at the top of your lungs, hoping for someone to hear you, and asking Bucky over and over again just to let you have fresh air. He was suffocatingly protective and that didn’t seem like it was gonna change. You couldn’t let him do that to your child.

You made dinner and he slept over that night, his vibranium hand holding your waist the entire night.

You planned to catch him off guard the next morning, figuring you’d have the best chance of causing a panic while he was still tired. You got up, whispering that you had to use the restroom, and you slipped inside the room. You read somewhere that only a fourth cup of water comes out when your water breaks, so you fill a cup before drenching your underwear, legs and the bathroom floor.

“Bucky!” You shouted, making sure you looked scared in the mirror, “Bucky!”

The door almost flew off its hinges as the soldier went into full alert. His eyes were wide, examining you, “What-What happened?”

“I-I think my water broke,” A tear slipped down your cheek.

“It’s too early,” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. All the books say it's a gushing feeling and that was definitely gushing.”

“Maybe we should wait … we can wait and see if contractions start-”

You shook your head furiously, cautiously stepping forward, “We have to see a Doctor. W-We have to … contractions are supposed to start before my water breaks a-and I’m only 29 weeks. I can’t have the baby naturally.”

“But-”

“We have to! Please, Bucky, a-all I care about is the baby. Please, I don’t want to lose them. Please don’t make me-”

“Okay, okay,” He nodded, grabbing your face as he wiped your tears, “Uhm …. let's get dressed. There’s a thirty minute drive to the hospital,” You nodded and his eyes narrowed at you, “This is for the baby, remember that. You pull anything and-”

“I know,” You placed your hand over your stomach, pulling away from his grasp.

Your body was heavy when he led you out of that room. You felt your reality shifting as you entered the world again. What surprised you most was how normal the rest of the home was, not particularly homey, but it was nice and spacious. There was even a full front yard and, sadly, you imagined the happy family that could have lived here. You half-expected him to have a wife and kids that he was hiding you from.

Now, sitting in the hospital bed, you watched him paced around, not paying attention to what the Doctor was saying.

“So she’s not in labor? She felt her water breaking.”

“No, Sir. Based on the ultrasound, the amniotic fluid levels are normal. I’m not sure what happened, could be a multitude of things, but it was most likely a false alarm. But don’t worry, it happens all the time. And your baby looks very healthy.”

You opened your mouth to say something but Bucky’s eyes narrowed at you, a warning.

“Okay, thank you, Doc.”

“Do you two have a primary obstetrician? One isn’t listed-”

“Are we free to leave?”

The Doctor took another look at you, as if he was trying to understand our relationship, but if he noticed anything, he didn’t say it, “Yes, you’re free to go. I would just make sure to keep a sharp eye out and give your obstetrician a call if you have a question-”

“Of course, thanks, Doc,” Bucky nodded as he forced a smile. With his dark jacket and black gloves, it was hard for him not to look intimidating.

The Doctor looked down at you with a warm smile, “Let me know if you need anything, ma’am.”

Say something.

If you were going to say something, this would be the time. Why did Bucky have such a hold on you even outside of the room?

As soon as the Doctor left the room, Bucky turned away, frustratedly packing up your bag, “Get up, get dressed, let’s go.”

“Bucky, I really did think-”

“If you don’t want someone in this hospital to get hurt, I’d get dressed and keep your mouth shut.”

You moved your legs to the side, real tears beginning to fall down your face, as you struggled to get your dress on. Bucky noticed your sniffling from the corner of his eye. He moved towards you, kneeling down beside the bed, “Hey, I’m sorry …. I’m just stressed out. I don’t like you being here ... but everything is going to be okay. Our baby is perfectly healthy and we’ll be home soon. There will be no more interruptions after this.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to nod in agreement knowing that your own opinion didn’t matter. Bucky was god, enforcing his will on you, and claiming he knew best. You felt so small in comparison to him but there had to be something left within you that could keep fighting, that could keep you from going willingly back into that room-

“Y/N?”

You perked up, “Yes?”

“C’mon doll face, let’s go home.”

hope you enjoyed! not sure where i want to take this so feedback will be much appreciated!

#dark fic #dark fics #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky smut #stockholm syndrome #bucky barnes x black!reader #dark!bucky

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