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adrinktostopyourthirst · 2 years

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Following Orders

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky is always grumpy, so you've resorted to being aggressively bossy. But he will show you what following orders really looks like.

Warnings: 18+. Smut with a plot.

Words: 4,8OO

A sharp hiss comes from the man before you and you clamp your thighs around his ribs tighter to steady him, the air pockets from the storm that make the plane shake and dip through the sky already making it hard enough to finish your sutures on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Would you sit still?” you snap at him and grab his shoulders to pull the open wound closer to you and make it easier to see what you’re doing. In a plane, with minimum light and a diminutive amount of supplies to help your colleague with – a colleague that never manages to ever crack a smile, especially not towards you – your current situation pretty much sucks.

“Would you just let the serum do its job?” he sneers back, but lets you pull him closer anyway as he drops his head back down, his elbows resting on his pulled up knees.

“I think it has proven to not do its job, don’t you think?” you snarl and wind the needle through his flesh again, finding it harder and harder to be careful if he keeps snapping at you like this. But your reasoning seems to shut him up since all you can hear now are small groans from the back of his throat when you tug at the torn skin.

The healing powers the serum usually served Bucky with, have abandoned him and you have a feeling it’s because he has barely slept in the past two weeks and your current mission is an assignment from hell that has lasted longer than any of you anticipated.

Yesterday, a fish hook back at the harbour had made a gnarly gash into the flesh of Bucky’s shoulder and you’d never heard him roar like that before. However, once he saw you, he quickly composed himself and made sure the two of you got out of there and onto the nearest jet. That’s where you got clear instructions from Steve to make it to one of the safe houses on the other side of the world. Why so far away, you had no idea, but you assumed the team had to split up because the intel Steve and Natasha were after gave them information that could harm the entire team.

This whole ordeal seems far from over.

So now you’re stuck on a jet for ten hours with Bucky sitting down between your legs and you situated on one of the crates in the loading space as the jet navigates through the storm on autopilot. It’s been four hours and you had slapped Bucky over the head when you realised that his wound hadn’t started healing yet at all, activating autopilot as you grabbed Bucky by his jacket and dragged him back. You were surprised that in spite of his whining and grumbling, he didn’t use his superstrength to stop you.

You’re confused that the serum could ever even heal a wound like this since you’re sure the tissue was stretched too far. So to prevent infection and improve the self healing, you offered – well… forced – him to let you stitch him up. One glare of yours and Bucky decided not to fight you on it. Besides, he couldn’t bring up the energy anyway, especially not against you.

Bucky is exhausted and the feeling of your warm thighs against his sides as you stitch him up, combined with the rumbling of the plane, almost has him lulled to sleep. After all, a soldier can sleep in any condition. Until of course, a nightmare makes the bliss dissipate.

Finishing up your handiwork, you gently clean the wound once more, making Bucky clasp onto your calves for support, before having it covered with a large bandage.

“You good?” you ask him as you throw the contaminated materials away.

“What the hell do you think?” he grunts and you flick him in the head.

“You’re welcome, you ungrateful dick.”

Bucky lets out a huff as you come to a stand, walking over to the side of the jet and pulling out one of the bunks. Moving over to one of the stocking cabinets, you find a sweater around his size and throw it in his direction.

“Put this on and for everyone’s sake, get some fucking sleep. You’re unbearable to be around,” you order and walk forward again, slipping back into the pilot seat as you check the coordinates again, hoping the storm didn’t mess with your course.

“How are you so aggressive when you’re trying to help?” he grumbles under his breath, not quite low enough or you not to hear. So you turn your head to give him another look and you see him struggling to walk. Quickly coming back to a stand to jump to his side, he almost pushes you off until his vision starts to spin. Gently helping him straighten up and walk over to the bunk, you look up at him.

“Because you won’t let people help you, but you’re surprisingly good at following orders,” you simply answer and help him down onto the bunk, your eyes softening when you watch him wince. “Seriously Bucky, get some sleep. I’ll keep on lookout and I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Bucky reluctantly agrees and carefully lies down onto the bunk. The softness in your voice almost swept him to sleep without getting situated first, but he puts his trust in you and allows himself to fall asleep soon enough.

…

A gentle stroke over his arm makes his eyes flutter open much more peacefully than he usually wakes up and his eyes meet yours. Your voice is gentle, understanding that he came from the deepest sleep he’s had in a long time.

“We’re here. You want to come inside?” you ask him and he pushes to a sit with a deep grunt, your hands gently helping him up. That’s when Bucky notices a thick layer of multiple blankets slipping down to his hips and the chill coming in from the loading rig that’s descended onto the massive grass field the jet had landed on, the warmth from his sleep chilling his skin.

Bucky slowly assesses his surrounding and nods, “How long have I slept for?”

“The storm derailed us from the course, so you had a few extra hours. I loaded everything into the safehouse and have some food on the stove already. I’d say about eleven hours in total,” you explain as you walk off before putting your hands on your hips and staring him down. “You good to walk, soldier?”

Bucky shakes his head back to reality and nods, pushing off and following you down the rig, towards the cabin at the edge of the full forest surrounding the field.

“You stayed awake for that long?” he asked as he sauntered after you into the cabin.

“Took a short nap myself, just to be sure I could stick the landing without crashing to our deaths.” You shrug and slip your thick jacket off before making your way further into the home, walking up to the stove to check on the simmering food.

“Come here. Need to take a look at the stitches,” you bark your order and turn back to him as he walks over, a deep frown still etched into his face even after the good sleep he had.

“So bossy…” he grumbles and you roll your eyes, forcefully spinning him back around and lifting his sweater up over his shoulder where Bucky’s metal hand catches onto it so you can inspect him.

Removing the bandage, you smile when you see the insane improvement to his skin and open one of the drawers to grab a small knife to cut the stitches with. Gently cutting them and leaving just his flesh to do the rest of the healing, you’re almost sure you can see the skin mending itself.

“I think this might not even leave a scar,” you tell him proudly with a tinge of awe, and he spins around to face you.

“Good. What are we eating?” he asks and peers over the stove.

“Hot air for your rude ass.” You roll your eyes and lift the lid of the pan to stir the soup you had simmering on the stove.

In the beginning, you wouldn’t touch Bucky’s presence with a ten foot pole. The man radiated introversion and pretty much only wanted to talk to Steve. After you saw him snarl and snap at any other colleagues trying, you stayed far away from him, despite your initial intention to make him feel safe and welcome. But Steve saw your professional and withheld response to the whole Bucky situation as the perfect asset to make you both each others’ partner in missions. You wanted to complain – you really did – but you worked exceptionally well together. It turns out, when you don’t talk, you get an awful lot done.

It’s not that you don’t like Bucky, you greatly appreciate him as a colleague. But if he only likes you when you mind your own business, he would be dead. The amount of times you have saved him from himself is too many to count and you gave him a scolding twice as often. Yet all Bucky ever replies with is a huff, a roll of his eyes and turning his back on you as he saunters off to someone who won’t be on his ass all the time.

“Always so mean,” Bucky grumbles and lifts himself to sit on the kitchen counter, cleaning his hand with a cloth he found laying around.

“What can I say? Your endless optimism and happiness just brings out that side of me,” you hum sarcastically and blink harshly a few times to will away the sleep in your body, demanding for you to have a nap, making you unable to see the hint of a smile at the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

Not much later, the two of you finish your soup and you get up to clean the bowls and stuff them away, but Bucky clasps his metal fingers around your arm and stops you.

“Get some sleep. I’ll clean up,” he orders, his voice surprisingly gentle. But you frown at him and shake your head with a shrug, trying to wrench your arm loose from his grip only for it to tighten even more. “Not a request, sweetheart. Sleep, or I’ll knock you out.”

“Resorting to threats now, Barnes?”

“Don’t tempt me. You don’t know where I draw the line.” His warning and narrowed eyes soften on you and it tugs strangely at your chest. “Sleep.”

“So bossy…” Noting the seriousness in his eyes, you know not to fight him on it any longer and you put down the bowls, throwing him one last defeated scowl before making your way over to the couch and curling up on the worn cushions after putting a blanket over it.

The last thing you notice as the weight of sleep presses you into the cushions, is the gentle touch of a duvet being tucked around your snoozing frame.

…

To say it’s disorienting to wake up revitalised in the middle of the night, in a cabin you don’t know, where it’s so dark that you can’t see a hand in front of your face, is an understatement. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, your pulse having erratically quickened from the mind-numbing sleep it was in mere seconds ago, and your fingers dig into the cushions below you to ground yourself.

Swinging your legs over the side of the couch, you hear a loud grunt and something catches onto your legs, pulling you down. In your sleepy state, you barely get to scream before you’re pinned under a super soldier that looks like he went into fighting mode with his eyes closed, your eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.

“Bucky. It’s me!” you hiss and he squints down at you, taking a second to realise before slowly letting go and flicking on the nearest light, still straddling your hips.

“What the fuck, man…” Bucky groans and rubs his eyes, his voice rough and raspy from sleep. “What are you doing?”

You peer up at him with wide eyes “I just tried getting up. I couldn’t see shit, so your stomach became the ground.”

Slowly climbing off you and resting his back against the couch, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and heaves a deep sigh.

“Well, that’s my rest gone for the rest of the night…” he grumbles with disappointment and runs a hand through his hair. You come up to a sitting position as well and make a noise in agreement.

“No. You’re going back to sleep.”

Your head snaps to him, “Excuse me?”

“Sleep.”

“What. Or you’ll knock me out?” you scoff as you rub your eyes.

“Don’t believe me?” His eyes are on you now and you tense before slowly turning to face him again.

“You are not going to knock me out!” You think. Right? “You’re not going to punch me, Barnes!”

He lets out a low laugh that skitters down your spine and your brows pull together. “I don’t have to punch you to knock you out. There are plenty of other ways.”

Your sleepy brain has a hard time catching on, before your eyes widen and you let out a noise of disgust. And your heart starts to pound harder at the wild insinuation. Why your heartbeat drops to between your legs, is something you ignore for the time being.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you scoff, if only to distract his senses from the heat radiating off your face, “you can’t fuck a woman to sleep.”

He leans in and you are on the edge of knocking him out, but his breath on your skin halts you. “You have any idea of the perks of being a super soldier?”

His voice, that deep fucking voice and the gravel in it, makes you gulp, your eyes fluttering against all your inner protests. Your fingers curl on top of your bent knees and you quickly scramble away, up to a stand. Bucky laughs up at you and shrugs, standing up himself.

But that’s it. You don’t move.

You stay quiet. Contemplating. Like only now his words sink past your skin and into your system, which heavily responds to the idea of Bucky.

Bucky fucking you. So hard and deep that you can’t help but cry out, but sob for more. You crave the satisfaction of sleep after a good, thorough pounding. And by someone who is strong and firm and has a filthy mouth. Someone you have no other attachment to. Someone you know answers perfectly to you, as proven by the many missions that showed the two of you working in such synchronised manor, it almost scared you at first.

Bucky cocks his head, “Is that what you need?”

You catapult out of your thoughts and quickly look at him again, “What?”

A smirk. “You need me to fuck you to sleep, sweetheart?”

Fuck. That is a bit direct. And if it doesn’t make you almost drool.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you whisper breathlessly. It sounds like a plea and round eyes look at him like it is.

A plea.

But not for him to stop.

“Why?” He takes a step closer to you, his eyes darting between yours. “What does it do?”

You roll your eyes and his flesh hand raises to cup your face. His long fingers tangle into the side of your hair and his thumb tips your jaw up to tilt your head towards his gaze.

“Use your words. What does it do?” he rasps, taking another step closer until he breathes your air, leaving you with none, it seems.

“It–” you struggle to find the words. What he does to you. He makes your blood turn hot and your skin prickle with cold. He makes excitement flutter in your belly, but it might be anger – indignation at his wild behaviour towards you.

“Not so talkative now, are you?” he croons and you grit your teeth at his incessant teasing. “Or are you waiting for me to take it from you? Make you sing instead?”

Yes.

“Make you cry out for me?” he smirks. “Or maybe just make you cry? Make you beg for it – for me. You’d be such a pretty sight with tears in your eyes.”

Your head buzzes and you don’t know whether he is complimenting you or dragging you through the mud. It feels so similar and it has your heart pounding and slick coating the fabric of your panties. You try to say his name, but no sound comes out.

Bucky understands, however, the moving of your lips, and wants to bite them. Those lips. Suck on them, have them tremble.

After all that disgusting distance between the two of you from the beginning, it would be deeply satisfying for him to tear you apart like that. Have you cry out for more of him. He would take his sweet, sweet time, too. If he can control himself, that is. But he wants to take his time – mess you up real good. Have you despise that distance between you two in the future, like he has always despised that distance.

The silence between the two of you is deafening and it makes you want to squirm. Closer or far away, you don’t know.

Bucky doesn’t feel like Bucky anymore. He feels like the devil taunting you with your deepest desire. But it’s him. He’s your desire. And you can’t tell if it has always been there or if he’s manipulating you into it. He could, you know he could. But you are starting to care less, the more he looks at you. You want him, need him. Your bones are crying out for him and you want to vocalise it.

You want him to drag it out of you, those cries and that horrible, terrible need.

You imagine it. His fingers, two of them, curled inside of you. And a drag. A curl. Another drag. Tearing out your soul, one moan at a time, as he peels that pleasure to the surface.

When the quiet between you becomes unbearable, you dare to nod, give him permission. But the thought of a nod crosses your eyes and Bucky drags your mouth to his before you can give your confirmation. It is hungry, but hesitant. His soft lips and his rough fingers curling against your scalp has you whimper softly, giving him permission with your pleasure. And he unleashes himself, groaning as his other hand drags your head even closer to him.

He nips and sucks and bites at your lips, not giving you any space to venture into the kiss yourself. But you whine softly and he complies by stroking his tongue into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls your body up against his. Your knees are weak and your hands clasp desperately at his forearms to make sure you don’t float away, away from him. From his promising kiss for more.

The ache between your legs is near painful and you squirm on your shaky legs, needing relief desperately. But you don’t want his mouth to stop doing that. Stop kissing you, Abusing your mouth with his own. Desperate, claiming, slow, aggressive – selfish almost.

“Fuck me to sleep, Bucky.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

…

“Ah–” you rasp, squeezing your eyes closed as pain, whining pain, pulsates through your core and thighs. Your limbs are trembling and your bare skin is covered in sweat. Your arms are aching from the stretch above your head and the grip Bucky has on your wrists feels like a faint bruise.

But you haven’t come yet.

His deft fingers do nothing more than graze over your clit and you shudder, the touch agonising. He’s been at this for what feels like hours – rubbing, stroking, circling, taunting – and you feel like you are going insane.

His deep voice growls lowly against your ear, “You want to come.”

A small part of you wants to slap him for that obvious statement, but that part of you is so small, so faint, you barely know her anymore. No, that other remaining part of you lets out a wanton whine. Pathetic. Completely desperate for anything. Your mouth opens to plead, but nothing else comes out than ragged breaths, your sweaty chest rising and falling as that sweet relief is withheld from you.

“You see,” Bucky whispers, his muscular body only in boxers now, and another press of his finger to your clit has you writhe and forget that he was talking to you in the first place, “I agree with you that I respond better to orders. But I have found myself to be better at giving them. Orders – And orgasms for that matter.”

You groan.

“But you wouldn’t know that,” he continues, “since you haven’t come yet, have you?”

Heaving a deep breath, you don’t deign to give him an answer.

“I think I want the first time you come for me to be on my tongue– ” he muses and your eyes fly open. “It’d be a shame if you passed out after the first one though. You have to stay awake for me, okay? I’m not done with you yet… Wouldn’t that be cruel – to just be done with you now?”

That drags you out of your stupor and you give him the biggest eyes you can muster, the most pathetic plea you can will into your body, “Please!”

“So polite,” he hums and presses a gentle kiss below your ear. But he decides he wants more and drags his open mouth over the skin of your neck, his tongue lashing over the heated skin before sinking his teeth into it. You sigh softly, as it seems any of his touches are a relief to the endless deprivation of him.

His mouth encircles your breast, the warmth making goosebumps prickle at your skin as your nipples stiffen. Bucky hums against your skin, his tongue circling around the taut bud before giving a playful bite to the soft flesh. His mouth dances further down and his hand slips from your wrists, his palm stroking down your arm and chest to follow his mouth. You know better than to move, your fingers digging into the pillow below your head instead. Focusing on your breathing, you try to get through the ache between your hips, that desperate throbbing for the man descending your body.

Both his palms press against the inside of your thighs and press them apart, the stretch in your muscles making you arch your back. You dare to look down and your jaw drops at the sight of his dark, ravenous eyes on your cunt. His hands holding you open like it’s nothing, like they are pressing to the table his meal is on.

It takes ages, his examination of your pleasure, and your hole pulsates in answer to his stare. Your breathing hurts from heaving the thick air and you can’t take it anymore. One hand reaches down and combs through Bucky’s full hair, through his locks and cupping his face. His eyes dart up to yours and you hold back from frowning at the daze he sprung out of.

“Bucky…” you breathe, a soft question for him to give you what you need. What you want.

He nuzzles into your palm with a grin and locks his again darkened gaze onto yours, before leaning down so agonisingly slowly. But a firework as large as the galaxy springs apart when his warm lips wrap around your clit and you could mistake it for an orgasm, only to find out that when Bucky sucks your clit into his mouth, you know for a fact a deadly orgasm is well on its way to shred you to pieces.

He hums lovingly against you and you let out a raspy moan. Your thighs get pushed to the mattress as Bucky wetly suckles at you, your chest rising quickly now as your orgasm crawls higher and higher in your body. And just when you think you’re there, Bucky retreats and drags his tongue between your folds, lapping up your slick from the source.

A strangled whine slips from your lips and Bucky groans in agreement, “Fuck, I know. But I haven’t tasted you yet. Let me just– ”

Another drag of his tongue has your shivering and your hand curls into a tight fist with his hair between it. He hums in delight at the tug at his scalp and buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing harshly as he struggles to combine it with eating you whole. But the sounds alone, get you closer and closer and– “Bucky!”

“Go,” he hums against you, almost hurried. “Come on my tongue.”

An order indeed.

Body curling, your orgasm barrels into you like an avalanche. Endless weight presses on your nerves and you sob and moan and cry out, twitching against Bucky as his arms slip around your thighs to hold you to his mouth. Drinking your orgasm up and grinding his own hips into the mattress, Bucky devours the feeling of having you come under him. He had been teasing himself, never mind you. He wanted it to last, wanted you more pliant and bendy before he allowed you to come.

He crawls up your body, but you barely notice it, your orgasm still haunting you, racking through your spine and turning your blood to syrup. Bucky takes advantage of your open mouth and licks into it, teasing, smiling, taunting. For you to respond to him, prove him you’re still there.

So you move, languidly dragging your mouth against his as you tangle your hand into his hair again, pulling him closer. He groans into your mouth and a feeling of triumph swells in your chest at the way Bucky’s body melts to your side. Though the deception of his surrender might have been a distraction when you suddenly feel two fingers press into you, instantly curling against a swollen wall inside of you that has you gasp against his lips.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan and Bucky chuckles deeply above you, his fingers retreating before pressing into you again. His thumb teasingly darts over your swollen clit and lightning strikes your every nerve.

“You think too lowly of yourself to think I would be done with you,” Bucky rumbles, his lips moving against the flushed skin of your cheek, your eyes having closed in overwhelming pleasure. His fingers move faster and twist into you, opening you up. Then then slow again, teasing – endlessly teasing. Then faster. Slower.

Unpredictable – and your body cannot keep up as it hauls you closer to your high before retreating like it burned itself. But to burn yourself on the devil – on Bucky. What a delight. You sigh deeply and let the bed swallow you whole as you buck up against Bucky’s hand. He presses soft kisses to your cheek, mumbling to you that you’re almost there and you have to let him make you come again.

“More,” you breathe out. “More, more, more…”

He obliges and presses into your spot so well, his thumb dragging two firm circles over your clit at the same time and you burn alive. You arch like a string pulls you to the ceiling as Bucky’s fingers fuck you through a numbing orgasm. From your crown, all the way down to your toes, fire bursts and surges and implodes. Your moans sound attractive to your own ears as you come, your voice breaking and filled with breaths, crying out to the heavens that the devil made you come again.

And the haze clears, the fog lifting as your eyes open to watch a heady Bucky lick appreciatively at his fingers, the gleam on them reflecting the minimum amount of light in the bedroom. Your hand slides from his hair to his chest and you press him to the mattress, his own eyes widening as you crawl over him.

You straddle his waist, hissing as your bare pussy settles over his angry, hard cock. The fabric is rough to your skin, but you can only focus on his face.

Bucky leans up on his forearms and raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t think so– ”

“Oh yes. You are going to let me use you and then,” you smirk, “you can make me pass out. Since you have failed to do so thus far…”

A slow smile spreads over his face, “So bossy…”

You answer with a grin and a slow grind over his weeping cock, making him stutter under you, “Let’s see how well you follow orders now, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#its 1am #i miss you guys #i feel like u can tell which books ive been reading this summer #my writing might have changed quite a bit #BUT I WROTE YOU GUYS #isnt it amazing??#Alright as always pls let me know what you think??#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #writing #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #e to l

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sinsandsweetness · 7 months

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season 5 scary beard rick getting sweet, hyperfem reader on her knees for him, and her just looking up all sweet and obedient and docile, just about ready to do anything for him I FEEL LIKE ITD DRIVE HIM WILDDDD

“Are you okay?” She whispers as he tugs her behind the barn. Neither of them wanting to attract any attention from the potential threats out in the woods.

“Just need your help with something, princess,” his mouth starts trailing down her neck as he pushes her up against the barn. Rough wood with the threat of a splinter catches on her sweater. It’s stretched out collar falls off her shoulder and grants him even more access to her neck. Nipping lightly at her collarbone.

“With what?”

He doesn’t answer, tilting his head up, he catches her lips and grabs her hand, placing it against the front of his jeans. Tall and hard under the dark denim, she gets the hint almost immediately.

It doesn’t take long before she’s on her knees. So obedient. The very impractical mini skirt she wears is riding up above her hips and the sight of her soft bare skin drives him wild. He’s thankful that her pretty lace panties are only shown to the wood siding of the barn and not the forest behind them. He holds one arm up against the wall for support, doubling as an unintentional shield to their intimate act. His fingers lace with her unruly locks, guiding her close enough to kiss him through his boxers.

“Atta girl,” he says as her fingers trace at his waistband. The site in front of him nearly catches him in a trance. She’s so pretty like this. All wide eyed and willing.

He urges her on, “You know what to do.”

#idk how to feel about the third person vibe #tell me what u think pls #i need validation #rick grimes x female reader #Rick grimes x reader #Rick x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x fem!reader #Rick grimes x hyperfeminine reader #Rick daydream #Rick Drabble #Rick imagine #twd fanfiction #Rick grimes smut #twd smut

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speakofcompersion · 11 days

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Still Shining - Taemin

#i love how he extends his dancing into his hands and feet. i mean i know that's what dancing is lol but he's very lyrical with it #not many people are as aware of how ppl see them as he is. he gives so much attention to it you can tell he thinks deeply about it <3 #love my little artist guy~#also i am Attempting something with the colour changing...but she's a half formed idea. Maybe i'll pull it off better in the future heh~ :)#shinee #taemin #mygifs #speakofgifs #kpop #lee taemin #shinee taemin #STILL SHINING - taemin video #TAEMIN teaser #stillshiningvid #analook #goodnesss~ pls don't thank me for tagging you i feel like i should be thanking you for letting me tag u haha!! <3 (thank u)

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kokvv · 5 months

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❝𝑵𝑶 𝑶𝑵𝑬'𝑺 𝑾𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑹❞

‣ soap, ghost x gn!reader

this is just a test. depending on what people think, i'll actually post an explanation and some context and more chapters, so don't worry if you're not getting it or thinking it's too oc !! pls tell me what you think !! <33

tw. mentions of blood, corpses, traumatic experiences, war, death, kind of child soldier

“Remember, this is a battlefield,” your father says.

It's the earliest memory that you can recall. It's the first words you can remember clearly hearing. You're five years old as of just last week, and you are standing in a blood-soaked field surrounded by violence and death; Copper is thick in the air, and it pushes up your nose and gets trapped in your throat. Your sandals squish against the wet ground, your white socks stained in red.

Rain is falling heavily from the sky, attempting to drown out the smell of blood with petrichor. It falls, succeeding only in washing clean the faces of the corpses: dozens upon dozens, their expressions twisted and frozen.

This image of death is your first memory. It melds itself into your bones and makes a home there.

The rain stings against your cheeks, harsh and freezing, seeping into your clothes. Your father stands next to you, also soaked, but seems unbothered by the chill—and by the violence surrounding you. His face is carved from steel, and his dark eyes stare forward offering you nothing in the way of sympathy. You know better than to expect any.

His words cut through the pounding of the rain. They pierce your heart. Battlefield, you think to yourself, parsing out the unfamiliar word.

It isn't a word any five-year-old should be fixing in their memory.

“This is the world soldiers live in,” your father tells you. “You will be a soldier too, someday soon. This is the world you will step into.”

You cannot articulate the emotion swelling behind your ribcage. It is not fear; it's darker than that. It is not sadness; it's deeper than that. It surges within you, and it causes such a tightness in your chest that you can't stand it.

If you cry now, the rain will conceal your tears. Your father will not notice. Still, you refuse to give in to the pressure behind your eyes. You feel that if you cry here, you will lose something fundamental to yourself.

(You don't know this part of the story, will never know: But your mother goes still in horror when the two of you return home, you with blood on your sandals and an expression on your face that marks you fundamentally changed. And that night, when you drift off to sleep, she corners your father with her eyes shining in anger.

How dare you, she will whisper fiercely, her voice trembling with a fiery, consuming rage. How dare you.)

“Father,” you say quietly. You hear your own voice as if from far away. “Why did you bring me here?”

A warm weight rests on your shoulder. Your father's hand. It isn't comfort, but rather, a heavy vice that holds your body in place and forces you to keep looking forward.

“This is the reality we live in. Even though this war may end, soldiers will always be locked in some form of conflict. You need to understand that and prepare for it.”

You're a genius, but you're still only five. You have some difficulty comprehending the complexity of the lesson your father is attempting to teach. But you understand enough to know that this will not be the last time you stand with blood beneath your shoes and bodies around you.

This is the reality I will live in, you think.

“Remember this sight, [NAME],” your father says. “Burn it into your mind and never forget it.”

You stare at the bloody field as the rain continues to pelt down. You look at the still corpses with their uniforms, the dullness of their open eyes. You do as your father says, and you engrave the image into your brain. It burns into your retinas.

This is war. This is death. This is what it means to be a soldier.

Remember, this is a battlefield.

You swear to yourself that you'll never forget it.

You are a child of war. And this first moment of your life is the one that will define you for years.

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maxcuntstappen · 1 month

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lestappen + my top songs of jan 2024 (x)

by row; one republic, secrets / jonas brothers, montana sky / jonas brothers, remember this / jonas brothers, what a man gotta do / nick jonas, close / nick jonas, close / beyoncé, halo / lauv, paris in the rain / beyoncé, halo / lauv, paris in the rain / lauv, paris in the rain / keane, silenced by the night / keane, silenced by the night / jonas brothers, shelf and jonas brothers, remember this / jonas brothers, remember this

#thought id try a different visual format #pls tell me what u think of it??#lestappen #f1weave #f1 web weaving #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 x music

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oatmilksgf · 2 months

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i will wander in silence with you by romcommunisms (ongoing)

People keep disappearing from a little town up North. Obviously, the most rational way to approach this is to have Jon and Martin go up there and investigate what's causing these disappearances. Obviously, if they want to get any answers, they're going to have to pretend to be a couple. All while trying to avoid getting sucked into the Lonely. It's going to be fine.

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coastaltowned · 22 days

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ttpd song predictions: fortnight (ft. post malone)

how quickly things change in the time of two weeks, how fast our time ran out of the hourglass, how it can only take a fortnight to end a relationship, how much time should you give yourself before you decide to blow up your life? what happens when the fortnight ends and you wake up as someone new? time's up, time to go, time to end it, time to move on.

#tswiftedit #taylorswiftedit #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #taylor swift lyrics #ttpdpredictions #just for fun to see how wrong i am bc taylor always plays on words and does different things w themes #this song is hard bc i really don't know what it will sound like - a post song probably but even that has a lot of range within it #i almost think it'll be snappy and sharp to open the album with #but who knows!#if u guys have any suggestions for lyrical parallels w other ttpd songs potentially pls tell me i love guessing #mine #taylor

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starlitcrows · 2 years

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my ff7r fic in a nutshell

#cloud strife #sephiroth #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #FFVII #ff7r #final fantasy 7 remake #ein sof #neosketches #sephcloud #sefikura #anyways pls go read it if thats ur thing lmao #and tell me what u think #okay thank u take care it is 3 am #my mission to make dream seph as ethereal n soft looking as possible #the whispers do not reach here a jaded sea and silver sun

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cheriboms · 6 months

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doctober day 28: metallic

local old man doesnt "get" the youths, pt 1/??

#back to the future #bttf #doctober #doctober 2023 #marty mcfly #doc brown #emmett brown #christopher lloyd #michael j fox #my arts #my sketchy wip arts #im not saying marty definitely had braces... but im saying marty definitely had braces #basing it all on that scene in bttf3 where bufords gang randomly talks about martys teeth. thats my proof !!!#plus apparently average amt of time to have them is like a year so like its POSSIBLE. (i had them for like 3+ years so go off i guess 😒)#anyway this isnt late B) but it almost is bc i was still debating TODAY what to even do >_>;#but here we are so yeah <3 #the generational difference of 'polite/goody two shoes' vs 'degenerate/badass' being seen as good and bad things respectively #docs thoughts: hooligan bad!! respectable citizen good :) -> martys thoughts: im not a nerd PLEASE GOD IM COOL I SWEAR #ps tell me marty WOULDNT ask the local disgraced scientist hes known for like 3 months to do literal surgery on him. theyre ride or die PLS #< for all the trans!marty truthers that also applies to u. i think we can all agree hes not above just straight up asking. king

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 7 days

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Bucky Barnes | Series | Loose

Part two of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You and Bucky have no idea whether you can trust each other. There is an understanding, but you're not sure of what that understanding is and why it seems to run so deep.

Warning: Angst, violence and fluff (?)

Words: 4,1OO

It is hard enough already for Bucky to fall asleep at night. Yes, it has gotten better in recent years, but there will always be that part of him – awake and aware – that registers every sound and movement, even when he should be knocked out. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that part of him sat more alert ever since you had joined the building. Perhaps because Bucky still wasn’t so confident in your allegiance.

He can’t stop overthinking it. He has seen what you’re capable of. Would you be capable of even more if people cornered you? If you felt like you had no other choice but to manipulate and kill your way out? After all, wasn’t it possible that you felt like you had moved from one prison to the next?

You’d been a delight at dinner two nights ago, but Bucky can’t turn off his brain. This is the part that made you win people over. The way you’d gotten along with Natasha like a house on fire, the way you’d shared stories like you and his team had been friends all along… Yet you had no trouble letting a side of yours slip through the cracks that tantalised Bucky beyond belief. The way you had looked at him, teased him–

The faintest rustle has Bucky shooting back to his current place in time. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He holds his breath in an effort to hear better.

Nothing.

However, something doesn’t sit right. Something is off. He’d learned that hypervigilance was a side effect of his trauma, but he had a hard time believing his intuition would betray him like that. Not when he had relied on it so successfully for years.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he whispers to the dark ceiling.

“Yes, sergeant Barnes?”

“Is everyone in their respectable rooms?” he tries.

“I cannot divulge that information,” the voice sounds and Bucky sighs. He musters up some strength and swings off his duvet before climbing out of bed.

Yeah, he doesn’t trust you for a second.

…

Your heart is pounding in your throat. This isn’t part of your skillset – the escape and combat. Though perhaps if you do the former correctly, you won’t have to resort to the latter. Escaping the compound had been surprisingly easy, which strangely made your chest hurt. It was way too easy to escape. But it made sense. Steve had told you that you weren’t being held captive and you being here was all in good faith.

Faith you just broke by making your escape.

You probably should have been more patient. Winning their trust a bit more and then making an escape, make sure they really don’t see it coming. But the dinner had made you antsy and impatient. You had to get out.

If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you know that getting attached to a new group of people and deciding to escape then – or worse, leading them into their demise later – would be worse than getting away now that no one has attached themselves to you. Or you to them…

Breaching the edge of the surrounding forest, you finally let go of the breath you’ve been holding. You did it. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re free. No more captivity, no more expectations. All you need to do now is leave the country, change your name and possibly dye your hair. Sounds easy enough. A bit dramatic, but not impossible.

That is, until you get dragged backwards by a hand over your mouth and you lose your footing. The hard body behind you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the muddy forest grounds. Your breathing is ragged as your hands both fly to grab the forearm attached to the hand covering your yelp.

The metal forearm.

“Rule number one of making your escape: never assume you’re in the clear,” Bucky’s voice rumbles through the night air, his mouth so very close to your ear. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard when you reached the edge of the forest.”

His gloved hand removes itself from your mouth, but you know better than to make a run for it, or to scream. He twists you by your shoulders and you muster some playful guilt to your face, masking your disappointment. Disappointment… but you feel strangely relieved. Maybe the largeness of finally being free felt somewhat overwhelming. Move to another country and change your name? It’s ridiculous. And that, when the people here have been so patient and kind to you…

You let out a soft laugh, “Worth a shot, no?”

Bucky studies you intently and something in your gut stirs at it. Not even Natasha seems to have as good of a read on you as Bucky does. It makes you feel naked. Makes you feel like all of your carefully crafted plans are flimsy and no good. Makes you feel like you have to stay far, far away from Bucky. Like you need to run. Now.

And how the hell did he manage to figure out you were making your escape?

You wait for him to tell you off, preach against your indolence and call in backup to shove you into something more similar to a prison cell. But Bucky sighs, disappointed and tired.

He seems so, so tired.

“Let’s go back inside,” he says and you furrow your brows at him.

His defeat has your chest clenching tightly. You want him to punish you, scold you. At least show that he cares. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe you need to know that the relief you felt from being caught is somewhat mutual in a sense. That the people here don’t just see you as a weapon, despite the burden, but that you’re someone worth saving. Worth keeping around.

Worth healing.

“That’s it?” you ask. “No scolding or punishment?”

Bucky scoffs humourlessly. “You get a kick out of punishment, darling?”

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.”

“I’m not your fucking baby sitter,” he mutters and starts walking back to the building, rightfully assuming you’ll follow. “If you want, I can ask Steve to tell you off in the morning. He’s better at that sort of thing anyway.”

Some pathetic part of you wants to sulk at his response like an ill-tempered child. “Then why come after me?”

It stays quiet for a second as you cross the field towards the compound. “I couldn’t let a poor escape plan be successful.”

You can’t help but snort at that answer and decide that fine, you’d play along for now. But you wonder if the curious Bucky you’d seen a few days ago had completely vanished since that dinner.

…

The next morning, Bucky gets cornered by you after breakfast. He looks down his nose at your defiant face.

“You didn’t tell anyone about last night?” you ask him and he raises his brows, unimpressed.

It had surprised you that no one at breakfast mentioned anything or gave you even so much as a dirty look. Clearly, none of them are aware that you tried to make your escape last night. And you cannot for the life of you figure out why Bucky is taking it easy on you. Is he smart enough to assume that your own guilt will do more damage than he ever could? Is this part of some bigger scheme of his? Perhaps he is actually as tired and unbothered as he looked when you saw him in those woods.

“What happened last night?” he asks with a telling smirk. The current look on your face is worth the lack of sleep he had tonight. It’s too easy to rattle you. You roll your eyes and Bucky smirks even wider at that. Is he… flirting?

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you try again.

Bucky remains quiet and fights to keep a straight face. He did expect your question, but why didn’t he tell anyone? Because he thought you and him would get along after those tiny moments during that first dinner. Because the team would have let you walk away. Because Bucky doesn’t want you to go. Because he thinks he can help. Help the world. Help you. He thinks he can help you. And you can help him. And–

“Want me to tell them now?” he says instead.

He barely notices the flash of panic in your eyes before you cover it with an annoyed scoff and turn on your heel to walk away. He watches you. Every step until you are out of sight.

“You said she trusts you,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind him and Bucky schools his face back to bland interest before he turns to Steve. “That doesn’t look like she trusts you.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

Steve frowns pensively. “Well, speed up the process. We have an important mission and we need her for it.”

“What?” Bucky almost loses his restraint, his body flaring in alarm. “Steve, she hasn’t had any training. She was locked up for months. It’s too big of a risk–”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Buck,” Steve tells him regretfully, but instantly notices that Bucky isn’t buying it. “This is the thing we needed her for.”

“She isn’t some kind of weapon!” Bucky exclaims and he notices Natasha turning away from her conversation in the nearest common room to see what the commotion is about. He gives her a warning look, then lowers his voice. “Steve. This could’ve been me,” Bucky breathes. And there it is. Recognition flickers in Steve’s eyes. “We can’t use her like this. She’s all alone.”

Steve looks past Bucky’s shoulder as if you’re still walking away from him. Angry frown, uptilted chin and swaying hips– Bucky almost looks. Then Steve sighs and looks back at his friend. “Take all the time you need. If she’s ready, I’ll explain the mission to her. I think she might want to help.”

…

Bucky reads over the file until his eyes turn bleary. Steve was right, you will want to help.

He thinks you can handle it, but… what if you encounter a trigger on the way? What if it all becomes too much? Bucky realises he isn’t nearly close enough to care this much, and he doesn’t, but who else but him is going to care whether you live or die? Sometimes Bucky wonders if even you care whether you live or die. What would have happened to Bucky if everyone had given up on him? He knows damn well that he’d be long dead if not so many people found him useful.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Bucky never had a choice. So he finds himself knocking at your door at 10pm with the file in hand.

After opening the door, you barely manage to get a word out before Bucky extends the folder towards you. “Steve needs your help on this. It should be fine, but the choice is up to you.”

Quick. Brief. He’s just the messenger and the decision is all yours. Bucky turns and makes to walk away – before you can spot all of the thoughts crossing his mind – but your voice stops him.

“Will you be there?”

The question takes him by surprise. Turning back towards you and slowly walking to the doorframe you’re standing under, he creases his brows together. “You need me to come along?”

You shrug abashedly. “Will you?”

Bucky studies your face intently. “Yes,” he lies. He’ll figure something out with Steve.

“What if I can’t do what you need me to do?” There it is again. He doesn’t get why this vulnerable side of you keeps surprising him so much.

“You’ll be useful,” are his terrible words of comfort. He wants to palm himself in the face.

The suppressed smile you give him heats his face and he’s sure you’ll call him out on his horrible people skills, but you stay quiet. The silence grows and grows and Bucky starts to shift nonchalantly, wondering if he should walk off and let you read the file in private.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“You’re coming?”

“Yes,” you affirm and look up at him, handing the file back. “Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s your choice,” he tells you and gently takes the folder.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Some wall snaps up inside of him at that tone – at that hopeful look in your eyes. “You could use the mission to make your escape,” he says with a shrug and makes to turn away from you again. “I won’t stop you this time.”

He walks away, leaving you to gape at his retreating form.

…

The mission was simple enough.

Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you would be attending a gala. Supposedly, there is a certain divide between the guests in attendance. Your job is mainly to feel out just who will be willing to join your cause. What goes unsaid is that you’re also required to butter them up to spring into action when your team would deem it necessary.

The party is in full swing and everyone is finally losing their mask of formality and enjoying their evening. You just hit the sweet spot of their susceptibility and you sweep into casual conversation about politics. Seeing who keeps quiet, who isn’t scared to speak up, whose faces harden at the prospect of change, etcetera. All of your antennas are on and when you know people have stopped paying attention to you, that’s when you dare a glance across the room where you know Bucky is standing.

All dapper and handsome, wearing a very expensive suit.

All of you have taken thorough action to look exceptional and to blend in perfectly with the high class crowd. Being charming is easy enough, looking it was a necessity – yet, all of it does still feel very far removed from yourself. Like a betrayal to the woman who was locked up mere weeks ago. However, being a true professional, you don’t allow your thoughts to linger too much and channel back to the matter at hand.

Then you feel it.

The searing heat that starts at your legs and spreads all the way up to your chest and cheeks. Like a virus burning over your skin. And you know what it is – know who it is. So you look back in the direction of Bucky, if only to catch him in the act.

But he’s unbothered. Brooding and observing from the bar in the shadow of the room, somehow alone and undiscovered by most of the crowd (a skill you assume he has acquired over the years). And his eyes are still on you. They glide down and back up for even more emphasis and you swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Gliding a sensual hand over the arm of the man next to you, you excuse yourself with a warm smile and slowly stride over to the culprit. Bucky waits patiently, and you swear you see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as you walk over. He hands you a spare glass of champagne and turns his back to the room when you’re close enough to hear him.

“It’s working,” he says and you swear he sounds slightly impressed.

“Did you assume I’d fuck up?” you taunt and lean over the bar, sipping at the glass flute between your fingers. Bucky turns to you and his eyes sweep over the curve of your partly exposed back, the hollow of your spine and the curve of your ass. Then he holds his breath for a moment.

“Wouldn’t be mad if you did,” he tells you and his tone sounds gentle. You know that’s why he’s here, even though neither of you said it out loud, you know he’s here to stick up for you if you can’t get it done yet. If you’re not ready to be that person again.

Just like he probably knows that you’re here because the guilt of trying to escape from your saviours was eating you alive. And you didn’t want to prove Bucky right by escaping. You had glanced at the exits a few times and debated it, yes, but then looked at your team and thought against it. Looked at Bucky and–

“We’ll leave in five minutes,” Bucky murmurs as he finishes his glass. “I noted down all the people you signed as potential allies and who definitely isn’t.”

“There’s a few we can convince to help,” you cut in.

“What? The woman who runs that capitalist shitshow?” Bucky frowns. “Nah, she’s only motivated by money.”

You smile at him knowingly. “Money is a great motivator and our movement could benefit her greatly, so you just have to nudge her in the right direction.”

Bucky studies your face then and you might have found it less penetrating when he looked at your body with that stare. That intrigue. “And you already have a plan to tip her over to our side,” he concludes.

“You chose me for this for a reason, did you not?” you ask.

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I like a woman who takes her job seriously.”

You have no idea where that came from, but decide to go along with it anyway. You smirk and empty your flute, gently setting it down on the bar after. “Here I was, thinking you didn’t like anyone,” you purr and saunter off to find your other teammates and round up today’s mission.

You turn around when you hear Bucky yelling out your name, but then the room spins and debris flies everywhere. You’d cry out if the wind didn’t whoosh from your body and your ears don’t hollow out. You want to voice your discovery, as futile as it is, but the scream dies in your throat.

Someone just blew up the building.

…

It feels like there’s ash in your mouth. And throat. Your body bleats in pain, but nothing too severely. Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe you can’t feel a limb that’s no longer there. Maybe–

The room is dark except for an orange hue that travels over the ceiling and walls every few seconds. You’re slumped in a velvet chair and your fingers pluck softly at the fabric. One by one, your senses weave together and you hear the soft sounds of someone working on something. Paper ruffling, some gentle work, someone who’s trying to be quiet. You rasp in a raw breath and see a shadow at the bottom of your vision. But your body is relaxed. Or… Well, as relaxed as it can be.

There was an explosion.

“Have some water,” Bucky offers from his kneeling position between your legs and nudges his chin to the glass at the small table next to your chair. His voice is soft, raw. And when you squint at him while you blindly reach for the glass, you see soot on his face, dust on his suit.

“Are you alright?” you ask and your voice reminds you to take the drink. The water feels like heaven in your throat and you nearly gulp down the whole glass.

Bucky pauses at your question and surely he didn’t expect that to be your first question. “I’m fine,” he grumbles and focuses on the task at hand. Which, you quickly realise, is cleaning up the wound on your thigh.

Next to him, there’s a small container with small shards of glass in there and a used pair of tweezers. You feel the prickle of the wound at your thigh and observe closely as he presses some gauze to the puncture wounds. His hands are firm and steady as he wraps a bandage around your thigh to secure the gauze. His calluses scrape against your soft skin and you almost swear he takes more time than he should securing the bandage.

You heave a deep sigh and straighten up in the chair. “Natasha and Sam?”

“Natasha was sent to hunt down the ones responsible and needed an aerial patrol, so she took Sam.” Bucky clenches his jaw and you have a feeling it took some convincing to get Bucky to not go after the bastards himself, to let Natasha handle it instead. “There were deaths, lots of wounded.”

You flinch at that.

Bucky notices it. The glaze over your eyes and the tightening of your fingers into the soft fabric of the chair. He barely allows himself to hesitate and he cover your left hand with his right one, taking your fingers and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “We got out as many as we could, no one saw the explosion coming,” he explains and hopes the information brings you some peace. He’s desperate to take that haunted look off your face, but doesn’t know how.

He gives you time then. Allows you to sort through your memories and shush them. He strokes his thumb gently and squeezes your fingers every once in a while to anchor you to here, to being safe. Your breaths go from shallow to deep as they slow. He hears your heartbeat steady and watches clarity fill your eyes again.

Fuck him. Those eyes.

“Tomorrow, we go over your list and see what we can do. Let’s get some rest for now.” He pushes to a stand and moves to remove his hand from yours, but you hold onto him.

“I’m sorry for trying to escape,” you rasp and Bucky tenses at that. He did not expect that confession. Didn’t expect an apology either – he didn’t think one was warranted.

You slowly push to a stand and Bucky’s heartbeat spikes as you wobble on your legs before you steady yourself. His eyes search your face frantically and he tries not to linger at your lips for too long. You gently stroke a hand down his arm before brushing past him in thanks, and Bucky has to take a deep breath. A flash of you doing the same thing to one of tonight’s guests comes to him and jealousy hits him, a little too viciously. Just like it did when he saw it earlier tonight.

He turns around and watches as you walk up the small bag he packed for an instance like this. You pull out some clothes and Bucky shamelessly stares while you do it. He almost sighs as the sight of that orange hue travelling over your form, most of the sleek dress still intact and definitely still doing its job of making you look good enough to eat.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he blurts. But he stands still as he watches you freeze. You slowly turn to him and tilt your head at him curiously.

Then, a slow smirk spreads over your face and your brows raise playfully. Bucky frowns as he tries to read the expression on your face, even if the lightness of it makes him want to drop to his knees in relief. This is much, much better than that haunted look that was there mere minutes ago.

Until one of your hands lifts from the bag, a small scrap of lace dangling from your fingers. “I am never letting you pack our getaway bag again.”

Bucky matches your smirk and strides over to you, close enough that you have to tip your chin up to remain eye contact. “You can choose not to wear it,” he shrugs and the nonchalant gesture makes your legs weak. Slowly, he starts unbuttoning his own pants and shirt, stripping himself of his clothes and tempting you to break that eye contact. “But we’re sharing a bed, so you decide what is less tempting for me to look at.”

It takes everything inside of you not to balk at this… flirtation. But it’s nice – so fucking nice to deflate that balloon of tension after a mission like the one you had tonight. To have banter and humour and perhaps a little friendship.

“I better not catch you looking at all,” you snipe, but have a hard time keeping the smile off your face.

Bucky smiles too then and gives you a wink powerful enough to set your clothes aflame. “Too bad. You can’t ask that of me and look like that.”

That does render you a bit speechless and Bucky takes his win as he strips himself to his boxers. Climbing under the sheets, Bucky’s powerful body shifts and ripples with movement.

This is going to be a long night.

#ok this is NOT worth the wait #but its here which is a HUGE win for me #i hope you like it #not me being way too impatient to write a slow burn #the upcoming smut better be good too #pls tell me what u think i have obviouslty not forgotten about you guys #<3 #rebellion series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #writing #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #series

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alexsiple · 1 year

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hi everyone, i’ve made a 64 page lawlight fancomic. somehow a lot of my heart and soul went into it. it’s very earnest so please have mercy. read it here (it’s free)

#death note #art #fancomic #lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #comic #fanart #L death note #the bottom imgs are ooc previews. idk man pls tell me what u think if u read. i'll cry

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violentviolette · 7 months

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im gonna be very real and only say this once because there is zero room to change my mind on this

i am very psych critical and i agree with antipsych pricinicples and points, but bipolar disorder is a physical genetic condition that requires medication. point blank. medication is the Only proven effective treatment for bipolar and u cannot actually get better without it

and when i say get better i dont mean just slightly alleviate some things. i mean that remission means a complete and total lack of symptoms. if u are on the proper medication and taking it as perscribed then ur bipolar symptoms will stop. you will no longer experience mania, hallucinations, breaks from reality, delusions, ect. they will literally stop. and i say that so strongly because i know its factual because it is my very literal lived experience. it is also the lived expereince of everyone in real life that i have met and known throughout my 15+ years of treatment for bipolar disorder, which is dozens and dozens of people. I was diagnosed at 14 and have been in and out of treatment and on and off medication for over half my life at this point, and this is very much the reality but u also don't have to believe my lived expereince alone. bipolar disorder is one of the oldest recorded mental illnesses (we have literally known about it since the early 1800's) and treatment for it has existed almost as long. lithium is a naturally occuring salt and the only known antimanic agent in existence and humans figured out very quickly that this specific salt made some of us not insane anymore. the effectivenes of lithium and other mood stabilizers and the rates at which proper medication will result in full remission for bipolar patients and how relapses almost always only occur when people stop taking their meds is Very well documented. a reputable study done in 2003 reported that over 90% of bipolar patients recieving medication as treatment entered full remission within 2 years. and 72% of those people reported ZERO symptoms going forward

do not listen to people who tell u that u dont need medication for bipolar disoder, that it wont really help, that it only helps a little, that u can manage without it, that it wont actually make ur symptoms fully go away. they are lying to u, often to justify their own misguided decision to not take medication and ruin their own lives. do not listen to them because that kind of thinking will literally kill u. take ur fucking medication.

#jack.speaks #bipolar disorder #genuinely if u disagree and are thinking about arguing why u dont take meds and ur fine just save us both the trouble n block me #because i literally do not care what u have to say #if u are advocating in any way shape or form against bipolar ppl taking medication or trying to plant doubt about the effectiveness of meds #ur are the same as antivax d*terra moms to me and i Will tell u to stfu and kys #because the misinformation ur peddling will very literally ruin ppls lives and get them killed #if u have bipolar disorder pls pls pls get on and take ur medication #i promise u it will help

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uncreativebean · 4 months

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Why is no one talking about how Lucio's ashes were still on that charred bed 3 years later?? No one CLEANED HIM UP???

#id like to think its because everyone said his wing was haunted #so no one went to go clean it #but still i sometimes think about that #can you imagine being a ghost and your ashes are just on this crusty burnt bed #id be mad asf #what if you were a ghost and you were like “pls can u go clean upcthe remains of my body” but no one did bc they were scared #“that building is haunted and also a disembodied voice is telling me to do chores thats two red flags and im not waiting for a third”#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana lucio #lucio morgasson #count lucio #my posts

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ambroise-framboise · 20 days

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youtube

Have finally posted my Bdubs animatic !

It may be full of horses

Aka the Hermicraft s9 horse saga

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chipsncookies · 10 months

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I wrote Akio's backstory 🦊 I'm not a writer, i just wanted to get this story out of my head (I've already settled on it but writing is hard and drawing it would take too long). There may be grammar mistakes but i hope it's still understandable. I hope you'll understand more about Akio after knowing about his past. Please note it contains pokemon death and brief description of gore. Enjoy!

It all started when Akio was a zorua. He was born and raised in the icelands, but the condition there was so harsh he always wished he could settle somewhere else.

By a stroke of luck, he was found by a human boy who came to that place for some errands, and instead of fearing pokemon, he thought akio was really cute and decided to take him home. He put akio inside his satchel, making sure to be very discreet about it because his dad would not approve of it.

The boy would help his dad in the fields during the day, then go home to akio, bringing food. He keeps akio in a chest so he won't be found (the kind that's in Jubilife houses).

The boy is the son of a farmer, he had to help with field work and had no time to play, and he's also socially awkward so he often feels lonely. But meeting akio changed that, it feels like he's getting a friend. Even though people think of pokemon as a pest, he found akio very cute and delightful.

Akio has always been adventurous, and he prefers the village a lot more than the harsh conditions in icelands. He doesn't know a lot about humans except he was told to always avoid them, and adult pokemon would chase them away whenever they meet one, but with this boy akio feels he can trust him. After all, why not? He accepted him and took care of him. They bonded easily and became friends.

However, this would not last long.

One day, with terrible luck, akio somehow was seen by his family member, and they chased him out. Akio not understanding anything, ran out of the house. The villagers are shocked to see him, because they're strict and would never let pokemon in. They also have never seen a pokemon like akio, as most zorua and zoroark live in the icelands. They started to chase him. Eventually akio got caught, and they began investigating where he came from. They finally traced him back to the source: the boy's house.

Akio is trapped inside a net that restricts his movements. He struggled with all his might, but couldn't break it. He's scared and confused, and he tried to call for his friend.

The villagers are angry that someone broke the rules by allowing pokemon in, they are absolutely forbidden because the villagers didn't want them to eat their food reserves, which are already scarce, and especially since winter has already started.

They demanded explanation from the boy's family. The boy's dad is an important person to the village, he's their most hardworking farmer so this is a big issue for them. He vehemently denies it, saying he would never allow pokemon, he's hardworking and always helps in the fields. He urged the boy to say something to defend their family.

The boy, paralysed from the turn of events, looks at the angry mob, looks at his dad who's defending him, and lastly at his tiny friend struggling in the net.

He turned his head away from akio and said with a trembling voice, 'I... Don't know how it got here, it's not mine.'

They managed to convince the villagers that they were innocent. Akio, not understanding what's happening, cries for the boy. The boy covered his ears, akio's cries hurt him with guilt.

Having failed to find the one responsible of bringing him inside, the villagers assumed akio gets inside by himself with his pokemon ability or something. Feeling mad it was able to get in despite their measures, and paranoid it would come back in the future, the villagers decided to punish him: by killing him.

The boy is shocked to hear this, he didn't expect them to take such drastic measures. But he can't say anything, otherwise they'll find out he lied. He went home and cried. His family thought he was just shocked from the events, and they tried to reassure him, but it's useless.

After the deed is done, the villagers threw akio's body outside the village, his blood trickling onto the snowy ground below, leaving a trail.

But as soon as the guy who disposed of him turned around, the corpse begin to move, unnaturally and grotesquely, increasing in size and breaking the net that wrapped it, until there stood a creature with thick wispy hair, sharp claws and teeth, and bitter eyes, shaking with rage and desire for revenge. Akio is reborn as hisuian zoroark.

Back at home, the boy is still crying out of guilt and despair. He only wanted a friend, and he got one, but he betrayed him. He basically killed his best friend. He sat mourning by the chest that housed akio before. The zorua always slept in there, and when he came home and opened the chest he'd always see akio with bright yellow eyes waiting for him, eager to play with him. But those days are gone.

He was too heartbroken, he didn't realise the chaos outside. But then, everything went quiet. And then he heard the door being opened. The boy, wiping his tears and slightly dizzy from crying a lot, looked at the door. Akio, now a zoroark, stood there, eyes fixated at him.

The boy wiped his eyes again, trying to see clearly. Slowly, his brain registers the creature, which makes him freeze with shock, confusion, and fear.

But slowly, his eyes catch the details (he could not turn away), the familiar light grey fur, still visible even with all the blood splatter, and more features that he recognised. The boy immediately realised it's akio, his friend in a different form, whom he betrayed.

He broke down and grovelled at akio's feet. He asked for forgiveness, saying how he regretted what he'd done so much. That he was a coward and selfish for not saving akio. Between the sobs, he offered akio to take his life, as exchange for how akio lost his.

The boy closed his eyes, ready for akio to end him. But instead of pain, he felt a light pat on his head.

The boy is confused. He opened his eyes and saw akio smiling at him. And then akio turned around and walked away, leaving the village forever.

#chips's oc #akio #chips's work #pokemon death cw #this took place a while before pla events #there's no drawings beside this one im too tired #pls read and tell me what u think!#pokemon #pokemon oc #hisuian zorua

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