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littlemoondarlingarts · 3 years

Text

Unfortunately it happened

A short story about two of my ocs that I've been writing for a while, please read the trigger warnings carefully before proceeding to the story.

Genre: magical realism with hints of psychological horror.

Word count: 4293 words.

Tw: Abuse, domestic abuse, past abuse, ptsd, hallucinations, claustrophobic scenes, blood, glass shards, mild sexual scene, possible sexual assault, disrespecting the boundaries of an autistic child, abandonment issues.

If there are any more possible trigger warnings that I didn't write, please let me know.

Drip.

The thick warm blood irregularly dripped onto the rotting floor as Theodore tried to wrestle out the large glass shard that was lodged deep in his skull. He knew that pulling it out would only cause him to bleed more, but he had no other choice, his body just wouldn't heal around it. It's not like he could even go to a hospital. They ask questions there. Too many questions. He hissed in pain, fingers slipping over the smooth, wet surface, making the job ten times harder than what it already was.

Fear and pain overwhelmed his senses to the point where he couldn't even hear the squeaks of the wooden planks that normally annoyed him to no end. He only noticed that someone was in the small room with him when a pair of tiny pale feet stopped right infront of him.

"Stay back baby, there's glass on the floor." He let his hand fall down, the stubborn shard finally dislodged from his forehead, "Go back to your room, I'm okay." The obvious lie slipped through his blooded lips like smooth butter, if there was something Theodore excelled exceptionally at, it was lying with confidence so great that you would believe him over your very own eyes.

"Why don't you stop him?" Fran asked meekly, shoulders tense and lips pouty, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his favourite shirt violently enough to tear the delicate embroidery his dad had spend countless hours on.

Theodore lifted his head, his tired eyes taking in the heart wrenching sight of the boy he grew to call his son. Fran's whole body was trembling, his small fingers red and bruised from unconsciously fighting with the thread, his nose was swollen, the skin around his eyes was puffy. It was clear as day that the little boy had been crying for a while now.... probably since the fight started.

"Franny," Theo started softly, "I'm alright now. It's over, okay? Just go to your room, I'll follow you in a bit. Promise."

But the little vampire didn't budge, his cold feet planted firmly on the floor, lips forming a thin line accompanied by a deep frown barely hidden by loose white curls. Theodore sighed, he wanted so badly to hold his son's hands and carry him back to his room like he did every night before, but he was scared if he'd moved even an inch more he'd tear his shirt even further, revealing more bruises and cuts, subsequently traumatizing the boy more. So he stayed put.

"Why don't you stop him?" Fran repeated.

"Baby you know I-"

"WHY DON'T YOU STOP HIM?!"

The abrupt outburst took Theodore by surprise, making him flinch back on the bed. His wide blue eyes were chaotic as they searched the smaller one's face for any ounce of sympathy. It was silly, really, to be looking for such emotions in a clearly overwhelmed and traumatized kid, but Theo couldn't help himself, couldn't help the fear that was eating away at him, one angry word at a time.

"I know you can, Teddy. You used to stand up to daddy! And he was a VAMPIRE!" Fran said with a bit of pride in his voice, "You know what? I think we should go back to living with him! Maybe Elliot is waiting for us there! And the-"

"Elliot left. He isn't waiting for us anywhere, he doesn't want us anymore." Theodore shrunk back to himself when he noticed the amount of venom in his voice, "Besides Franny, you know I'll never let him hurt you. I'll never let anyone hurt you." He tried giving the most reassuring smile he could muster with the dull ache in his bruised cheeks.

Fran was silent for a long, dreadful second before hot tears raced down his face, "You can't even protect yourself..."

That sentence was like a punch to the gut. He never thought about the consequences that their constant fighting had on his son. He thought, no, he made himself believe that as long as Fran was in no immediate physical danger, everything was okay. It almost frightened him just how much he was willing to ignore and sweep under the rug just to let himself feel like a good father.

"I don't feel safe here... I'm scared." Fran sniffled, "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and-and find you dead!" It was getting harder for the little vampire to speak as the tears kept flowing, "Or.. or that you would... would just leave me here like Elliot did... or.. or yo-" violent sobs wrecked his body, forbidding him from finishing his sentence.

Theodore was lost. He promised Rouge and Elliot.. fuck those two, he promised himself that he would give Fran the best life possible, and yet here he is... shaking and wailing helplessly... He needed to do something, and he needed to do it fast. But what? What could he do?

What would dad have done? Dad wouldn't let himself be in this fucking situation. But if he was ... what would he have done?? Theodore's hands were now shaking uncontrollably as he tried to think of an answer. He would've pulled me close. Held me tight in his arms and told me that he'll keep me safe no matter what. That everything will be okay. Yes. Yes... that's what he would've done.

And so he reached forward, taking the now bloodied tiny hands in his and pulling Fran into his arms, holding the sobbing boy as tight as he could.

But the truth is. What his father would've done is vastly different that what Theodore should've done. Because in that moment of pure loss and desperation, he forgot one crucial detail... Fran can't handle being touched. Especially not being hugged.

Fran yanked himself backwards with powers unnatural to him, his body was sent flying until he hit the floor with a loud thud that almost made Theodore's heart stop, but to the boy, anything was better then being held like that.

"Franny... I'm so sorry... I forgo-" Before he could finish his sentence, the vampire was on his feet and running out the room. His loud footsteps quickly fading into nothingness before the deafening slam of a door shook the old house to it's core.

Theodore let himself fall back on the bed, sending small dust particles flying all over him and irritating his allergies. He quickly placed a hand over his nose to stop himself from inhaling any of that dust, he can't afford having his brains ooze out his wounds if he sneezed.

His eyes closed before he could decide otherwise. It's okay... it will be okay.. he'd probably gone to bed now, I should do that too. Tomorrow will be different, it will be better, I'll make some scrambled eggs and bacon.. wait no, Fran is a vegetarian you idiot, he doesn't eat that shit!... fuck. I can make uh... grilled cheese sandwiches.. yeah he'll surely like that....

But deep down Theodore knew that he isn't a kid that can go to bed when he is tired or in pain anymore, he is an adult now, with a kid of his own and all the responsibilities that come with it..

The obnoxious sound of the sports channel blaring from the living room and the rhythmic pouring of rain on the window along with phantom barking of a distant dog were like a hammer smashing into Theodore's head over and over again. Every little sound was cranked up to a hundred, even his own heartbeating was agonizing.

He forced his body to sit back up, becoming face to face with the long mirror nailed to the wall which seemed to be closing in on him. Theodore instinctively pushed himself backwards until his back hit the cold wall as the room began fold in on itself until the mirror was nearly touching his feet. He wrapped his arms around his body in an attempt to ground himself as his claustrophobia kicked in and his breathing quickened to a painful degree.

He forced his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the walls that were now touching every inch of him. And his thoughts drifted back to the only place they could... Is it possible Franny is scared like this now? He feels unsafe.. he said that himself.. I can't just leave him alone in his room until the next sunset... that's not what dad would've done.. that's..that's what mom did... leave me alone and ignore me when I needed her most then pretend nothing happened the next day... that's what I was going to do...

The thought made his eyes shoot open only to be faced with her image in the mirror, blue eyes staring down at him with familiar disappointment. His blood boiled. He is becoming her! Repeating the cycle of neglectful abuse and torment until noone survives. In a moment of blind rage he balled his fist and swiftly moved to shatter the mirror and all the pain it was causing, but he found himself slammed to the floor, bloody knuckles causing a dent in it... it seems as tho the wall was still as far away as it always had been.

He stayed there for a moment, tears pouring down unapologetically as he tried to compose himself. He soon found enough willpower to stand up, but before he could take a step forward, sharp pain shot up straight to his head, forcing him to grab onto the nearest wall for balance.

Once the pain dulled down enough for him to be able to open his eyes, he looked down at the apparent source, only to see that his right ankle had doubled in size, blue and swollen as if there was a tennis ball underneath the skin. He rested the back of his head on the window, feeling the cold droplets of rain leaking through and falling on his cheeks.

He sighed, he would heal, he always did. But it would take time, and unlike Silas, this fucker never cared for him after beating him up. Theodore chuckled to himself, never in a million years did he think he would use Silas as a positive example for anything, goes to show just how low his life had sunk.

Nevertheless, he needs to persist, not for himself but for the little vampire that depended on him.

He thought about taking a quick shower to wash off all the blood, but something told him not to, to just check on Fran as soon as possible, and Theodore's gut feeling had never failed him before, so he always followed it, even if he knew that his son was safe in his bed, wrapped in a fluffy blanket that Theo had spent all his money on. He smiled, remembering how Franny's eyes twinkled when he first saw the bee pattern on it. Oh how he wishes he would see him this happy every second of every day.

Still smiling, he managed to take off the ripped shirt without aggravating his injuries too much. He held the black tee in his hands, staring at the bright neon pink "Angel♡" written on it in a metal font with the white signature of the singer along the neck.

He got this shirt 2 years back when he went to the live performance, Angel wasn't even the main performer back then, they were merely the opening act. Given how small they were, they didn't have a signing booth, it was actually pure luck that Theodore managed to meet them outside while they were waiting for a taxi.

And he thought that Rouge was tall! Angel was at least eight feet, to the point where he felt like a little cat after cranking his neck up so high just to be able to see their face, and what a truly terrifying face it was! Almost nightmarish with their black bug eyes and their long pointy teeth! But they were nice, maybe a bit blunt and lacking a social filter, but after being with Fran for a while, Theodore got used to unwanted comments... wait.. Fran... now THAT is what he was here to do!

He immediately put his favourite shirt down on a nearby wooden chair, promising to fix the rip the moment he can carry something as delicate as a needle without his hands shaking and dropping it, he threw on an oversized sweater that used to belong to Elliot, a pair of ghost patterned pyjama pants and made his way to the corridor.

Theodore was still grabbing onto the walls as he limbed his way to the door covered in stickers, it was slightly ajar which was strange considering that Fran had slammed it, but with how rusted the hinges are, anything is possible. He slowly pushed the door open, peering into the dark room, noticing how the moonlight softly illuminated the blanket-covered lump on the bed.

He should be happy? Maybe relieved? But instead, all he could feel is the bile rising to his throat, and he just couldn't tell why, perhaps he was just anxious about the impending talk. Yes. It must be that.

Theodore slowly stepped toward the small bed, feeling the mattress sink under his weight as he sat on it. "Hey Franny..." no answer, "It's me Teddy," again, nothing. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his aching neck, "listen I came here to apologise, and I... are you asleep??" He pulled down the blanket only to see that it was only a group of plushies in the vague shape of a kid.

Adrenaline shot through his body making him forget all about his pain and injuries as he quickly opened the closet, looked under the bed, tore the covers from the bed. Yet.... Fran is nowhere to be seen.

"FRAN!" Theodore yelled at the top of his lungs, "FRAAAANN!" He stood aimlessly in the little room filled with the missing boy's trinkets and drawings, his breath so fast he could hear it as he impatiently waited for an answer, "Baby where are you?!"

He could feel the little plushies staring at him, knowing where his baby is but not telling him, they don't want Fran to go back to being with such a horrible father. Theodore grabbed his son's favourite one, a large fluffy bee he had won for him during a passing carnival. He forcefully held it, his fingers smearing the blood all over the bright yellow as he shook it back and forth in the air.

"Where is he goddamn it! Where is he?" He screamed over and over again at the defenseless bee.

To anyone passing by, this seems like complete and utter madness, a father interrogating a stuffed animal instead of searching the whole house for his missing son? But to Theodore in the moment, it made sense. These plushies were the closest to the little vampire, they know his secrets and feelings more than Theo ever apparently did. So it must be obvious that they would be the ones knowing where his precious baby would be.

"I know you know! So just tell me!" His voice broke as a pained sob took over him, making him hold onto the door handle as his knees seemed to buckle under him. "I'll make it better... I swear.."

"He went out you crazy bitch!" The familiar gruff voice came from the living room, it was naturally loud enough to drown out everything else, even the news channel. Or perhaps that was just Theodore's mind only focusing on what matters to him, whichever case it was, he heard it loud and clear.

"What?" He whispered, soft and almost silent; like a deer caught in headlights, he couldn't move a single muscle in his body. He was painfully aware of this, too; the fact that he is just. Sitting. There. Like a useless piece of shit. His brain screamed at him to 'MOVE IT YOU FUCKER! MOVE!' But his body was almost paralyzed, unable to do anything, not even blink.

It may have taken mere seconds to get up and be in the living room, but it felt like years. Years of him being useless and worthless.

He ran down the short corridor.

He ran.

And ran.

And with every step, the corridor seemed to stretch further and further, the end feeling more like a mirage as countless doors strung on the walls. Screams were erupting from behind them, defeaning and terrifying. A minute of thinking would've made him recognize the voice as Fran's, and this was one of the many instances where he regretted ever doing that. Theodore shut his eyes, covering his ears with his hands and just ran forward like a fish in the deep dark ocean where the sun can't reach.

"What do you mean?" His voice was erratic when he finally made it to the living room, gripping the worn down sofa that his "boyfriend" was sitting calmly on, as if a kid isn't out in the dark and rain all on his own.

"He's just breathing some air after all that shit you caused!" The man turned to look at him, "You think I didn't hear all that? Well news flash baby, I have ears."

His absolute nonchalance about the whole thing was irritating Theodore to no end, and Theodore wore his emotions on his sleeves. His eyes darkened dangerously as he almost felt himself growl, but he had to control himself as that would definitely get him another beer bottle to the head.

The man chuckled softly, putting his large hand on top of Theodore's much tinier one, "You're too worried about him, Francis is-"

"Fran." He corrected in a low, deep voice.

"Whatever, same thing. Point is, he is a little man now! If he wants to go out and calm his nerves after you wrecked them, then let him!" He smiled, trying to pull the shorter man towards him, but he didn't budge. "Listen baby, you need to give him some time to work out his emotions, stop getting in his business you little helicopter!"

The man pulled again, this time successfully getting the half dissociated Theodore around the sofa and onto his lap. When he said it like that.... it almost made sense. Fran isn't eight and he really was hurt by all that Theo had done tonight and most nights before that, he does need some time to process all that. Or maybe that was just his way of feeling less guilty, believing that this is just a natural reaction rather than face the fact that his son's terrible immune system won't handle the cold and rain.

"That's right baby," the man held Theodore close, and like a moth to flame he leaned into it, craving any sort of affection and sympathy, "calm down now," his rough hands gently petted Theo's curls which were now matted with a mixture of blood, bear and sweat, "it's all okay," He moved his hand down, moving over Theodore's back in slow and rhythmic circles. "Daddy's here," testing his luck, the man moved his hand further down and gripped Theodore's buttocks firmly.

This sent reality crushing down on the poor man, this isn't okay. Nothing about a frail and sickly eleven year old kid being alone outside in the raining night in a place surrounded with dangerous wildlife is okay. No matter how hard he wants to shake the guilt off. How hard he wants to lean into this rare moment of gentleness. He can't. Not when his son is all alone. Not in a million years.

Theodore placed his hands on his boyfriend's large chest and pushed himself off his lap, getting to his feet as quickly as he can without losing his balance and running to the door as if he is a prisoner that just found the keys.

"Well fuck you too slut! I never wanted your trashy ass anyway! Go get eaten by wolves! You and your annoying ass kid!"

But Theodore had already made it outside and started the long process of running around aimlessly and yelling Fran's name at the top of his lungs. After thoroughly running through the front yard, he took a deep freezing breath and made his way into the surrounding woods where the fading moonlight didn't reach.

He quickly lit up the lighter, the rain putting out the flame before he could do anything, so he bent down, wrapping his body around it like a deer would to her fawn, and tried lighting it up again. The small flame persisted long enough for it to turn blue and be transferred onto Theodore's palm.

He extended the demonic flame infront of his face, making his eyes twinkle with otherworldly lights, he was hoping that animals would find it's strange color intimidating rather than inviting, and that Fran would recognize it as his and find him. Clearly too much faith in a silly little flame, even if it is magical in nature.

Theodore's feet got sliced and bruised by the rocks and thorns on the ground, but nevertheless he persisted, his dark fingers gripping the ancient trunks for dear life, not caring about the skin being scratched and peeled off if them.

He opened his mouth to yell for his boy, "Fraaan.." he coughed, hoping that his voice would come back, "Fra.... fuck me." His voice was gone, almost completely after the endless screaming and yelling he did this night, both while searching for Fran and the big fuckin fight that had happened before.

With no voice to speak of, Theodore felt... weak. He couldn't yell for Fran and the hope that the boy would see the flame on his own and follow it is... statistically very low. He was defeated. He failed himself, his father, Fran... everyone that can be failed.

He made his way out of the forest, he had already searched the surrounding area on foot. He had the small tiny twinkle of hope that Fran had made his way back home alone, that he really was just breathing some air. That he is now safe and cuddled underneath the blanket. Safe. And sound.

Theodore stood infront of the closed door. Body shaking from the cold rain and pain, he stood there for a while, just letting the tears silently fall down, not daring to go inside and face the truth.

"Teddy?" A small familiar voice echoed in his head, making him smile a little. He had been first given that nickname by his mom, but now that Franny used to call him that, it no longer feels... humiliating. It feels warm and comfortable, it feels like a purpose and having someone that depends on you and trusts you.

"Teddy!" The small voice came again, this time angrier, like a tiny kitten's hiss.

Is it possible that this.. isn't in Theodore's head? That Fran was actually yelling for him?

He tore his eyes away from the door and looked around, and sure enough, he easily spotted the head of white fluffy hair struggling to get out of under his boyfriend's car.

Theodore rushed to help his son get out without being scratched or injured, he held the boy's tiny hands and pulled slowly, stopping to fluff down his shirt to make the sliding easier. Once his bottom was out, his short legs were an easy task.

"Thank gawd! I thought I was gonna be stuck under there forever! Or that that bastard was gonna drive tomorrow and I'll become tomato paste!" The little boy was flailing his arms around as he spoke, finally settling for a dramatic break as while saying "tomato paste!"

He tried keeping himself composed, he really did, slowly stroked his son's curls, but quickly enough Theodore crumbled. Exhaustion, pain and all that worry that he was barely holding, finally broke him. He hid his face behind his hands as he cried uncontrollably. His drenched shoulders shaking with each painful sob.

"Teddy?" Fran asked worriedly, his soft voice kept quiet as if Theodore was a rabbit that he didn't want to scare off. "Why are you crying?"

It might seem like a stupid question given the circumstances, and if it was anyone else, Theodore would've given them the deathglare. But he knew that Franny genuinely couldn't understand the consequences of actions, wether they were his own or others. So he simply sniffled and smiled as bright as he could, resuming to fluff up his baby's hair.

Fran's face scrunched up as if he had tasted a lemon, his soft features all grouping in the middle of his face. But he didn't mind this, not really, he just found it fun to do this face because he doesn't get to often. And Theodore knows this, they spoke about this before... before this.. him.

"I wanna sleeeeeeeeeeep." Fran whined while pouting, earning him an honest chuckle from his dad.

Theodore opened his arms as his son jumped up, landing perfectly on his waiting shoulder. Fran swung his feet, accidentally hitting his father's chest a few times, not too many times tho as he was doing his absolute best to avoid it. But that swinging was making it harder for Theo to safely stand up, but he made do and made his way back indoors carrying his son like a sack of potatoes, which is the only way Franny likes to be held.

Deep in his mind, Theodore knew that this won't be the end of this abusive relationship, he was too dependent, too afraid of being abandoned and left alone to leave. But the cracks were only becoming more and more prominent, and hell was knocking on their door.

#my art #my writing #my oc #oc #theodore #fran #do i have to add all the tws here?#i don't think i do #anyway #take care

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Fuckin’ Legit

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Follow up to Fuckin’ Teamwork, based off this ask. A/N: More silly shenanigans. Dumbass reader :) 2.1k words

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

Bucky watches from a distance as you hurl through the air and land right heel-first on the training dummy, knocking its head off and making it bounce off the floor with enough force to lodge itself into the ceiling. The room of SHIELD recruits clap and cheer, and when the dummy’s head flops back down you kick it like a hacky-sack at Maria Hill.

“Great demonstration,” Hill catches the head and tucks it under her arm. “Are you interested in teaching a course in hand-to-hand combat with a focus on aerial recovery? Legitimately?”

“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me.” You send a wink at her and then, as soon as you see Bucky’s bewildered face through the other side of the glass, you leap after him. He’s convinced you’re dumber than a bag of rocks, but you’re not deterred by it—especially not after Maria Hill’s validation. Puffing your chest, you skip forward, “Hey, Buck! I’m legit!”

Immediately, you trip and face plant into the nearest surface. The room collectively hisses in discomfort.

“I take that back.” Maria hurriedly ushers the recruits out before they can witness anything else.

Bucky slips through the door and roughly yanks you up by your elbow, wincing when your nose reveals a line of blood dripping into your mouth. “Legit, my ass. Come on. Stark called for us.”

The air in the conference room is stagnant and overwrought with a million unsaid—unscreamed—expressions. Tony pivots on his lifted heels, finger jabbing toward the big screen where a dark and grainy image is projected.

“Care to explain this? Friday pulled it from a broadcast coming from the cell.” He narrows his eyes at you as you slump down into the swivel chair until only the top of your head shows. “How about you?” Tony gestures to Bucky.

Tony has a laser pointer in his other hand, and he shines the red spotlight on the picture where Bucky’s knees are bent and planted to the ground. The dot trails over his thigh and then over the smaller frame beneath him.

You’re there, arched upward into his torso, legs hooked around his tapered waist, heels digging into his spine. Four of his thick flesh fingers are shoved inside your mouth, pulling your cheek open, and the dim light catches a sliver of your wet tongue. His other forearm is pushed onto your sternum, holding you down.

It looks bad.

It looks like Bucky is dry humping the daylights out of you in an abandoned Hydra facility.

Sam erupts into a screeching laugh when he finally pieces it together, pitching forward until he’s flattened against the wood table. “Ho-Homygod--- This is the best day of my life. Is this the cyanide incident?”

Bucky is red from head to toe.

Natasha rolls her eyes and slides away from the table. “Tony, she ate two cyanide capsules. Barnes was wrestling them out of her mouth.”

Tony stiffens for a moment as he ponders the truth behind her statement. Then, he quirks his head like an owl, flares his nostrils, and stoops beneath the table to find you resembling a boneless pile of flesh.

“Everyone is dismissed.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I wish I could fire you.”

A quiet whimper escapes your lips, the most pathetic noise to ever come from a human being. “But…” You whine pathetically, “I’m legit.”

A few nights later, you find yourself sneaking through yet another dusty old hideout. Surprise, surprise, Hydra is bad with maintenance and loves asbestos.

Steve made you an outline of all your tasks on his mission, written in all caps, folded neatly, and shoved it into your back pocket before departure. You skimmed over it on the plane before crumbling it up. The first bullet point had glared: NO CANDY.

Tightass.

You easily clear the wing and dispatch your status to Sam who is waiting patiently in the jet, fingers on the console. Bucky is patrolling the perimeter and you are taking the east side while Redwing zooms through the west.

There have been trip wires (newbie shit) and also surprisingly advanced attempts at entrapment so far (motion sensors, temperature regulated alarms). They’ve all been expertly pulled apart and rewired and you are taking a short break fucking around in the hallway, peering at dusty paintings of – some old dead bald guys. You take a picture of one and send it to Tony, labelled it’s like looking into the future.

Chortling, you continue down the corridor aimlessly until you hear a creak.

The knife in your hand is blade-first and coming down hard on the body sneaking up until— “Oh Barnes!” You cry happily, tucking it back into the strap on your wrist. “Good. You’re here! There’s only one more room—I’ve been crushing it.”

Literally two seconds after you say that, you turn the corner and run face-first into the door. Bucky pauses as if he doesn’t quite register what just happened before slowly reaching forward and gently applying pressure to the handle.

It’s written all over his face: you’re an idiot. You are seriously lacking some brain cells.

He leads the way carefully, swatting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and taking stock of each corner, rifle pointed forward and alert. Behind him, your boots thump noisily against the floor and a chair is tipped over when your arm crashes into it.

Bucky spins on his heels and catches the chair before it can fall on top of what looks like a very obviously placed … box.

It’s a box.

A giant red box is on the floor, outlined with a square of white tape. Two abnormally unsoiled items in a room made almost entirely out of forty-year old dandruff. Your hands are already on both sides of it before Bucky can knock you out of the way.

“Don’t!” He screams because fucking anything could be under there!

A wild animal! A toxic chemical! A bomb! Snakes, for fuck’s sake! His eyes widen at the fading shadow cast on the floor as you lift the top away. Then, his heart stops beating.

It’s a slice of cake. And a cup of tea. A single slice of vanilla sheet cake neatly decorated with a blush-pink rose and two perfectly piped green leaves. The faint smell of jasmine wafts into the air.

Bucky barrels into you before you get the chance to lick your lips.

“Wilson!” He calls into the comm as you push his face away with an offended yelp, “They’re in the east side—set a trap for us! Get over here and bring your stupid bird too! I swear to God—NO! DO NOT!”

In the hovering Quinjet, Sam Wilson leaps to his feet and swoops out of the cabin, wings folded as he dives. “Come again?!” He taps on the comm wedged inside his left ear, “Barnes!?”

“-- fuck-- gonna—fucking--- stop BITING ME!”

A furious row of explosions blare in Sam’s ear as he banks a sharp left and lands on two feet, tearing his way inside the facility, checking on his wrist all the while. Redwing’s camera is glitching, but he can make out flashes of gunfire and what looks like at least five bodies, not including his two teammates. Bursts of white erupt on the screen and Sam’s heart picks up a tremendous pace before he kicks the door down, pistols out and aimed.

A silence smothers the room before grunting and screaming erupts again over Sam’s shout of, “What is going on in here?!”

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the exact moment I came upon my fellow Avengers,” Sam pauses, waving his hand with a bow at the image projected on the conference room screen.

Friday pulled another image from the broadcast before Sam shot out all the cameras in the facility.

It seems that the previous video of you eating cyanide had been intercepted through a bounced signal from the original recording’s output and those on the other end decided you were enough of a proper imbecile to be tricked by something as simple as a slice of cake.

They weren’t wrong.

Tony’s laser is in Sam’s hand and he points the dot in flashes five times, “Dead dudes. Check.” The dot moves on, landing on two splayed out legs before it runs up the side of Bucky’s body pressed to the concrete. “Barnes. Check.” Bucky shuts his eyes and slams his head into the table. “And… here we have this.”

Sam points to you, bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you lurch forward, one hand outstretched and smeared with frosting while the other holds your torso barely an inch from the ground, paying no mind to the two elbows digging into your stomach. Sam points again to where your crotch is pushed right into Bucky’s face.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve mutters, flushing red, “I wrote you directions for a reason…”

“Excuse me,” You huff, “Cake is not candy.”

“Really?!” Bucky snaps, “That’s the hill you’re going to die on!? You ran into the door! You knocked over a chair! You looked at the one thing that did not belong in the room and you picked it up even after I told you not to!”

Steve jumps back into the grilling, “And if you would have read the rest of the list—NO FOOD AT ALL was number two!”

“Oh yeah!?” You’re near hysterical now, shrieking at the top of your lungs. Stupid men ganging up on you. “What was number three? No fun!? I’m Captain America and I’m such a tightass--”

Bucky cuts you off, throwing his hands up into the air, “Number three was get the blueprints!”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent as you tuck your hand into the pocket of your pants. “Why didn’t you just say so? I nabbed ‘em as soon as I got in there. Marked off the locations of all the cameras and security alarms—not like that matters since Wilson shot them and I disarmed the rest in the east wing. Also, there were corridors and secret entryways not in the file. It’s on here now.”

Carelessly, you chuck the flash drive from your pocket at Steve and it smacks him in the chest. Sam crosses his arms and cocks his head at you, “Shit. Didn’t know you were all that.”

You frolic to the door, “See ya later!”

Three men watch on in shocked silence as you prance down the hallway, banking a sharp right towards your room. Steve stares from Sam to Bucky and then to the flash drive in his hand.

Sam clucks, “You know what… All things considered… the girl is legit.”

He calls your name, bangs on the door with a hard fist and when it cracks open, you peek your head out with tired eyes. “Sup, buttercup?”

“Why are you like this? The cyanide? The cake? You had the flash drive the whole time!”

You shrug off what sounds like an accusation, “I dunno. I’m good at my job.” Bucky crosses his arms. “Barnes!” You scold with a growing grin, “I’m legit! I just… you know. Why put all the pressure on myself when you’re around?”

You snort a little, scratch your tummy underneath an oversized shirt absently, and shrug your shoulders repeatedly like you’re dancing. Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re an idiot because of me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I know you’ll take care of me.”

He freezes. Feels a sudden swell of heat rush from his chest to the top of his head. Bucky opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. He closes it. You give him a sleepy grin, leaning on the door and swinging it wide, faltering against the knob with a yelp.

Swiftly, and true to his character, Bucky catches you with one arm.

Hanging from his hold, body twisted around, you look up into his blue eyes. They’re strangely tender, dancing over your face with an inquisitive glimmer.

The moment shatters when Bucky’s gaze stops at your neckline. “Is that—" he frowns, “Is your shirt on backwards?”

You nod. “Uh huh. Inside out too.”

His eyes slip shut. With a sigh, he drops you flat on your back and turns around. “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

Down the hallway as he stomps off, cursing the moment the thought you were cute or something… he hears your voice calling.

“I’m an idiot— but I’m legit, right? And I’m your idiot, right? Bucky? Bucky!”

Bucky holds back a grin. Flicks you off behind his back. Legit or not, he would never give you the satisfaction of knowing.

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#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #crackfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #humor

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milenasanchezmk · 7 years

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The Plight of the Modern Foot: Conditions that Plague Us—and How to Avoid Them

For all the focus on hearts and arteries, brain tissue and muscle mass, we tend to neglect one critical part of the body with dramatic influence over how we fare in later decades. It’s little surprise really. Feet don’t exactly garner much attention, let alone media time. Yet, the stakes are big.

For example, research shows that foot conditions like hallux vagus (HV, a common forefoot deformity in older people commonly referred to as “bunions”) was directly associated with marked decreases in quality of life. Foot pain, reduced foot function, lowered social capacity, and even degraded general health. That sort of thing.

But that’s just one foot condition, right? Yes…and no. The picture of averages looks rather bleak.

A clinical assessment of 166 Hong Kong hospital outpatients over the age of 65 found that 70% of those patients had some sort of foot condition. In the U.S., things aren’t much better. While surveys have shown extensive variability in reports of foot problems (anywhere between 30% and 95%), other research points to more dramatic prevalence of what I’d consider significant problems. Large-scale, random epidemiological studies aren’t available without confounding factors that muddy the waters. Still, one extensive European study found that 78% of people over 65 suffered from kind of diagnosed foot issue. Even at the most conservative of estimates, that means a minimum of one third of all Americans over 65 will have some form of debilitating foot disorder. And the worst part? Many of the studies discovered that only a small percentage of these people actually report or complain about their foot problems. Apparently, for them it’s just a fact of life.

But most of us here choose differently for ourselves. We prefer to challenge that fatalist “come what may” approach to aging. Feet shouldn’t be an exception. In fact, given the statistics, they might well be a smart priority.

Common Foot Conditions to Avoid

The human foot is an anatomical masterpiece. Each one is made up of 42 muscles, 26 bones, 33 joints, and over 50 ligaments and tendons. That’s more than a little impressive, but it also means that a lot that can go wrong…especially given their workload every day.

Gout

Gout targets the feet and particularly the big toe, causing intense pain and a whole lot of swelling. Unfortunately, many health care providers seem to take great pleasure in informing the Primal, paleo, or general whole food eater that their chances of gout have just skyrocketed on account of all those purines. Purines from organ meats, seafood and various other quintessentially Primal go-to’s.

I’ve talked about gout at length before, so there’s no need to delve back into it. Suffice to say that these kinds of “rich man’s” foods do elevate purines and therefore uric acid in the blood, but they’re also generally high in anti-inflammatory fatty acids. Research shows that systemic inflammation is a key catalyst for gout attacks, meaning high-quality Primal-friendly meats can actually reduce your risk of gout by lowering this causative inflammation. Hah!

I’d personally be more worried about fructose. In elevated doses from the likes of high fructose corn syrup and table sugar, fructose has been shown to promote excess uric acid production and prevent it’s excretion in urine. Alcoholic and smoking binges will have much the same effect.

Athlete’s Foot

As you’re probably well aware, athlete’s foot is the work of our good friend, fungus. Ideal conditions for this mildly repulsive affliction are the same as those for most fungi—warm, dark, moist environments. The same environment that you’re creating on your feet every time you slip on socks and shoes for the day… Look for signs of athlete’s foot between the toes or on the soles of the feet, indicated by inflamed skin or a white, scaly rash with a red undertone. Delicious.

And while most of us would file athlete’s foot under minor inconvenience, there’s sometimes more worth considering. The cause of athlete’s foot can morph from a fungal-derived condition at the early stages to a bacterial overgrowth-derived condition as the skin slowly but surely becomes more “macerated.” Athlete’s foot also has a strong association with cellulitis. Marathon runners have been identified as one of the most at-risk groups for developing athlete’s foot. (File it under obvious on account of having their feet shoved into hot, sweaty shoes for hours at a time.) Barefoot running, anyone?

Hammertoe

If your second, third, or fourth toe is crossed, bent in the middle of the toe joint, or just pointing at an odd angle, you may have a hammertoe. Hammertoes are the tip of the poor foot-health iceberg, and can pave the way for various other foot conditions. The number one cause of hammertoe? Ill-fitting shoes. This might seem straightforward, but, again, the picture gets more complicated than shoe design.

While adopting a Primal diet greatly diminishes your diabetes risk, it’s useful to know that people suffering from diabetes have a much higher likelihood of developing foot problems like hammertoe. In fact, of the 16 million or so Americans with diabetes, around a quarter of them will develop foot problems related to this disease. Pro-inflammatory cytokines, appear to play a role in the development of diabetic foot disorders like hammertoe. Diabetic neuropathy lowers one’s sensitivity to pain, meaning they’re more likely to develop foot-stressing gaits and wear ill-fitting shoes that can then lead to the development of hammertoe. Neurological conditions like Parkinson’s and Cerebral Palsy or any other health problem that distorts the gait can put you more at risk.

Bunions (Hallux vagus)

Got a weird-looking joint on your big toe that forces it to turn into your smaller toes? You’ve probably got a bunion. Research has time and again identified shoes as the leading cause of bunions. As one study observed, “hallux vagus (the condition I mentioned earlier) occurs almost exclusively in shoe-wearing societies.” (Grok is nodding here….)

The more constrained the shoe, like heels or pointed dress shoes, the higher the risk. Safety footwear has also been identified as a common harbinger of bunions.

Women and anyone who is flat-footed might take special notice.

Corns and calluses

An oddly visual yin and yang of the hardened skin world. Corns look slightly cone-shaped and point inwards, while calluses cover a larger area and are more convex in nature. If you’ve got hard areas of skin forming where certain foot pressure points are rubbing on your shoes, you’ve probably got a corn or callus forming.

Corns and calluses can be the result of stresses imposed by ill-fitting footwear, foot deformity (and the subsequent mechanical abnormalities), as well as high activity levels. Essentially, corns and calluses are your skin’s attempt to protect itself from excessive friction. And I think you know where that friction is coming from.

Plantar Fasciitis and Heel Spurs

Plantar fasciitis occurs when the connective tissue between the ball of your foot and the heel becomes inflamed. Coming from experience, it feels like a perpetual bruise on the bottom of your foot. Heel spurs are bony growths at the heel base that often develop after you’ve had plantar fasciitis.

I’ve actually had plantar fasciitis before, and I can confirm that it’s no fun at all. My theory is that it developed by repeated jumping and high-impact exercises performed on a hard surface with no shoes. It wasn’t the lack of shoes that was the problem, it was the hard surface – repeated slamming of the feet (and perhaps not enough landing on the balls of my feet) on that surface was bound to result in bruising, and hence plantar fasciitis, eventually. This didn’t go away until I ditched my nearly every shoe I owned and spent more time on grass and sand than hard surfaces.

Using Primal Approaches to Promote Foot Health

As much impact (oh, the puns…) as foot health can have on mobility and quality of life, it’s really rooted in the basics of Primal well-being. The more your feet can emulate those of Grok, the more robust they’ll likely end up being. As always, we modify for the necessities of our immediate environments. Wood chopping barefoot? Heavy weightlifting barefoot? Strolling the urban jungle barefoot? I’d be inclined to opt for the “shoed” option in those scenarios.

I’ve written at length about bare footing and minimalist shoes. In the past, I’ve highlighted research showing that societies that have largely forgone the whole shoe craze were completely free of all the modern foot conditions I discussed in the previous section. I’ve reflected on the ways shoes have become a part of our psyche, and why switching to a shoeless way of life can ensure continuing foot health into the future.

So what are you to do when faced with a compulsory shoe scenario? This is where our conventional practitioners’ advice may finally be of some use. Unsurprisingly, research shows that folks who switch to wider, higher, “box-toed” shoes reduce their risk. Research also indicates that those who wear constrained shoes like heels or pointed dress shoes are at the greatest risk of developing foot problems. The take-away from this is self explanatory, really – give your feet room to move within their compulsory housing. Avoid shoes that taper in towards the end, that have a low ceiling, and that don’t allow your toes some lateral and vertical wiggle room. Free range toes, as it were.

LIkewise, it’s important to keep feet both dry and supple. This might seem like a bit of a conundrum, but they don’t have to be mutually exclusive. As soon as you get home from work, ditch both the shoes and the socks. If you have access to sunshine, whether through an open window or (preferably) on a sun drenched lawn, get those feet in it!

The benefit of this will be two-fold: first, research has shown that light therapy, whereby concentrated UV irradiation is used to treat fungal infections of the skin and nails, is an effective form of treatment. That sunshine is essentially providing your own light therapy, albeit at lower concentrations than in the lab. Second, you’re re-activating the small muscles of your feet that have essentially been in hibernation since you donned your shoes that morning.

Once you’ve immersed your feet in some healing sunshine, or perhaps just thrust them out in the general direction of a fireplace or heater, you’ve essentially fulfilled the “dry” requirement. Next, lock in the moisture by applying a natural hydrating product like coconut or avocado oil. Both have the added benefit of being anti-fungal and antibacterial, killing two pathogenic birds with one stone. Moisturizing your feet in this way should help to prevent the development of hardened skin layers, which as we know can lead to nasties like bunions, corns and calluses.

And why not give your feet a little care and attention? Therapeutic massage can soften clenched muscles in the feet, reduce inflammation, and remove adhesions between muscles and fascia tissue. All of which means the likelihood of developing muscular or bone-related disorders of the foot are further reduced. Consider it justification for frequent indulgence. It’s just possible that massage therapy may also alleviate the symptoms of diabetic neuropathy, which can contribute to foot problems down the line. Post-oil application, use your knuckles and thumbs to knead the sole, arch and toe joints as you would a lump of (Primal) bread-dough. Mmmmm, dough.

On a side note, I know most people these days rip up any remaining carpet in their house and install hardwood floors, tiles, or even polished concrete. It may look sleek, but our feet weren’t designed to spend their days pounding perfectly flat, unforgiving surfaces. From an evolutionary perspective, this is a relatively recent development. Even post-Agricultural Revolution, most people would have lived in houses with either dirt floors or dirt floors covered in straw. I like the cleanliness of hard floors, but I keep plenty of rugs in the living areas and gel mats in the kitchen and workout room. If you have a standing workstation, consider it for there, too.

Beyond these simple daily steps, there are plenty of other pro-foot changes you can make:

Gut dysbiosis has often been linked to a greater risk of toenail fungus and athlete’s foot. Ditch the antibiotics, up the probiotics, and ease up (big time) on the sugar intake.

Up the anti-inflammatory ante. As I discussed earlier, foods that are high in omega-3s and low in omega-6s can help to reduce your risk of gout, but they can also reduce your risk of developing the likes of plantar fasciitis and any number of other arthritis-derived foot conditions.

Stretch those feet! Studies have shown that stretching is one of the most effective forms of both prevention and treatment for many muscular and tissue-based foot conditions.

Ample low level, low impact activity (e.g. biking, walking, swimming) can keep foot muscles and tendons in good shape, too.

If you’re suffering from recurrent fungal foot attacks, consider investing in a strong topical anti-microbial like tea tree oil. And apparently marigold therapy shows some promise for natural treatment of bunions, warts, and even plantar fasciitis. It’s not a sure thing, but it might be worth considering.

Thanks for reading, everybody. Have you dealt with any of the above issues? Have you found any particular Primal-friendly steps to be effective? Share your solutions (or questions) in the comment section. Take care.

0 notes

fishermariawo · 7 years

Text

The Plight of the Modern Foot: Conditions that Plague Us—and How to Avoid Them

But that’s just one foot condition, right? Yes…and no. The picture of averages looks rather bleak.

Common Foot Conditions to Avoid

Gout

Athlete’s Foot

Hammertoe

Bunions (Hallux vagus)

The more constrained the shoe, like heels or pointed dress shoes, the higher the risk. Safety footwear has also been identified as a common harbinger of bunions.

Women and anyone who is flat-footed might take special notice.

Corns and calluses

Plantar Fasciitis and Heel Spurs

Using Primal Approaches to Promote Foot Health

Beyond these simple daily steps, there are plenty of other pro-foot changes you can make:

Gut dysbiosis has often been linked to a greater risk of toenail fungus and athlete’s foot. Ditch the antibiotics, up the probiotics, and ease up (big time) on the sugar intake.

Stretch those feet! Studies have shown that stretching is one of the most effective forms of both prevention and treatment for many muscular and tissue-based foot conditions.

Ample low level, low impact activity (e.g. biking, walking, swimming) can keep foot muscles and tendons in good shape, too.

0 notes

watsonrodriquezie · 7 years

Text

The Plight of the Modern Foot: Conditions that Plague Us—and How to Avoid Them

But that’s just one foot condition, right? Yes…and no. The picture of averages looks rather bleak.

Common Foot Conditions to Avoid

Gout

Athlete’s Foot

Hammertoe

Bunions (Hallux vagus)

The more constrained the shoe, like heels or pointed dress shoes, the higher the risk. Safety footwear has also been identified as a common harbinger of bunions.

Women and anyone who is flat-footed might take special notice.

Corns and calluses

Plantar Fasciitis and Heel Spurs

Using Primal Approaches to Promote Foot Health

Beyond these simple daily steps, there are plenty of other pro-foot changes you can make:

Gut dysbiosis has often been linked to a greater risk of toenail fungus and athlete’s foot. Ditch the antibiotics, up the probiotics, and ease up (big time) on the sugar intake.

Stretch those feet! Studies have shown that stretching is one of the most effective forms of both prevention and treatment for many muscular and tissue-based foot conditions.

Ample low level, low impact activity (e.g. biking, walking, swimming) can keep foot muscles and tendons in good shape, too.

0 notes

cristinajourdanqp · 7 years

Text

The Plight of the Modern Foot: Conditions that Plague Us—and How to Avoid Them

But that’s just one foot condition, right? Yes…and no. The picture of averages looks rather bleak.

Common Foot Conditions to Avoid

Gout

Athlete’s Foot

Hammertoe

Bunions (Hallux vagus)

The more constrained the shoe, like heels or pointed dress shoes, the higher the risk. Safety footwear has also been identified as a common harbinger of bunions.

Women and anyone who is flat-footed might take special notice.

Corns and calluses

Plantar Fasciitis and Heel Spurs

Using Primal Approaches to Promote Foot Health

Beyond these simple daily steps, there are plenty of other pro-foot changes you can make:

Gut dysbiosis has often been linked to a greater risk of toenail fungus and athlete’s foot. Ditch the antibiotics, up the probiotics, and ease up (big time) on the sugar intake.

Stretch those feet! Studies have shown that stretching is one of the most effective forms of both prevention and treatment for many muscular and tissue-based foot conditions.

Ample low level, low impact activity (e.g. biking, walking, swimming) can keep foot muscles and tendons in good shape, too.

0 notes