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etherealrin · 3 months ago

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✶⋆.˚ thinking about sae with an eyebrow piercing...

itoshi sae regrets ever giving into his intrusive thoughts—or more specifically—his and shidou's intrusive thoughts.

nothing was even supposed to happen that night. sae was only staying in japan for a few more days after the u-20s match had ended, and even though they had lost, he didn’t care. it wasn’t his reputation that had been damaged. however japan's under twenties team captain aiku had insisted on them all going out for drinks together, to "cheer up," which sae had reluctantly agreed to in order to appease his manager.

so yes, shidou had a few too many drinks in his system, and sae had drank as well. though the latter wasn't nearly as tipsy, it was enough to cloud his judgement.

that was the beginning of the end for sae.

"saeeeee," shidou slurred, a mischievous gleam in his pinkish eyes. "y'know what would look awesome on you?"

"huh?" the same disinterested tone that always came out whenever sae spoke.

"something 'bout your eyebrows, i dunno. like one of those eyebrow slits...wait, no! an eyebrow piercing, that would be an explosion!" although his words were barely coherent, the blonde seemed excited at the prospect, scrolling through his phone for something.

an eyebrow piercing? sae had never put much thought into that before, or any bodily piercing for that matter. would it really look good on him? he wasn't one to trust shidou's erratic taste, but...

sae recalls a conversation he had, not so long ago.

"i think guys with piercings are cool," you'd said over call a few nights back.

"huh?" sae had the same reaction to both your and shidou's insane suggestions. "no way, it'd probably mess up my soccer. and i'd look stupid."

you'd frowned at him through the pixels of his phone. "well, i'm not seriously asking you to get one, but it'd be hot, that's all."

"saeeee," in the short few seconds sae had been mulling over what you'd told him, shidou had come up to him again. sae raised an eyebrow, looking at the devilish boy pointedly. "we should totally do it. for fucks sake, we're in shibuya! there's loads of piercing studios around here!"

what happened next was enough to make the sober sae want to swear off alcohol for a lifetime.

he had actually agreed with shidou, and allowed himself to be dragged out of the bar, away from his teammates. the two stumbled into a brightly lit store, the employees giving them both questionable glances upon arrival.

"we want eyebrow piercings." shidou announced, showing them a reference picture—a silver, metal rod vertical against the eyebrow.

"...are you guys sure?" the girl working had asked. shidou nodded enthusiastically, and sae followed suit against his better judgement, somewhat dazed. the only thing that pushed sae to agree at that moment was the prospect of your reaction. would you think he was hot now? would your face turn bright red, would you gasp at-

a sharp pang drew sae back to reality, and he almost winced.

"it's done," the girl stated, handing them both a mirror. sae blinked. yeah, there was a thing in his eyebrow alright—the gleam of the cool metal was hard to miss. he didn't think too much of it, except that its angularity made his face and jawline appear sharper. if sae had to describe it, he might have chosen the word edgy, his hair was too pink for him to look emo.

"ooh sae, it's even better than i thought!" without warning, shidou snapped a selfie.

"delete that," sae's frigid glare should have been enough to scare him. unfortunately, it was shidou, and he was drunk.

"and...already posted, woohoo!"

sae was dragged out of the shop as quickly as he had came in, and the rest of the night was an alarming void in his memories. he hadn't the foggiest idea of how he made it back to his hotel, except that he woke up today after you had called him.

"morning, cariño."

"itoshi sae, are you possesed?" is that the start of some odd pick up line?

"i'm perfectly fine, thank you? did you really call me to ask that?" sae furrows a brow. he will never understand your train of thought, even after being with you for years.

"hello? do you not know what shidou posted? and i swear you said you'd never get any piercings..." your voice rings out loud and clear.

so that explains why sae awoke with a splitting headache.

"shit," he mutters, racing to the bathroom mirror. sure enough, that stupid piercing was still there, happily resting in his left brow. "i'll kill shidou," he groans, regret coursing through his body. surely last night was just a fever dream; he would have been insane to agree to match something so permanent with that blonde bug.

"don't you dare take it out, itoshi sae!" your sound is muffled now, given that sae had thrown the phone into his blankets.

"and why shouldn't i?"

"it's hot. also you might get an infection and that'd look bad." it's hot? it slowly dawns on sae the new leverage he holds over you.

"ohhh, so you like this," he starts, reaching back for the phone and bringing it up to his face. he's got a cocky smirk stuck to his lips, enjoying your flustered expression as he takes you up close and personal.

"stop it! i might die, you freak!" you actually sound pained, like he had sucked all the breath out of your lungs. sae snickers.

"let's see how you hold up when i come home, amor."

bonus: you could not wait for sae to come back to spain now. sure enough, when you finally greet him at the airport, he's got the same shit-eating grin on, sporting that damn piercing like he was the finest man alive (you think he is.) "sae!" you begin running towards him, and depsite trying to act nonchalant before, his feelings win and sae finds himself headed towards you as well. "missed you," you mutter into his arms after the collision. he doesn't say anything except pull you closer to his chest. when you look up, you think you might faint right there at the baggage claim area. "like what you see?" he's smirking again. "SAE!" you're bright pink now, curse your boyfriend for being too attractive!

a/n: i think i'll just evaporate now thanks...whatever possesed me to have this thought and write it out omfg. sae and rin with piercings haunt me on the daily

masterlist!

#shittt why did i do this #想 ; tiff thinks too much #ehhehehehe sae speaking spanish #the one time my spanish class did me good #cocky sae + piercing is too much now #冴 ; sae x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #sae blue lock #blue lock sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #sae x reader #sae x you #bllk #bllk sae

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mikashisus · 6 months ago

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ray idk anything about hsr or genshin so i can’t req for those unfortunately 💔 BUT you summoned me by including bllk in your list HEHEHE can i request smth for nagi?? i don’t really have any specific ideas though…maybe childhood friends 🤔 or anything you want really!!

sorry this is so unspecific i’ve never requested before 😔 but ilyyyy and congrats on 200 that’s amazing!!

— definitely not mira 👹

STITCH ME UP

synopsis: you didn’t consider nagi seishiro a friend at first. but now, you couldn’t imagine your days without him latched to your side.

taglist. @pneumosia @pixelcafe-network @gl4di0lus ( join the taglist here! )

word count. 2.1k ( contents : semi angst, injuries, mc has a short temper )

notes. this has been sitting in my inbox since JULY IM SO SORRY MIRA 😭 but it's finally here!! there'll def be a part 2 bc this is so dogshit and i need to redeem myself with a second part. mira i look up to ur writing sm so u only deserve peak, and i promise u'll get it in part 2 queen 🙏 anyw um the title is in reference to the song “stitch me up” by set it off :))

header art by: @/Liiiiiiimsao ( twt )

The first time you met Nagi Seishiro, you were about to go into your first year of middle school, curled up on the side of the street struggling to wrap a bandage around your left arm.

It was sunset then, and the world was quiet aside from the loud buzzing of cicadas and the occasional car passing by.

Nagi had just left a tiny convenience store located on the edge of the street, his phone in his hands as he tapped away at the game he was currently fixated on. Knowing the way back home by heart, he began to walk in that direction, unaware of his surroundings.

It was only when he tripped over something rather sturdy did he finally forcefully take his eyes off the device in his hand. His grip on his phone tightened. He was determined not to drop it and risk the screen cracking again.

Not paying any mind to what he just tripped over, he sighed in relief that he did not drop his phone, and patted down his pants.

“HEY!”

A loud yell drew him from his stupor. He slowly turned, coming face to face with a scowl. He blinked at you for a few seconds, before he faced you properly and raised a brow.

“Yes?”

“Look where you’re going, asshole! You tripped over me!” You snapped, patience wearing thin.

His shoulders slumped. Now that you stood in front of him, you realized just how tall he actually was. He kind of looked like a third year. It made you all the more aggravated. You hated anyone that could look down on you like he was.

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.” He shrugged, acting as if what just happened was not a big deal. “You have a bad mouth.”

That was the last straw. Your fists clenched tightly, your nails digging into your skin as your eye twitched. You ignored the pain in your palms and challenged his stoic stare.

“So what?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Is that a problem?”

He shrugged again and looked down at his phone. “I don’t really care.”

He got ready to leave, when he cast one last glance at you, and his eyes landed on the now bloody bandage that came undone from your arm. The longer he stared, the more he realized he'd seen you before.

He racked his brain for answers, sifting through each memory to try and remember where he’d seen you. Meanwhile, you were silent, fidgety. You did not enjoy people staring at you. It made you anxious, like they were trying to challenge you in some way.

This weird boy who you did not understand and you deemed an asshole for not watching where he walked made you feel quite nervous. You knew him from school. He was the boy who was exceptionally good at volleyball.

You could remember how fascinated you were watching him play during gym class. He had all the talent you could only hope for, and the envy had bubbled up inside you, growing exponentially. Despite your envy, you quickly forgot about him after you no longer had to be in the same proximity as him, and you went about your life without thinking of him again.

Until now.

Nagi finally remembered where he had seen you. It was as if a lightbulb had suddenly appeared above his head, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. You were that one kid that liked to pick a fight with anyone taller than you.

He first caught a glimpse of you in the nurse’s office when he had tripped outside during gym class and cut open his knee. As he was waiting for the nurse to return with gauze, he heard a commotion outside the office and saw your rather short form tackle a boy twice your size.

With the strength of a lion tucked inside that small body of yours, you refused to give up the fight until the nurse came back and rushed out into the hall to separate the two of you.

Nagi remembered watching your face fall in defeat when the nurse said to go to the principal’s office and that your parents would need to be called.

“You’re that kid.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. “You like to pick fights with people.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he watched you deflate like a balloon right in front of him. Your face fell, and your arms dropped to your sides. He wondered what it was that made you so upset. Was it the reputation you had around the school?

Just then, he saw the loose bandage on your arm completely come undone. It fell to the ground and pooled around your feet. Time stopped, and he stared in absolute horror at the mess of stitches on your arm. You did nothing to pick up the bandages. In fact, you barely moved.

He would’ve thought you to be a statue if not for the slight twitching of your fingers. You tapped idly against your thigh, your eyes blank as you stared at the ground. He watched closely as your fingers danced in a certain rhythmic movement, and he soon realized you were tapping in morse code.

S.O.S.

He barely had time to register that it was morse code. His focus went back to the ghastly stitches on your arm. They looked as if they were done by someone with no experience whatsoever, but there was clearly an attempt.

The wound itself did not look any better, and he wondered if you had even cleaned it all. He noticed a few other scars littered on your arm. They were smaller and less noticeable, but his intense stare had caught sight of them easily.

“How’d you hurt yourself?” He questioned softly, unaware he had asked that out loud instead of inside his head.

You did not answer. Not right away at least. With a heavy sigh, you collapsed back against the fence you were previously leaning on before he had tripped over you.

“I didn’t do anything,” you muttered with a tinge of venom in your voice. “It was someone else… But no one ever believes me, so as far as anyone is concerned, I did this to myself.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he picked up the bandages you dropped, careful not to touch the parts covered in blood, and told you to wait here.

Where would I even go? You thought. It’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.

Within a few minutes, he was rushing out of the convenience store and across the street again, a pack of gauze and a water bottle in his hands. His phone was now tucked into his pants pocket. He kneeled down next to you and gently reached for your arm.

“Did you try to stitch this up yourself?”

He did not need an answer. He already knew it, though he felt the need to ask anyway. You nodded, so slight he almost missed it. He pulled a pair of scissors from the second plastic bag wrapped around his arm and carefully cut the string.

With gentle hands, he removed the stitches to the best of his ability and dropped them onto the bandages from earlier. You tried your best not to move the whole time, but he could tell from your scrunched expression that you were in more than a bit of pain.

He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. “This might hurt.” He poured water over your wound, causing you to bite back a scream.

“I don’t know how to do stitches, so…” He trailed off. “So I just got this.” He held up the gauze he bought and carefully wrapped up your arm.

As soon as he was finished, he threw the gross bandages into the now empty plastic bag and glanced at you. Your brows were still furrowed and your lip was still tugged between your teeth.

He stood up, taking a look at the sky. The sun was almost fully over the horizon by now, and he was likely late for dinner. He needed to leave now and get back home. As he turned to do just that, he almost missed the slight crack of your voice.

“Thank you.”

Were it not for the temporary silence of the cicadas, he would have missed your words entirely, and it would not have paved the way for your future with Nagi Seishiro.

The next time you saw Nagi was in your second year of middle school.

A white volleyball came flying out of the gym one day after school, narrowly missing his nose. It fell to the ground with a plop a foot away from him. Rushed footsteps sounded from behind him as he picked it up, and he could hear the yells of the volleyball team from the open doors of the gym.

A familiar voice entered his ears. “I got it!”

Moments later, you were rushing out of the gym doors, sweat lining your temple and your collarbone. An exhausted expression rested on your face, and fresh bandages were wrapped around the same arm he tended to a year prior.

You stopped as you looked up at him, your eyes flashing with recognition as you took in the tall boy standing before you with your volleyball in his hands. You swallowed thickly, fiddling with the hem of your black t-shirt.

He handed you the volleyball. “Here you go.”

“…Thanks.” You hesitantly took it from his hands and hugged it to your stomach. You stared at him warily for a moment before turning around to head back into the gym.

“You play volleyball?” He asked suddenly, shocking you as you were not expecting him to make small talk.

You turned to face him again and nodded. “Yeah… My dad is a fan, so as soon as I was old enough to play, he signed me up for lessons,” You said.

There was a pause, and he could tell by the awkward look in your eyes that you were debating on if you should share more or not. In the end, you caved.

“I’m not that good. So I mainly just play because it’s fun.” You shrugged. "...I should get back to practice.”

You left before he could get another word out. Later that day, when you were walking home from practice, you saw Nagi again— this time walking out of his house. His eyes met yours, and you both stared at one another in surprise. You lived in the same neighborhood.

You never went as far as to consider that you and Nagi were friends. Not at first, at least. You never had friends— not after your reputation of being a short-tempered, fight-starter circulated around the school. Even your volleyball team was not a fan of you, despite the fact that you were surprisingly good when it came to teamwork.

Everyone was inclined to stay away from you. Either out of fear or hatred, you weren’t sure. But as time passed, you came to accept being the loner who always ended up in the principal’s office.

That was until Nagi offered you a can of soda after your failed attempt of getting the faulty vending machine to work. It was late in the afternoon on a Friday in Spring of your first year of high school. Up until that point, the two of you only interacted at odd times when you just so happened to come across each other in the halls or walking out of your houses.

No words were ever shared between you, only slight nods of the head and small waves in greeting. Now, though, Nagi was taking a seat next to you on the staircase, placing a can of soda next to your foot. He pulled out his phone, loaded up a game, and handed it to you.

“Wanna play?”

You blinked at him in surprise, before nodding. You got past four levels in the game before dying, letting out a groan of frustration. He leaned over your shoulder, watching the screen intently. Occasionally, he’d chime in with a word of advice, or ask if you wanted him to do that level for you. You two sat there on that staircase for what felt like hours, before a staff member came and told you to leave.

After that day, you would meet on the stairs everyday after your volleyball practices, playing that very same game together and attempting to outdo each other’s high scores. This routine continued, until one day you invited him to the park with you to play there.

You didn’t consider Nagi Seishiro a friend at first. But now, you couldn’t imagine your days without him latched to your side.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi bllk #nagi blue lock #nagi x reader #nagi x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro x you #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #— ( 🥂 200 event. mikashisus. )#—mikashisus works .ᐟ

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izxz-is-deranged · 2 months ago

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Half Agony, Half Hope

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You do not care for men. Most pursue you for the fortune they will inherit if you marry. But there was one, selfless Devil who saved you, and you could not easily forget his charms. Your Aunt and Uncle Ellison, however, beg for your realism in finding a suitable partner. At a Ball one evening, you cross paths with a Mr. Murdock. Could he be the fix for your situation? Or, perhaps, another devilish trick?

regency specific yearning | limited series

< ao3 link > < masterlist >

A/N: Spring is turning to summer and I have been re-reading Jane Austen Novels. Please enjoy this limited series, 5 installments are planned and written and will be uploaded as they are edited and polished!The name is also a reference to Persuasion, and there are references littered all through from various Austen novels. <3

1: The Happenstance of a Ball

To be the talk of the town was never a good thing.

No matter the subject, venomous women shared quick whispers in the shadowed corners of parties, and those would go on to spread to the loud, air-headed men downing their drinks, without such a care for the damage a reputation can give. And though a fortnight had come and gone since your rescue from the robber, people had not let matter come to rest. The tales of the encounter followed you wherever you dare set foot, and to all their respect, you had not yet had the fortune to dispel your own memories of the event.

Or, perhaps, the memories of a certain masked man.

You’ve lain in your bed awake, staring through the window into the deep night, simply replaying the scene. The ruffian who grabbed you, who tried to pull you to the alley. The fear you felt rip through you when you couldn’t escape, but then, like a spitfire of divine justice, a man clad in black tore him off you. You barely had time to register what had happened before your assailant was sprawled unconscious against the cobblestone.

“Can you stand?” The masked man asked, voice low.

He offered a hand wrapped in dark fabric towards you, gently, juxtaposed to how that same hand drew blood from the nose of the wicked. You worried he was some other highwayman, or some gentleman thief who was here to claim the other man’s bounty as his own, but that seemed to not be the case. Your heartbeat drowned out the noise of the town at night, as your eyes took in the broad figure of the masked man above you. By all accounts he was scandalously dressed without the wrapped black of the mask that was pulled taught over the top half of his face. Tall boots, tight pants, and a loose, black shirt with no waistcoat nor jacket to cover it, instead only a sash across his hips securing two wooden batons.

Despite yourself, and the strangeness of your rescuer, you took his hand. He hoisted you from the floor, swifter than you had fallen. You can’t help but gasp at motion, but it settled as a single, nervous laugh. In the dim light of the alley, you swear you see him smile.

“ Find the constable, tell him what has happened here ,” he commanded, as he began to disappear into the night.

“ Wait, sir! Am I not to know the name or see the face of the man that has saved my life and honor? ” you blurted out, your words folding over themselves before you can think.

He paused, head tilted over his shoulder. “ I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to your fantasies .”

Oh, if only you could tell him how apt that comment turned out to be.

Word spread quick of the story, and the rumor of your hero moreso. Inkings in the paper only tried to capture the likeness of the masked man terrorizing the underbelly of the city. You’d analyzed them carefully, but found that they didn’t quite paint him in the same light you remember, even still, you had taken to tucking them into the drawer of your bed stand. They had begun to refer to him as a “Devil Amongst Men”, on account of his damning punishments of criminals and thieves, yet none had been killed. It puzzled the media, and the men around, as they were both quick to draw on their prey.

“It is strange they refer to him as a Devil. He would not be called but an Angel if I had anything to say about it,” You said, eyes glancing over the latest paper.

You were sat down for tea in the drawing room with your Aunt Lily. Your parents had passed while you were still a babe and you were sent to be raised by your cousins, The Ellisons. Their own son had been married and gone 3 years since, and while they treated you as their own (You even had their last name at this point), you couldn’t inherit your family’s fortune until you were married. A problem your Aunt Lily made it her mission to solve. By some manner of coincidence, your Uncle, Mitchell Ellison, was the owner of the Bulletin, the daily local paper. After the attack, he’d printed the story the very next morning, but hadn’t taken your heroic perspective into account, just the fact a masked man had you cornered in an alley.

“Perhaps you should recount the tale again to your Uncle. I’m sure he would be swayed this time,” Aunt Lily teased, smiling as she occupied her fingers with the needle point.

“He won’t hear of it,” you muttered as annoyance creeped in.

“Well, I have an excellent distraction, if you’d allow me to take your mind off it.” Her voice quirked upwards. A glance that could not be more mischievous was sent your way and you found yourself raising an eyebrow.

“What are you scheming?”

“Not me, my dear, the Wesleys. Apparently, they are holding a last minute Ball to announce the marriage of some family friend of theirs. Their estate is quite large and the fanfare might attract more… suitable men, instead of your vigilante.”

“By suitable men you mean rich?” You knowingly smiled at your Aunt and her predictability. “Even should I go, the shadow of him would follow me. Polite society is quite taken with him at the moment and I’d be a spectacle… again. The Damsel saved by the Devil, they call me.”

“But you will go, will you not?” She leaned forward, setting her needle point down just long enough to push the matter as she waited for your answer.

You deeply sigh. “Yes, yes, of course. Perhaps he’ll arrive to whisk me out of the madness.”

But your words are filled with a false annoyance, you loved the happenstance of a Ball. The dresses, the wine and revelry, the music and dancing. Being out in society gave you the opportunity to dance with many men, but none had caught your eye for any special attention. You’d sworn off marriage unless it was a match born out of only the deepest love, but your Aunt and Uncle begged for your realism. A part of you was beginning to believe that you should listen to them, but the thoughts were quelled by your love of the Devil. Though your infatuation wasn’t really love, was it? Gratefulness? Sure. A childlike crush on the dashing hero? Possibly. However, a distraction by the unattainable? Most definitely.

The coming days were spent preparing yourself– Your dress, planning your desired hair style. Your Uncle had gifted you a gorgeous white gown with golden trimmings and matching ribbon to tie around it. You knew it cost a smidge more than he would normally spend, so you were quite aware how much they believed in you to find a suiter at this Ball.

When the day arrived, your friend, Miss Marci Stahl, nearly paraded herself through your house with fever. The earth might have shaken the day she found out you were both attending. Her dress was an almost garish spring green, and not your taste in the slightest, but it did flatter her bold personality. She stood behind you, styling your hair and weaving in baby’s breath flowers as you sat in front of the vanity. Marci had been telling you all about a gentleman she had met who she was expecting to see again tonight.

“Oh, but he was quite clever, and had such boisterous humor! With one of those sweet faces, quite like an excited dog.” Marci laughed at her own words.

“That cannot be a compliment, Marci,” you mused, fiddling with the edge of the vanity.

“But it is– When you meet him, you’ll understand me perfectly.”

“What was his name again?”

“Mr. Franklin Nelson. Though his friend referred to him without break as ‘Foggy’; It seemed to be some nickname of sorts,” she explained.

“ Foggy…, ” you repeat. “Odd. I wonder how it came about.”

“Who are we to speculate? But if your curiosity is too strong, you can ask him tonight. I tell you to keep in mind that I am the one seeking his favor, so save your charms.”

You laughed wildly, eyes sparkling. “Keep your gentleman! I have no intention of undermining your efforts, Marci. I wouldn’t dare betray your confidence like that.”

Marci stilled your head, positioning you to look at yourself in the mirror. “Oh, but you wouldn’t have to do so much but look at a man the right way and he’d be moon-eyed. The most eligible gentlemen seek you out at every event. It–”

“– It is no secret that they are to receive a good fortune if they marry me. That is why they insist upon the chase,” you interrupted as you met her eyes in the mirror, “I do not trust the heart of any man I meet. I fear that is my folly and why I will end up a penniless spinster.”

Marci scrunched her face in disapproval, but there is no malice behind the action. She leaned down and whispers, “ Yet, you are infatuated by the Devil you don’t know. ”

You lit up in flustered amusement and you waved her back vigorously. “Dear Marci, please! I cannot take teasing over it.”

“How can I not?” Marci questioned. She finished your hair and retrieved her gloves from where they were laid out across a chair. Her own silver blonde hair in delicate ringlets dropped around her face. They bounced as she began to speak again. “I fear you are in love with an idea.”

“I am in love with the fact that he was the only man not to disappoint me. He did nothing short of save my life. I do not know 100 men as brave as he was at that moment, and he did it without witness or reward.” You found yourself explaining as you fixed your drop-pearl earrings.

A deep sigh escapes her and she places her hands on her hips. “You have not considered the other possibility.”

“Which is?” you ask, turning around to face her.

“That he did it not out of the goodness of his heart– But a want for violence.”

Ever the one for deep insight, Marci’s words echoed your entire journey to the Wesley Estate. You'd been so starry eyed you hadn’t entertained the idea of your hero having any ulterior motive. It felt all too possible, especially with the other encounters documented in the papers. What did it matter though? What was your real possibility of seeing him ever again? Your thoughts swirled, keeping you preoccupied from your family in the carriage. Marci had accompanied you all, and she sat pristine beside you with your Aunt and Uncle across from you, who had taken notice of your mental absence.

“Is your head with you?” he asked, squinting at you over the half-moon glasses set on his nose. While his tone may be cold to others, you knew him well enough that it was his concern bleeding through. “You seem lost. Are you quite well?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry, Uncle,” you muttered in reply.

“Now, now, Mr. Ellison. I’m sure she’s just dreaming of the splendor we’ll encounter tonight, correct?” Aunt Lily posed. She gently rocked back and forth with the sway of the carriage, her eyes watching you intently, as if she could read and judge your thoughts for her own.

“I was just–”

Marci injected– “My! I’d never seen such a handsome house!”

A large brick and stone building grew in size as you approached in the carriage. Yours was one of many pulling into the property, signified by the gentle displacement of gravel and the woody hooves of horses. A long, green yard with a gorgeous lake sprawls out in front of it, the starlight dancing on the soft ripples created by the night wind. Men and women dressed in their very best poured into the building like pinpricks of color against golden fabric. Voices and music rose through the air, muffled only by the walls of the estate, but the excitement seeped out of the doors and windows and any other cracks it could find.

Your carriage came to a halt, and you and your family exited. Marci strided forward, and your Aunt and Uncle took each other's arms to walk in together. You trailed behind, but only by a few paces, eyes consuming the scene in your wake. As soon as you were through the doors, you were enamored by the people, laughing and delicately speaking to round out the familial mood. Your smile grew wider as you let the music seep to your ears. The ceilings stretched above you, detailed with pastels and gold filigree. You’d already lost Marci amongst the crowd, and you surged forward to catch your Aunt and Uncle before they disappeared as well.

You caught Aunt Lily’s shoulder. “I definitely believe I’ve encountered the splendor! Who heads this estate again?”

“Sir James Wesley, a Baronet. Though, I don’t believe he will make an appearance tonight. Word is that he is the private type and only tolerates the company of a few,” she replied by dropping her voice to a hushed whisper so that the people beside did not hear.

“A spectacularly rich man who does not bother to attend his own engagements? Is he eligible?” You joked.

“I’m afraid you’ll find Mr. Wesley to be a permanent bachelor.” Your Uncle comments and you understand immediately. The constant reward of being in the newspaper industry was that your uncle always had information about everyone. Well, almost everyone. “Where has Miss Stahl run to?”

You glance around. Even in her bright green, she could not be seen in this room and must’ve been deeper into the house. “I’m not sure. Probably seeking out her Mr. Nelson.”

“ There’s a Mr. Nelson? ” A gasp escapes Aunt Lily’s face brightens at the prospect.

You laughed. “As far as I am aware. I ought to find her before she loses all propriety in her pursuit of him.”

And with that you broke off into the party. You weaved in and out of the figures, not paying at all to the turning of heads when you passed certain men. Your mind was one tracked, and room after room, you did not see your mission.

Until she found you, grabbing your arm with more force than necessary.

“There you are!” Marci exclaimed. “He’s here! You have to come meet him– Quick!”

Marci dragged you towards the other side of the ballroom, keeping close to the wall as dancers took up most of the floor space. They braided around one another to the flowing violin, women smiling broadly and men’s eyes twinkling at the ribbons trailing after their movements.

A gentleman was revealed standing next to one of the columns of the room. Marci pulled you into his direction and you stared ahead as he came into view. You almost understood the dog comment now. It truly wasn’t a critique as even from this distance you saw his round, pleasant face break open into laughter. His hair was golden and fine, twirling back over his ears and sideburns, giving him much the presence of the cocker spaniel your family had when you were young. Once he spotted Marci waltzing back over, he tilted his head up as a wide, inviting smile was thrown your way.

As the people in front of you parted, your eyes found the man accompanying him, and the room slowed to a stop.

He wasn’t much taller than Mr. Nelson, but he had wide shoulders that even his near black tailcoat could not mask. His dark hair was neatly combed to the side and fell over his forehead in a gentle arch. His mouth was quirked up in a subtle amusement, with the whisperings of his dark stubble beginning to shade his smile. None of this compared to the small set of wine-red lenses that hid his eyes and sat perched on the slight curve of his nose. He stood still, poised, with his hand wrapped around a cane. Reality around him seemed to bend as your heart began to stutter.

You blinked a few times, in a deep surprise at yourself. Typically, even the most objectively handsome men you could wave off, but there was something almost familiar about his good looks you couldn’t put your finger on. Perhaps your masked Devil has warped your sense of attraction so innately that any man who hid his eyes was now in danger of being fawned over.

“Ah! Miss Stahl! You have returned to us after all. I feared I had finally scared you away!” Mr. Nelson said through a smile, voice rounded and humorous. “And who is this you have with you?”

Marci says your full name and you courtesy ever so slightly.

“Miss Ellison just curtsied for us!” Mr. Nelson comments to his friend. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard nothing but praise from your dear Miss Stahl.”

“Of course, Mr. Nelson, and I of you.” Your voice is distant and your gaze flitted back to the other man. “And… Who might you be?”

His head tilts at you, eyebrows raising high onto his forehead. “Are you addressing me?”

Your face flickers with confusion. “Well, who else–”

“–My partner here, Mr. Murdock, lacks vision in his eyes. You’ll have to excuse him,” Mr. Nelson interjects.

A bone-seated embarrassment flushed through you. “Oh! Oh . My mistake I assure you, Mr. Murdock. I apologize for my impertinence.” The words fell out of your mouth as quickly as you could form them.

He just nodded in response.

Marci spoke up to break the tension as the music shifted. “...This is my favorite dance they have begun!”

“Well, then we must away to dance it!” Mr. Nelson cried. “Miss Ellison, will you do the honor of keeping Mr. Murdock company until we return?”

Your heart stopped at the idea, but you watched as Mr. Murdock’s jaw tightened. You’re unsure if he’d enjoy your presence much. Marci nudged you discreetly and you realized you hadn’t yet answered. “...If only that’s agreeable by him,” you replied slowly.

Mr. Murdock swallowed, then spoke, voice even. “It’s fine. Enjoy your dances, Foggy.”

Mr. Nelson and Marci disappeared together, and you’re left with the new Mr. Murdock.

There was a long pause of silence, filled only by the other voices and the music of the ball. You considered abandoning your post, but the mystery of him intrigued you… and it was definitely not your inclined fancy or your want at redemption from your earlier misstep.

“I dare say, you seem rather familiar. Have we met before?” you asked.

“Not that I am aware of,” Mr. Murdock replies simply.

“Then I must’ve seen you around town at some point,” you guess, though you weren’t half convinced by it.

“Well, I wouldn’t have seen you, so perhaps that is our explanation.”

He flashed a smile and you let out a laugh at the joke, testing the waters. The tension in his shoulders lessened at your laughter, and you realized he wasn’t as intimidating as you thought initially. There was a good chance his good looks just made you nervous.

“Do you dance, Mr. Murdock?”

He rocks his head. “Not particularly. I find that partners are less willing when you're…” He gestures up to the glasses with a wave of his hand.

“But you do know the dances, do you not? Certainly you are able to count steps. They are all practiced movements, and require not the ability of sight but the lightness of foot! There must be a way to accommodate you,” you respond, tone bordering on incredulous. It bothered you that he might miss out on such a novel pastime due to something he couldn’t control, and that you may miss out on the pleasure of dancing with him.

A distant hint of warmth crept into his expression, and you caught a glimpse of your own reflection in his glasses. “I appreciate the concern, Miss Ellison, but I’d have more desire to dance if I was in a private setting.”

The conversation stilled there and another quiet moment passed by. You scanned for Mr. Nelson and Marci amongst the dancers and spotted them joyously twirling together. You smiled to yourself at your friend’s happiness. They seemed a good match for each other, you dared to say.

“Marci’s attentions drift so easily… it’s a wonder to see her so devoted to your friend.” You finally said, almost lost in thought.

“I assume your attentions are quite different then, by your severity,” Mr. Murdock turned himself more toward you as he spoke.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. “Well… Mine are not so easy to capture.”

He inhales. “Then how would one–”

“Mr. Murdock!” A deceivingly stern voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. A man you knew as Constable Mahoney began to stride over towards you… and you realized you hadn’t seen him since the night you were attacked. “And Miss Ellison! I had not inquired after your health after the event of weeks prior. You must forgive me, but you seem to have recovered well.” He took a deep bow.

“Were you hurt?” Mr. Murdock then asked, his brow knitted above his head.

You are about to answer when Constable Mahoney takes the lead. “Miss Ellison survived an encounter with the Devil of our County!” He said, much louder than necessary, which turns heads your way.

“The lady encountered the Devil?” A bright, posh voice perked up from a seating area somewhere behind you. You turned to look and the most elegantly dressed woman you’d ever seen, with graying hair pinned away from her regal features, looked over her shoulder at you. “I would quite like to hear that tale.”

The party she was sat with was, for lack of better phrasing, the richest at the ball. This is how they made their fun, absorbing the county’s gossip. It’s as if this particular type of woman had ears in every corner of the room, for that is where they find their entertainment. They all murmured agreements with each other and watched you, expecting and hungry.

“Well?” She asked, gesturing in front of her, “Come, come! Do not be so shy. You are among friends here.”

Glancing out of the corner of your eye at Mr. Murdock, whose face was nothing but puzzled, you tried to decide what to do. This was exactly what you expected, and while you were not poor, this level of wealth radiating off of this side of the party felt particularly intimidating.

“ It would be better to comply. This is Lady Diana Wesley– Mother of the head of the estate. Not a woman to cross ,” Constable Mahoney muttered to you subtly. He didn’t wait for your response before he took your arm and gently guided you forward.

“Oh, no, no, no. I promise you have all read the tale in the papers! I will only bore you!” You begged as Mahoney showed you to the center of the seating area, where you now stood in the cradle of the crescent. “I have told this many times–”

“Nonsense! Nonsense! I have not heard of it! As well, I’m sure your gentleman can spare you, isn’t that correct? Or better yet, I am sure he would be interested in listening in!”

She looked back at Mr. Murdock, who had stepped over to stand behind the couch. He tilted his head up in your direction, which surprised you. For someone who could not see, he had an uncanny ability to know where you were. He spoke. “Perhaps… you should tell it once more. And then I will personally make sure not a word is breathed about it again.”

Lady Diana Wesley smiled at this, the action deepening the lines in her face. “How honorable. Certainly you cannot object to that offer, Miss…?”

“Miss Ellison,” Constable Mahoney finished.

“ Miss Ellison ,” she repeated, voice elated.

Your eyes flicked to Mr. Murdock. Even though he had no realistic way of preventing the story from being told, his conviction convinced you. “Of course… I daresay I cannot.”

With all eyes on you, you told the story once more. Eventually, Marci and Mr. Nelson had returned and sat to listen in, Marci casting devious glances at you all the while. The Lady seemed pleased by your tale and when you finished, the group delivered a polite clap.

“You are a gifted storyteller, Miss Ellison, I do say! I almost feel as though the Devil was in the room with us now!” Lady Diana Wesley said.

Mr. Nelson laughed loudly and shared a look with Mr. Murdock, who did not seem as pleased.

Marci speaks up, much to your fear. “If he were, I am sure she would have danced thrice over as his partner.”

“ Marci, ” You called, shaking your head almost imperceptibly, but it was too late.

“Harboring a fancy for him, is she? Now that is quite the morsel.” Lady Diana Wesley just laughed once more. Her tone was conspiratorial and her eyes trailed up and down your persons. “But I cannot persecute you over being a woman, for who could resist such a dashing hero? And you are a gem , I must say. A true beauty. Any man could be so lucky.”

You took a politely small bow at the compliment, when you looked up, both Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock had disappeared. Your face fell with disappointment. Marci was gesturing for you to follow her, and you made your excuses to the group and the Lady.

Diving back into the organized chaos of the ball, Marci once more had a hold of you. She pulled you through until you were both hidden in the shadows behind a wall, where no one else could see or hear you.

“Oh, wasn’t he a dream?” Marci fawned, holding both your arms.

“He seems a good match for your boldness, I say,” You commented, peeking around the corner into the crowds, looking for the disappeared gentlemen.

“Who are you searching for?” Marci asked, before a gasp escaped her lips, “I knew it! I thought you were giving him eyes!”

“Who?” Your voice was distracted by your efforts.

“Mr. Murdock!” Marci chirped, her smile wide.

You snapped back towards her. “What? No! No, don’t start your teasing again! You are mistaken!”

“Mhmhm…”

Marci begun to blather on about more about his Mr. Nelson, and you were still distracted by searching for his partner. Men in similar coats made your heart skip then fall, and you were about to give up hope, when you spotted his silhouette. Your excitement was short lived however, as you saw him talking with a gorgeous blonde woman in a soft pink gown. His grin was wide and he looked 10 times more comfortable with her than he did for even a second with you. You would be blind to discount the possibility his heart already belonged to another.

The rest of the night was a blur of trying to distract yourself from how quickly you built up Mr. Murdock in your mind. You danced with a few good men, sipped your wine, and enjoyed more words with the Lady Diana Wesley. You didn't understand why she took such a liking to you, but you couldn’t complain as she was quite a formidable connection to make. You found out the blonde woman talking with Mr. Murdock was a woman named Karen Page, after your Uncle introduced you to her as she was a writer for the paper.

You couldn’t help but think she was twice your beauty, with a mind to match. No wonder Mr. Murdock’s attentions had been trained on her. By the time you were back home after the ball, you had nearly dispelled all feelings for the strange Mr. Murdock. Now, you were sitting at your window, watching the streets below you. You swore you watched a figure shift on the rooftop across from you, but you waved it off as a trick of the light. You blew out your candle, going to finally sleep off the day. But, what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t tired eyes playing tricks. The Devil sat perched across the way, listening to your heartbeat as you were lulled to sleep, because despite his one masked meeting with you, and his avoiding you at the ball, he felt just as strongly pulled to you as you were to him, and that scared him half to death.

Taglist: @vioplay19

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #regency au #izxz writes

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elsa-fogen · 10 months ago

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Meet the hyperfixations 1 - Winx Club - Bloom

Okay so, i decided to make few fanarts dedicated to all of my past hyperfixations, so you could know me better i think?

and my first hyperfixation, suddenly, Bloom. You don't know, but Winx was my first fandom, my first hyperfixation and the longest one in general (from the second to the seventh grade, FIVE fucking YEARS) Well, it's clear that Winx greatly influenced my drawing style, I think this can be seen even after so many years by the way, I drew Believix from memory without references. except some small details, but otherwise I remember everything… should I be sad or proud?… By the way, Believix is my favorite transformation for some reason. I don't know, Enchantix is of course beautiful and dramatic, but!!!!! I don't vibe with the designs. Believix was more my thing. and Dark Bloom is a whole other story, I saw her without any context for the first time and was like WHAT IS THIS GIVE ME MORE!!!!! and at the time when I was a fan of Winx, I didn't have regular access to the Internet, I had to catch the episodes on TV, so basically… I never watched Winx normally? almost… I think that at some point I finally got a DVD to watch them, because I remember how I started the second season and, recognizing the places, I kept waiting for Bloom to go crazy and become dark ahaha

#winx bloom #winx #winx club #winx believix #bloom believix #dark bloom #winx dark bloom #bloom winx #winx club fanart #winx fanart #Elsa Fogen Art tag

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huskersbooze · 1 year ago

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Bambi

Alastor x Reader

Summary : Alastor returns from his outing one day, finding a guest lying on the floor, unconscious, in front of the Hazbin Hotel. Untrue to Alastor fashion, scaring most of the staff members, he decides to keep the fascinating creature in his broadcasting studio, and when she wakes up, she's forgotten everything, even her name. And when Alastor starts calling her nicknames in the mean time, he accidentally gives her one that she ends up growing attached to..

Warnings : N/A

Pairing : Alastor x F!Reader (Gn!Reader here, M!Reader here)

Additional tags : Fluff(?), mentions of amnesia, Alastor actually being nice?!

Word count : 1.06k

“Wonderful, just wonderful! You’re awake!”

A staticky voice drew you out of your thoughts. Surprised, you snapped your neck towards the sound, and a rather tall and slim figure was right at your face.

“Charming, I haven’t seen you around here before!”

You flinch as the figure leans closer, causing them to back away slightly.

“Who.. who are you?”

“Pleasure to meet you, dear, just a pleasure! I'm Alastor, the Radio Demon. And who might you be?"

"I..” You reply. “I don't know."

He seems taken aback by your response slightly, but his smile doesn't falter. Instead he cocks his head to the side and blinks at you.

"What's your name?"

You stay quiet for a while until you give an uncertain head tilt back to him.

"I don't know.."

The grin still very much glued to his face, he leaned a bit closer to you, voice dropping to a more hushed tone.

"Darling, you don't remember your name, or you don't know your name?"

"I.. I don't remember." You fight the urge to start fidgeting with your hands, looking down to the ground as your memories become a hazy blur.

"You don't remember? Your name? Anything?"

"No.."

He doesn't seem to let his bright smile falter at that, although his expression shifts slightly towards curiosity.

"Quite the fascinating creature you are." He blinks a couple of times before he shifts to lean against what seemed to be a broadcasting panel, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Intriguing, really. Do you know what happened to your memory?"

"No.. not really."

"Well, that's unfortunate." The Radio Demon lets out a chuckle, static still laced in his laugh. "It seems you're in a bit of a dilemma, aren't you, Bambi?"

"Bambi.. I like it." You reply.

"Pardon me?" He raises his eyebrow at you, surprised at your statement.

"Bambi. I like the sound of that."

He laughs, a smile sounding from him again. There was something so unsettling yet alluring about him.

"That is rather fitting, I suppose. Bambi.. it's not a bad name." He thinks for a few seconds, stroking his chin as he considers. "And I suppose I'll need something to refer to you if you're staying. It fits you.."

"Staying?"

"Where do you think you are right now, darling? You certainly didn't expect me to leave you out there with your memories wiped with nowhere to go?"

"I.."

"Surely you hoped to stay for accommodation and basic necessities?" The Radio Demon asks, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "You've lost your memory after all, have you not?"

"Yes.." You hesitantly replied. Sure, you've lost your memory, but you weren't stupid enough to follow a random Radio Demon around without knowing him.

"I don't bite, Bambi. I can guarantee everyone at the hotel will treat you with the respect you deserve. And if they don't, all you need to do is let me know and I'll handle them for you."

"Hotel?"

"My, my, you really are a clueless little deer." Alastor uses a cane-typed staff to ruffle your hair. “So fragile and just the cutest little thing.”

“Thank.. you?”

Alastor tilts his head to the side curiously.

"It seems as if my teasing isn't upsetting you. How strange." He merely comments. “Oh, to understand your lost little mind.”

You carefully scan the room. It seemed to be a broadcasting studio, the room simply in red. Totally wasn’t sinister at all.

“So, what do you say, Bambi? We wouldn't mind providing you with all the necessities you need for now.”

“Necessities?”

Alastor chuckles again.

"Like, a bed, for example! Or, oh, I'm sure you'd want new clothes as well, right? And... if that's not enough, we do serve breakfast the next day. If you want food, that is..."

“Jambalaya..” You mutter, mostly to yourself as you’re lightly lost in thought.

Alastor’s grin widens a little, his ears perking slightly at the sudden mention of his favourite food.

"I can't say that I was expecting that, but... yes, we actually do have jambalaya on the menu for lunch. How'd you know that?"

“Oh, sorry.. I was just talking to myself. It’s my favourite food.” You stifle a blush as you let out an embarrassed smile.

“Ah, so you do remember some things, Bambi.” He raises his voice in curiosity, walking towards a trapdoor in the floor. “Come along, dear, let’s bring you to Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

“The owner of the hotel, and also the Princess of Hell.”

“We’re in hell?”

Alastor stops in his tracks as the two of you reach the hallways, finally out of Alastor’s broadcasting tower.

“After our whole conversation, you just noticed?”

“I.. I suppose so.”

“Oh, dear, you really are just one mysterious creature, aren't you? To think you just appeared here, with no memories of yourself, of the world, and even what you're doing here in Hell. You are truly fascinating..”

Alastor smirks, speaking in a lower voice. “Charlie will be delighted to have you here.”

After introductions and such, Charlie settles you into the room next to Alastor’s, opposite of Angel Dust, and introduces you to all the staff.

“So.. who are ya’ exactly?” The white spider raises a hand, slouching on the couch with a grey cat beside him.

“This is our new guest!” Charlie introduces. “Alastor found her unconscious and offered to let her stay.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question, princess.” The grey cat speaks up, seemingly bored from the unoriginality of these introductions.

“Well, Husker, our little friend here has lost her memories.” Alastor speaks up from beside you, ruffling your hair with his staff-cane-thing once more. You still couldn’t make out what it was really supposed to be.

“Lost her memories?” Vaggie is the one to speak up this time.

“Indeed. It seems our dear friend doesn't even remember her own name, let alone anything else.”

“Then what a’ we s’posed to refer to her as?” Angel questions.

“You could call me Bambi..” You mutter softly, gaze glued to your own feet.

“Works for me.” Husk shrugs.

“Sure.” Angel replies.

Vaggie and Niffty nods.

You feel the static beside you grow a bit louder, and as you shift your gaze, you see Alastor keeping his composure with his backs behind his back, his eyes on you as he gives you a soft, and genuine smile.

“You’re going to love it here, Bambi.” He says.

———/ End. /———

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor fluff #alastor x reader #alastor altruist #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel season 1 #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor angst

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21consecutivebattles · 1 year ago

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With Legends Z-A, I gave him the unavoidable design. I had written so much background and trying to get it on Insta was a hassle, but luckily I’ll be able to fully put it here with no issues,,:

It was hard to steer from the typical older Emmet look but I tried my hardest to make it seem like it would’ve been. I tried looking up France fashion from 1600-1900 but it was either some ridiculous outfits or suits, and since it mentioned the redevelopment of Lumiose City, it was either working up from something like Jubilife village or was upgrading from what it already is. I’ve heard a lot of theories that Legends Z-A will be taking place in the future or bounce back from future to past, but since it’s hard to incorporate futuristic outfits without knowing “how futuristic” it’ll be, I stuck to something from a layer time period in France. I drew him more of a square shape in his eyes instead of triangular, both to signify age and his lost connection with Ingo. Maybe not a permanent design but I think it adds a lot to his demeanor. He kept Basic stuff like he still has his coat, hat, etc. because Ingo got to keep all his old stuff too, but since the trailer looked more modern and Pokémon were with people, I don’t think it would be all destroyed like Ingos just cause it seems like a more civilized nation alongside pokemon and if it really did get destroyed in some way, I have a feeling he would be able to get it repaired without it getting ruined again. Also in terms of the suit I think the darker color is a good parallel to Ingos pearl clan outfits lighter colors. A lot of the design choices were meant to parallel him anyways. Since Ingo had lost his gloves in his Hisui design, giving Emmet new ones felt appropriate for some reason. In terms of the cane I gave him, not only is he an old man, I think it’s kinda needed. Ingo had that little wristband to signify he was a warden, while I think the cane could be useful for a mega stone wink wink nudge nudge. Cute little accessories for them I’m so nice 💀 he could definitely have a slower lifestyle in comparison to Ingo, and I definitely could see him working at Lumiose Station (if it exists in this game) and even though he would most likely have his memory wiped too, Ingo still said the same train themed quotes even with his memory gone, and even then he still had SOME memory, it was just very faint. Emmet definitely could feel some “connection” to the station and say stuff like “Some late nights I think I see a man who looks like me, but upon second glance it’s just my imagination. Even if I can’t seem to shake it from my mind, it seems I still wish to see him again…” anywho for the drawing, I made a few references. The main one just being a reference of design, but the one in the top right corner was a small reference to Alabaster Icelands. I’ve seen a lot of people use the snow to give Ingo flashbacks to Emmet, and while I think my station one is more closely related to Ingos darker color scheme, I think having him in the snow was a good nod to that. The bottom right corner was a reference to a drawing (that probably most people already know what I’m referencing) that had Pokémon that I thought resembled them, and one of the ones I had included for Ingo was Klefki. So just a little salt to the wound (it wasn’t even that bad.) Anywho, I know the design isn’t very refreshing, but I tried to keep it as canonical as possible.

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onlyforsebastianstan · 14 days ago

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His Sunshine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Whispers follow Bucky Barnes everywhere, reminders of his past as the Winter Soldier. Cold stares, harsh headlines, and mistrust define his world, but you meet him with warmth. Despite his silence and distant gaze, you fill the space between you with gentle conversation, small joys, and unwavering kindness. You never ask for anything in return.

⚠️ Warnings: → PTSD / Nightmares → References to past trauma and violence (Winter Soldier) → Emotional withdrawal / survivor’s guilt → Mentions of public scrutiny and media harassment

The murmurs trailed Bucky Barnes like a persistent fog. In Brooklyn’s streets or the Avengers compound, people whispered,

“That’s the Winter Soldier. A murderer. Why’s he free?”

Their words stung, but you and Steve Rogers never wavered. Steve shut down the gossip with sharp looks or sharper words.

You, however, countered with warmth, filling Bucky’s silence with your bright chatter, pulling him into your world despite his distant stares.

“Look, Bucky!” you said one morning, holding up a sketchbook in the compound’s lounge. “I drew this sunrise yesterday. Wanna try sketching?” Your grin was undimmed by his silence, his eyes fixed on some unseen past.

He didn’t respond, lost in memories of cold and violence. To him, you were a faint hum, a kind presence he barely acknowledged. But you didn’t care. His quiet company was enough. You shared cookies, invited him to dance in fields, and talked about your love for birdwatching. He never replied, but your smile stayed.

“They don’t know you, Buck,” Steve growled one night, glaring at a TV report on Bucky’s past. “They’re wrong.”

Bucky shrugged, face blank. “Let them talk.”

You flopped beside him, offering a mug of tea. “Bucky, I found this herbal blend, it’s amazing! Want some?” He didn’t take it or look at you, but you sipped yours, humming happily.

Weeks passed, your efforts unyielding. One day, as you danced in a meadow, twirling under the sky, Bucky’s gaze lingered from a distance. He saw you laugh at a book, wave at birds, and radiate joy. For the first time, he truly saw you, your warmth, your beauty. Something shifted in him, soft and unfamiliar.

One afternoon, you sat together under a sprawling oak, your back against the bark. You’d been reading aloud, your voice a gentle rhythm.

Bucky thought you’d fallen asleep, your head resting near his shoulder. He watched you, the way your lashes rested, the soft curve of your lips.

“Why do you bother with me?” he murmured, voice low, almost to himself. “All this… talking, smiling. I don’t deserve it.”

Your eyes fluttered open, but you stayed still, letting him speak. He continued, hesitant. “You’re always there. Don’t you get tired of me not answering?”

You turned your head slightly, voice soft. “Never. I like being around you, Bucky.”

He blinked, startled, then met your gaze. “You’re awake.”

“Yep,” you said, smiling. “Couldn’t miss that.”

The next day, he tried again. “That book you were reading… what’s it about?” Small talk, clumsy but earnest. You lit up, explaining with enthusiasm. Over weeks, his words grew. One night, under stars, he opened up.

“Nightmares keep me up,” he said, staring at the grass. “Faces I can’t unsee. Things I did.”

You listened, unwavering. “You’re not that person now, Bucky. You’re here, fighting for better. That’s enough.”

He looked at you, searching. “You don’t know everything.”

“Then tell me,” you said gently. “I’m listening.”

He did, bit by bit, guilt, fear, fragments of a man trying to rebuild. You laughed with his rare happy stories, smiled through his stumbles, and listened without judgment. Your presence became his refuge.

One evening, you sat again under that oak, your shoulder brushing his. You’d been talking about a bird you’d seen, your smile bright. Bucky watched, captivated by your joy, your light. He thought you’d dozed off, your head tilted against the tree.

He tried to fight the urge to kiss you, slowly and hesitantly, he leaned closer, heart pounding, and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your lips, drawn to the warmth he’d come to crave.

Your eyes opened mid-kiss, and he froze, pulling back. “I—I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry.”

You grinned, cheeks warm. “I’m not sorry. Been waiting for that.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “You’re too much.”

“Just enough,” you teased, nudging him.

The whispers still followed, but with you and Steve at his side, and your laughter in his heart, Bucky faced them. He’d fallen for you, your smiles and light pulling him from the shadows he’d long called home.

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #the avengers #bucky angst #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfiction

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somedaylazysomeday · 5 months ago

Text

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Nine

You finally break free.

Silco x fem!reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,000

Warnings: Warnings for themes of nonconsensual bondage, kidnapping, feeling trapped, intense themes, and multiple references to accidental death throughout.

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If you usually skip the author's note, please read this one. It's important.

---

You woke up from your fitful sleep when Silco rose from the bed. With half-closed eyes, you watched him get dressed and cross the room. You soaked in as much of him as you could from beneath your heavy lids. If all went well enough, you would never see Silco again.

Hell, if everything went badly enough, you would never see anyone again.

With that cheerful thought, you rolled quietly out of the bed.

Silco had provided you with some clothes, but nothing that would work for a long-term escape attempt. You would have to make at least one stop. You probably would have even if you’d had the right clothes, but that just cemented it in your mind.

You dressed as carefully as you could, silently breaking the chain where you had earlier. Unfortunately, that left you with a length of chain still dangling from your ankle, but you dealt with it by snaking the length back up the inside of your pant leg and wrapping it around the waistband of your underwear.

It was far from elegant, but it helped you be silent as you slipped through the door. You placed Jinx’s device on the table beside the ugly vase and descended the staircase as quickly as you could.

It was a heart-pounding trip. You got to the bottom of the stairs without incident, but there were people on the ground floor of The Last Drop. The Drop was getting ready to open for the night, which meant increased staff wandering around, and more chance that you were going to be caught.

You only had shadowy half-memories of the way Jinx had led you before taking you up the staircase, but it turned out not to matter. It seemed as though she had taken you in a winding pattern that led you through every room without ever revealing that the path to the staircase was fairly simple to find. At least, it was going in this direction. You had to pass through several unremarkable doors that didn’t look like they would lead anywhere, and a few hallways that seemed to match the previous and following ones.

But just when you were losing any hope of getting out, you stepped through a door and found yourself standing in the watery light of the setting sun and the vivid multi-colored lights of the Lanes’s neons warming up for the approaching evening.

It took a you a long moment to catch your bearings, until a passerby gave you an odd look and you realized that time was running out. Silco would eventually realize that you were gone, and your only chance was to be far away when that happened.

You staggered against the wall as you pulled on the shoes you had been too nervous to wear on your way down the stairs. It would have been smart to grab a cloak or jacket, some way to disguise your face, but there was no use. Anything Silco might have had around would be extravagant enough to draw attention instead of avoid it.

The hardest part was trying not to run. Running in the Undercity drew attention, and that was something you couldn’t afford. You managed to stay calm enough that your pace never increased to anything more than a brisk walk, and you made good time to the docks.

The bridge to Piltover was out of the question, of course. Beside being manned by Piltover guards - and you were lacking the proper paperwork for them to let you pass - Silco had people watching the bridge at all hours of the day and night. You couldn’t let yourself be seen there.

The docks were far easier to reach unobserved. You were pretty sure you had managed to avoid being seen, and you found one of the half-wrecked boats that had been discarded at the edge of the water.

The docks along the river Pilt were a popular method of bringing drugs into the city - anything other than Shimmer, of course. The only way to avoid paying the exorbitant docking fees for tying a boat at one of the berths was to abandon it. Piltover didn’t necessarily care about who left a boat there, just that the people using the docks on a permanent basis were the ‘right kind’ of people. Which, of course, meant that they could pay the docking fees.

You snorted, thinking about how easily Silco wrote a check or paid off officials. Maybe someday, Piltover would learn that ‘rich’ did not always equal ‘moral’. Clearly, it would not be any day soon.

You had chosen the boat that seemed least likely to sink halfway across the Pilt, and searched the area until you found two paddles. The river’s current was strong in some places, and you would need as much power and maneuverability as possible if you were going to reach Piltover without being pushed dangerously downstream.

To your surprise, you made it across without drifting too far off-course. The Pilt’s currents were gentle, and you were willing to bet it had something to do with the time of the day it was. You could see the distant ocean as you passed through the middle of the Pilt, and the waves looked small enough to be low tide.

When you reached the other side, you secured the boat as best you could. It helped that the boat was weighed down by the water that had steadily leaked in as you paddled across.

Now that you had finally made it to Piltover, there was only one place you could go.

—

“Here you go,” Jayce said gently, handing you a cup of steaming tea. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can get some more blankets.”

You blinked at him, thoroughly swaddled in the first four blankets he had offered you.

Viktor huffed at his business partner. “Any more and I won’t be able to find her ankle. I still have to finish with this cuff.”

“I thought you were good at picking locks?” Jayce teased, a smile on his handsome face.

Viktor snorted at that, apparently choosing not to dignify the barb with an answer.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said at last.

Jayce nodded, looking down at his own cup. “Good. That’s good. I still think we should call in the Enforcers-”

“We cannot,” Viktor told him, narrowly beating you to it.

“She was kidnapped!” Jayce reminded him, outraged. “I understand that the Undercity has a different scale of morality, but there has to be something they can do about Silco. This could be the thing that finally gets him put in prison.”

You and Viktor exchanged careful glances. You cleared your throat as Viktor turned his focus back to the cuff. “Jayce, I understand what you mean, but… that’s not how things work. Not for Silco. He owns half the Enforcers in the city, and he has some control over the ones he doesn’t. He’ll never see the inside of a prison cell.”

Jayce started to protest, but Viktor cut him off again. “The only thing we would accomplish by calling the Enforcers is to make sure that she’s taken back to him before we have the chance to get her away from here.”

“Away?” Jayce’s face was aghast. “That can’t be our only option.”

You felt the same way, but you were pragmatic enough to know that Viktor was probably right. It had always been a possibility that the only way to escape Silco would be to leave the country entirely. You had just been waiting for confirmation from someone else who understood how things really worked in Piltover.

“No, Viktor is right,” you admitted heavily. “I barely got out of there once. He wouldn’t let me escape a second time. We can’t call the Enforcers and I can’t stay in Piltover. The only problem is that Silco will follow me.”

“Only if he believes you are alive,” Viktor muttered. You glanced down at him, surprised, and were treated to the sight of the ankle cuff clicking open. Viktor set aside his lockpicks with a sighed, “Finally.”

You rotated your ankle, the joint feeling incredibly light and free after being locked up for so long. With every motion, you half-expected to hear the chain still dragging behind you.

“So, what?” Jayce asked. “You want to fake her death?”

Viktor shrugged. “I think it is an option. Perhaps the best of our very limited options.”

“And how would we fake a death?” Jayce asked, exasperated.

Viktor glanced pointedly at the room around you all. The bulletin boards around the room were covered in blueprints and schematics. There were worktables against every wall, each one weighed down with prototypes and the assortment of tools that had been used to create them. More than one table bore the singed marks of unsuccessful experiments past.

“Incidents happen all the time, particularly during the development of a new technology,” Viktor said casually. “Perhaps she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Now it was Jayce’s turn to share a look with you. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We can’t do that, Viktor. People won’t trust HexTech if there are deaths associated with it. Especially civilian deaths.”

“There will be deaths associated with it, civilian or no,” Viktor told him dispassionately. “It is unavoidable.”

“Then there can be one fewer death!” Jayce said, half-laughing with his disbelief. “Besides, people know we’re partners. If she dies in a HexTech accident and we can’t provide proof, no one will believe she’s actually dead.”

“What if we get a cadaver from the University’s biomedical studies lab?” Viktor countered.

“We both know that won’t work,” Jayce said, frustratedly raking his hand through his hair. “HexTech would leave chemical traces that we couldn’t fake. Not without a lot of effort and a risk that we’ll actually make the gate malfunction.”

“True.” Viktor sighed. “But I think we could still get a cadaver. I think I’ve seen some with similar skin tone and proportions come in lately. Faking her death seems like the best option.”

“Not through any connection with HexTech,” Jayce said firmly.

You shook yourself from your half-asleep torpor. “Agreed.”

“Fine, unconnected to HexTech,” Viktor agreed, waving his hand irritatedly. “But somehow. Maybe pretend she was pulled out of the Pilt.”

“Silco will find a way to examine the body himself,” you said. You didn’t enjoy poking holes in the work they were doing to help you out of your mess, but honesty could only help. “He’ll recognize that it isn’t me.”

“What if we… disfigure the face?” Jayce asked. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but you had to give him credit for ingenuity. “We could change or remove the hair, make it so he can’t see any distinguishing characteristics-?”

Various moments with Silco flashed through your memory. All the times he had watched your reactions, touched you with care, studied every part of your body…

As if on cue, the imprint of his teeth - marked in blood and bruises on the inside of your thigh - throbbed.

You sighed and shook your head heavily. “He would still recognize that it isn’t me.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by another. The air hung tense and heavy as both men processed the implications of what you had just told them. Then both expressions smoothed - not into judgment or even simple realization, but into a sudden and terrible grimness. For the first time, they understood just what kind of connection with Silco you were trying to outrun.

You waited for the inevitable. Surely, they would refuse to help now that they knew. And you couldn’t blame them. Helping someone under Silco’s thumb flee the city when he expressly didn’t want them to was undeniably dangerous. Helping his lover flee would be near-suicidal.

“Perhaps we do not allow there to be a body at all,” Viktor suggested.

Jayce nodded. “I think that’s the only way. But we need to make him believe that she died, or he’ll just follow her and we’re back to square one.”

The relief consumed you just as completely as the fear had a moment before. You wouldn't have blamed either of the HexTech founders if they had decided to walk away, but you weren't sure what you would have done instead. Your options were so limited that it would have been laughable, if only it had been amusing in the slightest.

“What if I fell into the river?” you suggested.

“The Pilt is quite polluted,” Viktor said doubtfully.

Jayce nodded. “And if you catch it at the wrong time of day, the currents can be strong.”

“I was hoping we could make it look like I had fallen in.”

The amended statement made Jayce and Viktor go quiet for a moment as they thought it through.

“Maybe if we staged it in darkness-”

“And it was during the changing of the bridge guard-”

“And we had some kind of proof-”

“A witness,” you interrupted. “You guys could tell the Enforcers that you saw me fall into the Pilt. Silco has enough of them on his payroll - he would find out about it.”

“We could not be the witnesses,” Viktor said, though it was filled with contemplation rather than outright refusal. “You are too publicly connected to us. Silco is well aware that we contribute to the Haven’s operations.”

Jayce nodded slowly. “It would need to be someone who doesn’t have any connection to you and no public connection to us.”

“But they can have a private connection to you guys?” you asked, half-joking in an effort to lighten the mood.

“That would be the best way to ensure that they have no ties to Silco,” Viktor agreed dryly.

Jayce, however, looked thoughtful. “Maybe Mel Medarda.”

Viktor glanced at him sharply. “And why would Councilwoman Medarda be willing to lie on our behalf?”

“She's done it before,” Jayce said with a shrug.

“When she had the chance for material gain,” Viktor reminded. Jayce opened his mouth and Viktor made an impatient sound. “Not yet - I am well aware. But she has invested heavily in HexTech and helped us build infrastructure that would support everything we have planned. You would be a fool to assume that she is simply passionate about the science.”

You had watched the exchange with lifted brows. You were familiar with Councilwoman Mel Medarda, of course, but by name only. The task force had been canceled before you had the chance to meet most of Piltover’s council.

Rather than be offended, Jayce clapped Viktor on the shoulder. “Think of it this way, Viktor: what other choice do we have?”

“That is hardly an argument,” Viktor said, frowning at his business partner.

“But it seems like it might be the best option.” You shook your head slowly when they both looked curiously at you. “Maybe we could think of something better, but we don’t have much time. I covered my tracks as well as I could, but Silco is going to start looking for me soon, if he hasn’t already. I’d take a less-than-perfect plan over delaying this for another night.”

Viktor sighed. “Since you are so certain that she will help us, Jayce, you can speak with the Councilwoman. Keep as many details hidden as you can.”

“How will we prove that she was actually at the bridge?” Jayce asked, glancing from Viktor to you. “Silco isn’t going to believe us without some kind of proof. Something more than a witness.”

You grabbed the cuff from the ground, the chain still partially coiled on the floor even when you held it up. “How about this? We’ll set it up like it snagged on something as I was crossing the bridge to get to Piltover during the shift change. I fell, but the cuff couldn’t support my full weight.”

“It would have broken,” Viktor observed.

Jayce took the cuff from you and latched the lock closed once more. He reached up, attaching the end of the chain to something you couldn’t see in the beams overhead, gripped the chain with both hands and dangled his full weight from the cuff itself. It broke almost immediately, leaving the opened cuff and the shattered remains of the lock to hang, twisting, in the air.

“I’ll take this with me to Mel,” Jayce suggested, unhooking it from the ceiling. “When I convince her, I’ll go to the bridge with her to set it up.”

Viktor gently touched your shoulder, drawing your attention from the retreating form of Jayce leaving the main HexTech laboratory. “We have tasks to accomplish while he’s gone. Come.”

As it turned out, Viktor’s ‘tasks’ included taking a shower, packing some clean clothes from what he had hastily collected (honestly, you weren’t sure where they came from and you were hardly going to ask), and writing a letter.

You had been focused on the Haven from the moment you realized that you weren’t going back. You had worked to make sure the outreach could survive without you, but there was no one on staff who was ready for the responsibility of taking over it completely.

In fact, there was only one person who you could comfortably leave the Haven to: Arunn.

You sat down to write him a letter, taking care to word it as though you had written it in the past - sometime between him finding out that you had accepted donations from Silco and the time when you were supposed to have disappeared. It was difficult to leave out references to your current situation, but you did manage to include an apology for hurting him, as well as a sincere hope that he would take over the Haven on your behalf. The instructions you left in case he did step in were highly specific, but you wouldn’t want to leave any loose ends after you ‘died’.

Or in case you really did die in the escape attempt. If you couldn’t convince him that you had died, Silco wasn’t likely to let you go without a fight.

At the end of the letter, you apologized again and assured Arunn that he was under no obligation to take over running the Haven. You did ask that he send the letter back to the Haven for whoever may end up in control eventually, then you copied the instructions and asked Viktor to do the same if Arunn ended up taking the news poorly. Viktor gravely accepted the additional responsibility.

When they had designed the HexTech headquarters, Viktor and Jayce had clearly taken late nights into account. Viktor ushered you into a small bedroom with an en suite bathroom tucked around the corner from the lab. It was sparse, almost stark, but after the stress of the day, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the thin pillow.

It seemed like only a handful of minutes had passed when there was a light knock on the door. “We have some news when you’re ready. Meet us back in the lab.”

You had risen from the bed as soon as you heard Jayce’s voice through the door, so you were in the lab mere moments after Jayce himself.

“Oh, you’re already here,” Jayce said, turning and trying to disguise the surprise in his voice. “Mel - Councilwoman Medarda - agreed to be our witness. The shift change for the overnight bridge guards happens in about an hour, so she’s going to leave soon. I already placed the cuff on the bridge.”

“Where?” Viktor asked, adding, “And how?”

“It’s a Piltover tradition to use the underside of the bridge to get as close to the Undercity as possible without getting caught,” Jayce told you both with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t born here, but I was a teenager in Piltover. I know a few things about the layout of the bridge that helped me. I tangled the chain around some bolts roughly halfway across.”

You nodded. “Should I leave now? I think I could make it out of the city before the shift change happens.”

“No.” Viktor held up a small scrap of paper. “Some of my Undercity contacts reached out to me. Silco knows that you have left and has sent people to observe all routes in and out of the greater Piltover area. We must wait until the Councilwoman has made her report and the chain is located.”

“Even if he doesn’t believe the story, Silco will expect you to have left by way of the river,” Jayce mused. “We’ll have to transport you out of here in a different way.”

“We do have a number of airships delivering HexTech supplies that need to travel back to their respective countries.” Viktor tapped the paper idly against his chin. “Do you have any idea where you might wish to move?”

You had been thinking about that extensively for most of the time you had spent trapped in Silco’s bedroom. “I think going west would be the best choice. Freljord is too cold and I have no interest in being conscripted, so Noxus is out.”

“So Demacia,” Jayce concluded. “That would work. We get some of the magic-dampening stones for the test areas sent in from Demacia. We’ll have an airship returning to the petracite mines in High Silvermere in two days.”

“And once you’re in Demacia?” Viktor asked. “We would like to keep in contact, to warn you if we hear that Silco is going to keep looking for you.”

“Fossbarrow was my first thought.”

Viktor scowled. “The demon town?”

“Not anymore,” you explained. “It was killed. But there are a lot of people who need help recovering, and their families and town need help by extension. Besides, Fossbarrow is next to the Serpentrion River. If Silco does end up finding me, that will make an easy escape to the Conqueror’s Sea.”

“I think it’s a good plan,” Jayce admitted. “And we can get you there quickly. The two days before the airship leaves give us time to monitor Silco’s response to the story about you falling from the bridge. We can get you as set up as possible before you leave.”

And you abruptly lost the battle with the tears you had been holding back all night. Jayce rubbed your back, soothing you with murmured nonsense while Viktor disappeared for a moment and returned with a fresh cup of tea.

Through hiccups and sniffles, you asked, “How can I ever thank you for all of the help? You’re both doing all of this for me, someone you hardly know. I can never repay you, and now I won’t even be in the same city to try.”

Viktor shushed you gently. “When we first met, we told you that we were working to improve the lives of the people of Piltover, both Upper Piltover and the Undercity. You’ve done more work to help the Undercity than anyone else in recent memory, and you’ve done so at great personal cost. How could we refuse to help someone who shares our goal?”

You sniffled again, but a long sip of tea helped soothe you enough to help you avoid starting to cry a second time.

“You should get some sleep,” Jayce announced, standing up. “We’ll start getting everything ready tomorrow morning.”

“I packed a bag earlier-” you started.

“And we’ll keep it nearby in case we need to smuggle you out sooner,” Viktor told you. “But with more time to prepare, we can find you clothes suitable for meetings with potential sponsors in Demacia. Their royal family can be outreach-minded, so there is a possibility you could secure funding from them.”

The idea of a meeting with royalty made you a little dizzy with the potential, so you excused yourself and went back to the small bedroom. Despite the thoughts, fears, and half-plans swirling around your mind, you couldn’t keep your eyes open a moment longer.

---

Author's Note - She's finally free! Bittersweet, I suppose.

Here's the important part of this note: I am going to be Petty. I still haven't watched S2 of Arcane, but I plan to by the end of the month. I'm ready to be pulled back into this world and this story. I want to write some chapters from Silco's POV, but I'm not sure which chapters. That's where the pettiness comes in.

I will take suggestions about which chapters to rewrite (possibly to be compiled into a poll later for open voting), but I will ONLY accept suggestions from people who have commented on or reblogged chapters of this work.

I feel really weird about doing this and I've asked several people irl if it's too much, but realistically, this fic represents almost three years of work. The last chapter got 88 likes, but only one reblog and two (lovely) comments. Those stats are rough, even for a labor of love. I write for myself, but I share to hear what people think!

Thank you for reading and I'll see you soon with the final chapter!

The good news is that it's not too late! Comment on or reblog any of the chapters (or the GI page of my masterlist) and you can suggest which chapter you want me to rewrite in Silco's POV.

Plus you'll absolutely make my day!

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call-me-rucy · 6 months ago

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My Katia redraw is getting a lot of love lately so it inspired me to do another! Aurora redraw!!

Boring details under the cut :D

This one is from 2016 as well. I drew it for a Twitter fan activity in the japanese fandom called something like "Late Night Layton Drawings in 60 minutes", in which every day a bot run by the legendary Maki-san would provide you with a Laytonesque theme and you'd have 60 minutes to draw it. The bot was discontinued in 2019, but if you search the hashtag #レイトン版深夜のお絵描き60分一本勝負, you can still find some cool art.

Because of that, I knew how long I had taken to paint this, so I challenged myself to do it in the same time, which is "just enough under 2 hours that it could plausibly pass as 1 hour". It is also clear from the character errors that I drew this from memory, so I also did the new one without more reference than the old version. The drawing tablet is the same.

It makes me feel very happy seeing these side by side. I'm not the best artist, but I'm much closer to the artist that I want to be than I was all those years ago, because I kept doing it :")

#aurora azran #professor layton #rucydraws

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dunmeshistash · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, so recently there was a dunmeshi signing (?) event with Ryoko Kui in Korea. And I have found some posts from korean fans about their experience and a bunch of illustrations. @Dgae_715 is the acc on twitter i have found most of information from reposts. But basically here are the most relevant facts that I have found (Please note that they may be inaccurate due to me relying on online translator):

A fan asked if post canon Falin will live longer, Ryoko Kui basically answered “maybe so, right?”

The same fan asked if Thistle without desire will able to live happily with the care of others, and as far as I got she said “I hope so”.(Note: I am really not sure if I got this one right at all) The fan themselves said the way Ryoko Kui answered was rather unprepared, so she may not have an answer in mind really on such specific questions.

Another fan asked how Mithrun is in post canon, Ryoko Kui said that he is doing well, working and pursuing hobbies.

Somebody asked Mithruns about strength, he is weaker than a soldier, even though he is got the fighting skills, but he developed them mostly because of his sense of professionalism (?), rather than for fighting.

Past Mithrun didn’t really fight that much, he was mostly an investigator(?), he rarely had to fight in the rear(?) units.

Apparently Falin’s chimera form can get oily, so she repells water a bit

In real life, Marcille would be a med school research student, while Laios would be a “furita” (basically a freelancer with no stable income)

Someone said if Ryoko Kui considered a bad ending for Falin, and Ryoko Kui said she, as an author wanted a happy ending, but in case of Falin, she was worried after the ending (14 volume or later?), but overall she thinks it turned out well. (I think the after the ending refers to her post canon fate, and maybe thats why Ryoko kui did an extra on that specifically later on) 8. Also someone asked if Ryoko Kui would eat the dishes from dunmeshi, and she replied she is a picky eater, and she also said to someone that she drew dishes that she liked and disliked in dunmeshi (I bet she doesnt like fruitcakes).

(Note: There is a 90% chance I got this completely wrong, translator was struggling a LOT here) Someone asked about what Laios is good at, she replied “when he is a party member”. 9. She also likes Lord of the Rings and Wizardly 6(?), and she likes Skip and Loather

When asked about what word definies Laios, she said he is actually a normal/usual person(?). I have lost the post with this specific answer, so I am going by my memory;-;

Some fan showed her that picture with Tennant Chilchuck, she didnt recognise the actor unfortunately. Also apparently this meme originated from Korean dunmeshi fandom???

There were other questions and answers too, but they mostly about Ryoko Kui. And I also may have forgotten to add some;-; Also some fan suggested to Ryoko Kui that Falin in the real life should be a dentist by the way she makes them drool(????I think they meant it in non-sexual manner, like an excited dog), they kind of laughed about it. Also Ryoko Kui drew Falin the most(?) for signing postcards, other characters, and only 5-6 Senshis, 2 Winged Lions

Anonymous asked: The same anon with Korean sign event ask. I knew I forgot something, but basicaly some fan showed Ryoko Kui the day dream picture that most of fandom presumes to be a Chilchuck’s wife and asked if its true, she answered “Its up to your imagination”. So basically neither no or yes

Thank you! I LOVE SKIP AND LOAFER WEEEE

Hopefully we get some more corroborating translations for the bits you're not sure!

#ask #anonymous #dungeon meshi #ryoko kui #Laios Touden #Marcille Donato #Chilchuck Tims

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starrycloak · 6 months ago

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ptsd flashbacks, hyperphantasia and true sight - Max's drawings in 4x05 were too good, actually

cw discussions of ptsd

I was thinking about how, the morning after she escaped Vecna's lair, Max took upon drawing what she saw there. Mostly HOW she drew those pictures:

Separate elements, fragmented individual snapshots (like an officer taking pictures at a crime scene- by the way, check out @threemanoperation's post about other instances of weird puzzle collage-solving-seemingly-without-a-reference here; it was a major inspo for this post). Sure, nobody was expecting her to render a single 360° view of Vecna's mindspace, but her drawings are more than clear enough. This level of detail (the broken, scattered structures, trinkets, Chrissy and Fred's bodies in their current state, mixing the crayon colors available in Holly's box so they'd more closely match what she saw, the different angles) is more than quite accurate for someone who 1) hadn't previously been labelled as skilled in drawing and 2) might have been scared for her life to mindfully focus on her surroundings. I have two main questions, both quite connected to one another, but I'm afraid I won't be able to answer them fully: how and why.

how could max remember so clearly what she saw in vecna's mindscape and externalize her memories with such high fidelity?

some assault/attemped m*rder survivors have very vivid memories of the moment they were attacked -those memories might not even be limited to image and sound, but even smells, textures, etc.

When traumatic memories are retrieved, the physical stress response actually serves to strengthen them, to reinforce the memory in the circuits of the brain. The PTSD response makes these memories stronger and stronger over time. [Survivors] may not remember all of the details, but the things that they do remember remain sharp and consistent.

There's no clear-cut time frame for how long it takes for our brains to initiate and run this process, so I'd not rule out something of the sort might have happened to Max from the moment she came back and the next morning at the Wheelers' (plus she didn't sleep at all and probably saw those images any time she closed her eyes). However, I can't help but consider what I said above about Max's main focus probably being elsewhere in that moment, along with the fact that Max's drawings were beyond beginner (as in, not hobby) level (did you see how many different vanishing points she used for the 'floating' objects???), and a very important detail she mentions herself: her walking into the red mindscape wasn't Vecna trying to scare her per se -he did NOT want her to see that, so he probably didn't want her to remember that place either. Yes, he had seemed kind of... "peacock-y" when it came to the classic "serial k*ller leaves crumbs bc he secretly wants to be found out", but he has to call the shots on who gets to see what, like he eventually did with Nancy. Max managed to "infiltrate" his mind bc he did the same to her first, so would it be far-fetched to think that, if it was only up to him, he'd make sure to block or take away those memories from her to patch what ultimately becomes an exploitable vulnerability for the Party and co?

unless someone else, in a similar position to Vecna -or even higher-, was on the Party's side-

I want to explore two possible explanations as to why max was able to retain such clear images/memories, stemming mainly from @greenfiend and @/kaypeace21's posts about DID theory. One: with Vecna being Will's persecutor alter, escaping his claws might have 'granted' Max an ability that has a similar-ish equivalent on an irl condition that can influence memory processing: hyperphantasia.

Hyperphantasia is the condition of having extremely vivid mental imagery. [It] has been described as being "as vivid as real seeing" [...] Vivid mental imagery as observed in hyperphantasia impacts people's ability for "mental time travel", or the ability to remember past events as well as imagine future events. Hyperphantasics have reported more sensory details of episodic memories and future event constructions.

sadly, it's more of a curse that a boon:

Vivid imagery has been correlated to several mood disorders, particularly anxiety, major depressive disorder, and bipolar disorder, and having hyperphantasia may exacerbate symptoms of such disorders by subserving ruminating thoughts as well as acting as an "emotional amplifier" [...] The vividness of mental imagery has a key role in the development and continuation of intrusive memories, so for those with PTSD, having hyperphantasia is a substantial risk factor.

if this sounds a bit familiar, it's because it's tied to the second possible explanation: Max, being an alter of Will, acquiring/borrowing the host's artistic abilities/motor skills (to a degree*) and a flash of his True Sight so she could help the party navigate that part of the hivemind as if they themselves had been there. or, similar to Billy, she was 'activated' (re: influenced/possessed) to help the party with this particular task.

*at first I thought this detail was too much of a reach, but then I remember how similar Max's and El's -another alter- drawings were in The Piggyback (although El's had bigger heads both times), and how stickmen were either a deliberate choice by Max or just her back to default:

#stranger things #max mayfield #will byers #el hopper #will byers has powers #or yk these might just be visual storytelling devices to speed up exposition scenes #i default to stickmen most of the time @ work bc im in a hurry. but i've also met others who have a very appealing way to draw ppl quickly #idk this fandom's smart someone might see something here that i dont #eleven stranger things #stranger things speculation #st synapse #stranger things theory #st vecna #or max is just hyperfantasic herself who knows

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yingdu-lover · 6 months ago

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Vortex We Took Every Breath to Follow : Shiguang and Their Companionship Through Life and Beyond

Hi, *awkward giggling*

First, a few words from me :

Even though I love engaging in fandom spaces and enjoy ship fanarts, fanfictions etc, till today my heart truly belongs to a very few ships. Shiguang is one of them. As long as one is not blinded by homophobic delusions, I enjoy discussing any kind of interpretation of my OTPs, be it 'Platonic', just friends™, romantic or whatever. But I have a fixed category (which very ironically is not quite fixed if you read the whole discussion) that fulfills my idea of true love.

for me, Love is a dialogic discourse with your existential other.

The terms I used are very loaded terms; 'dialogue' and 'other' come from the Bakhtinian philosophy of ethics, 'discourse' is a Foucauldian term and existentialism has a long postmodern and post-structuralist philosophical tradition. The reason I LOVE Link Click is because of their postmodern lens and the narratives of the characters, not only the protagonists fundamentally question what is the real purpose of life? Why do human bondings matter? The answers reside in the simplest vignette of everyday life. Grief, trauma, hope, memory, reconciliation, remembrance, love, family - these are the central themes of Link Click. Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's separate existence and their interpersonal dialogue thematically and structurally complements the main ethos of Link Click.

When asked about the nature of Shiguang relationship Director Li Haoling answered : 是生死之交咯! (Shì shēngsǐ zhī jiāo gē! - It's a life and death relationship!)

source :

Fate, mortality, death, remembrance are the building blocks of their relationship as we perceive it.

Now let me talk about something. When I first watched Link Click on September 17th, 2024, the first Intertexual connection I drew was with another text called Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. Funnily enough, early in this year I wrote a crossover Hamlet adaptation (and won the second prize in a competition hehe) interweaving a few elements from Godot. Time loop, fragmentation of time and space, panopticon with no exit - all these elements featured in that. I recommend Waiting for Godot to you all, you'll understand why it resonates so much with Link Click.

Now,

Lu Guang is a person who is shown to be a character who has some mysterious powers to manipulate time and space. Even from the very beginning, he has this dominant (and sometimes seemingly monologic that feels problematic to new viewers) voice with which he guides Cheng Xiaoshi through the dives. He is apparently headstrong and has acquired all kinds of praises ™ like hypocrite, selfish (lol) and what not. Again quoting Li Haoling "Lu Guang is a complex and delicate character." But after the release of 'The Eye' and 'The Lull', I think we are pretty sure that Lu Guang has been trapped in a rewind, like a Sisyphus figure. A friend of mine told me the other day, "Superficially, Lu Guang is presented as an archetypal strategist, the one who guides, the one who keeps things in control, but in reality, he has no agency whatsoever." Lu Guang lacks the fundamental agency in life (we all do but we have to accept it one day or other) and that mortifying realisation comes to him with the death of Cheng Xiaoshi. What is unacceptable to him is the most obvious outcome of a mortal life : death. Lu Guang's tragic flaw stems from this unacceptability of Cheng Xiaoshi's death and him attempting to manipulate time, very Sisyphus of him. Till now, we are yet to see Lu Guang's character traits without any reference to Cheng Xiaoshi but this does not reduce his character depth. His denial is actually very delicious ( I almost wrote a paper on this, taking the popular sci-fi trope of time travel as an allegorical and symbolic means of resistance and subversion but anyway, it's not relevant here)

Lu Guang's character makes me fall in love with the song Flash by Gorilla Attack. It is from Lu Guang's character, no one can convince me otherwise.

Just a loop A bored 'n loop Should I do this now 'til the end? Into the story As just an extra You are the reason I live But you don't remember me? Oh, can I be with you?

And

The only thing that I got, just like a little lamp I gotta go in one-way smoke Resist the lifeless scenario Become the person The person I wished for that day The room like a coffin, too bright A groove that I lost faraway Blanket, I need a blanket Not a synthetic one Notice the regret engraved so hard

And the line that keeps coming back as a haunting refrain :

Flash me, flash me Gotta get the power to rewrite I just wanna deny, I just wanna rewrite, yeah

Every time I listen to this song, these lines send a chill down my spine. But Lu Guang's obsession with 'rewrite' echoes with what my professor said to be Hamlet's constant meta-theatrical discomfort with the script, role, play he has been provided with. He does not comply with the playwright's words. Apart from time and death, I think Lu Guang's most wretched enemy is Li Haoling himself. That's why he constantly wants to 'rewrite', but all he has got till now is 'rewind'. Now whether his 'urge to rewrite' will turn into a successful 'write back' is the central play of the plot we are looking up to. What is my personal opinion on the ending?

The ending which is so dryly plausible in our real world is Lu Guang accepting his defeat and carries within him the remembrance of Cheng Xiaoshi.

But my question is, my brother in Buddhism Li Haoling, why the fuck would I watch your Link Click to know that death is the node that can't be changed? Is it not the given fact? It's a cultural text, however modern or postmodern a text might be, it ultimately uses the plot to defamiliarise and convey well known concepts and emotions with a critical engagement. A plot is just a vehicle, a crucial one, to help us have a greater and more nuanced vision of life. Due to non-linear narrative and active subversion of chronotope, complex plot will have plot twists and cliffhangers BUT it still has to perform a crucial, non negotiable role - the arc. If the beginning point and the ending point have the same temperaments, what kind of significance will it even achieve?

If Lu Guang can't write back at the end of Link Click, the structure of the plot will be like this :

1. Exposition, rising action : Cheng Xiaoshi died at the very beginning, Lu Guang is fucked.

2. Climactic stage : shit and shit and complex quantum physics, hallelujah hot villains, 'I am a great writer I can kill any character TeeeHeeeeHeeee', backstories, parallel narratives, foil characters have no relevance and rendered completely meaningless,

3. Falling action and resolution : Cheng Xiaoshi is still dead to the very ending, Lu Guang is still fucked.

No catharsis, not a milimeter of displacement from the beginning point.

What is the fucking point?! From the perspective of a writer and a critical reader, I can say it will be a sheer waste of money, time and potential. I would rather watch... whatever.

The friend I mentioned before told me, " You know why Emma or Chen Bin die? They had to die. Emma had a loving family, she got the job she wanted, she had her hardships but she didn't begin with tragedy. And when tragedy came, she was so not ready to negotiate the problem and considered self-annihilation as her first choice. She actively erased the possibility of dialogue with herself. If Emma were an orphan, struggling with unemployment and other hardships from the very beginning, I don't think Emma would die that easily. Emma was denied the conflict of life which very ironically tests human agency itself."

And for Chen Bin...during my first watch, the moment I saw him my instincts told me he was going to die. He had a loving wife, a daughter, he loved her, she accepted the proposal and they married soon. Conflict where? To bring his story to a full circle, he had to die.

I can say every parallel story in Link Click can be judged from this lens. People who had a point of conflict (the noodle lesbians, the couple who lost their child, Xu Shanshan, that old man) engaged in dialogue with themselves, others and social forces ultimately got a happy ending. Even in the earthquake episode, it's a story of reconciliation with the past, the man got his mother's photos and it's plausible and satisfying (and bittersweet resolution). He got his (absent) father back.

Another thing, we as a fandom have a collective amnesia about....*drumrolls* Cheng Xiaoshi's character! Congratulations! The man, the freaking protagonist just dies at the beginning, accepts his death, and remains dead. Doomed yaoi allegations are just nonsense. Link Click is doomed if Shiguang doesn't get a happy ending. Link Click is NOT a dramatic monologue told from Lu Guang's perspective, engaging with his perpetual trance of melancholy and him holding onto Cheng Xiaoshi's memento mori.

If Lu Guang is attempting to write back to Li Haoling and the doomed yaoi allegations, Cheng is attempting to write back to Lu Guang himself, not in confirming his own death, but saving Lu Guang from the loop of eternity and by being together. Cheng Xiaoshi is always seen to be guided by Lu Guang, he has to witness repercussions of his actions. Even with all this knowledge I will say, Cheng Xiaoshi has way more agency than Lu Guang has. During my first watch, I could feel Lu Guang has this barrier of guilt and unsettled emotions wrapped around him which denies Cheng Xiaoshi access into the deepest core of his subjectivity. Even though he achingly wishes to be together with Cheng Xiaoshi, the burden of his past actions and PTSD holds him back from being together with him, as if his existence is antithetical to Cheng Xiaoshi's existence. Cheng Xiaoshi is that glitch in the matrix that messes up Lu Guang's plans of withdrawing himself from Cheng Xiaoshi. Cheng Xiaoshi should not listen to everything Lu Guang orders. In season 1, he mostly conforms to Lu Guang's ideals, but in season 2, when Lu Guang was hospitalised, Cheng Xiaoshi became more active and you could tell a layer of barrier melted away. He was less of a stone statue, showed more emotions (the S2ep1 lmao when he said "would you prefer if I die?" abhimaan we call it), then the unique high five that feels like Lu Guang accepting Cheng Xiaoshi's proposal or something :

(LMAO ignore my comments, but what I said is true)

My point is, Cheng Xiaoshi is Lu Guang's existential other and vice versa. They cannot live without each other. They cannot exist without each other. If one dies, the other will die and I want them living happily ever after in heaven. Cause 'Break' clearly depicts them as soulmates. I personally take Break as the ultimate canonical ending

Do you see? each of them has one wing missing, meaning that it's their cumulative effort that will make them fly successfully. FYI, there is another Haoling directed, Haoliners Animation League animated canonical queer donghua called 'Beryl and Sapphire'. A separate episode, episode 13 just explores this 'one wing soulmate trope'.

Now take them as friends, platonic friends with no erotic feelings, pure familial feelings or whatever, they are like Yin and Yang, like Shiv and Shakti, and Yin changes to Yang and Yang changes to Yin actively as they interact. You will have a hard time pointing out who is who. I have watched TGCF and Beryl and Sapphire and a tiny bit of Spiritpact - all three directed by Li Haoling and I am well aware of his narrative strategy to represent soulmates and Link Click seems to be the one of the greatest (and my favourite) product of that genius mind.

I began with team Lu Guang cause he is a scorpio, I understand him, his birthday almost coincides with mine, we share some identical issues. But the fandom's often yeeting Cheng Xiaoshi out of the narrative phenomenon brought back my due attention to him. Is Cheng Xiaoshi so willing to be doomed? Does he not yearn to be with Lu Guang? Let me whisper to your ear...he yearns for him too.

so he

does understand that the person who dies...dies, death affects them the least who dies, it's the people, the family and loved ones who actually suffer. This man will leave his Lu Guang on his own volition? eh.

Also I wanna talk about Link Click's strategy of deliberate misdirection. The first and second seasons are so deliberately crafted (manipulation of narrative you can say) to actively erase Lu Guang's subjectivity and nuance. We are just denied access his perspective. He is mysterious but not that aligns itself with a viewer's emotions. In fact, during my recent re-watch, I felt "wtf Lu Guang, why are you interacting with Cheng Xiaoshi like a straight dudebro?" He is a menace, the kind I usually don't like. But there also seemed to be a critical undercurrent which I couldn't really grasp, but it was surely there. It was adding up to my increasing discomfort and made me question - "was it just my wishful projection? they do not share that bond at all." I was so pissed at that thought that I almost decided I am not gonna abandon Link Click. BUT BRO, BRO

'The Eye' and 'Lull' just blew my mind. I was not that affected by Cheng Xiaoshi's corpse advertisement agenda (that corpse is drawing people's attention who is suddenly aware of Yingdu release, great tactic, Haoling) what pleasantly brought me out of despair is Lu Guang's love for Cheng Xiaoshi was acknowledged in these songs. You will read between the lines on your own in season 1 and season 2 if you have that critical method to engage with a cultural text, but the silencing narrative was also very prominent. I very much felt that the Shiguang story is actually the central action, and not the creative sci-fi archtexual exercise of genres, which again, is just the vehicle. But The Eye and Lull focus upon them, them and them. Their emotions are acknowledged, they are no longer behind the veils of symbolism, parallel narratives, intense defamiliarisation; their emotional dialogue now not only demands a voice of their own but also has the potential to reclaim the central part of the stage as they struggle and negotiate power and agency. And I am here for it.

@guangshi-091305 I present to you my rubbish.

#meta #tumblr meta #link click #shiguang daili ren #shiguang #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #donghua #时光代理人 #guangshi #queer

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magical-reid · 7 months ago

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Unknown Past (part 4 + epilogue)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Barnes!Reader (No use of Y/N, reader is referred as Mrs./Dr. Barnes)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Word Count: 1.5 K

This is a multi-part story inspired by my fic "Remembering James".

Life at Avengers Tower didn’t slow down, but for you, it felt like the world had shifted.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a teammate or a stranger with familiar eyes. He was your past, your husband, and the missing piece you’d spent years trying to find without even realizing it.

And now that you knew, things weren’t easier.

The memories came slowly, fragments of a life you could barely comprehend. They weren’t all good—there was the war, the fear, and the moment you’d said goodbye to him, not knowing if you’d ever see him again. But there was also warmth. Laughter. His arms around you in the dim light of a makeshift barracks, promising that no matter what happened, you’d find each other again.

You hadn’t believed him then. But he’d kept his promise.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Gala

The invitation had been Tony’s idea, though “invitation” might have been too polite a word.

“Mandatory attendance,” he’d announced during the morning briefing, waving an expensive-looking envelope. “Black tie. No exceptions.”

The idea of attending a Stark gala didn’t exactly thrill you, but Natasha had insisted, pulling you into her room to “help” you find a dress. By the time she was done, you barely recognized yourself.

The sleek black gown hugged your figure, the high slit revealing just enough leg to make you feel daring. Natasha had swept your hair into an elegant updo, leaving a few loose strands to frame your face.

“You look incredible,” she said, smirking as she handed you your dog tags. “Keep these on.”

You hesitated but eventually slipped them around your neck. They settled against your chest, their familiar weight grounding you.

When you entered the gala, the room fell away.

It wasn’t the glittering chandeliers or the sea of finely dressed guests that caught your attention—it was Bucky, leaning against the bar in a dark suit that fit him like a second skin.

He wasn’t just looking at you. He was staring.

Natasha nudged him as she sidled up beside him. “Careful,” she teased. “You’ll scare her off if you keep looking at her like that.”

“She’s wearing them,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“Dog tags?” Natasha asked, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Thought so. What’s the story there, Barnes?”

“Long one,” he said softly.

Natasha smirked. “You should tell her.”

You caught his eye, and this time, you didn’t look away. Slowly, you made your way across the room, your dress swaying with every step.

When you reached him, you tilted your head, a small smile playing at your lips. “Care to dance?”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Always.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Dance

The music was slow, the kind that drew couples closer together. Bucky’s hand settled on your waist, his touch tentative at first, as if he thought you might vanish.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his suit. It was strange, dancing with him like this—strange, but familiar.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply moved together, swaying in time with the music.

“I remember,” you whispered finally, breaking the silence.

His breath hitched, and his steps faltered. “You… do?”

You nodded, your hand slipping from his shoulder to rest against his chest. “Not everything. But enough.”

He stared at you, his blue eyes searching your face. “What do you remember?”

You smiled faintly, your thumb brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “I remember the field hospital. The wedding. The way you always called me Doll.”

His hand tightened on your waist, and you could see the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured.

“You didn’t,” you said softly. “You found me.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Morning After

The sunlight streaming through the windows was warm, a stark contrast to the cool morning air. You pulled Bucky’s shirt tighter around you as you padded into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Natasha was already there, sitting at the counter with a mug in hand. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on the wedding band now gleaming on your finger, and her smirk widened.

“Well,” she drawled, “looks like the happy couple had a good night.”

Before you could respond, Sam walked in, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw you. His gaze flicked between your rumpled appearance and the dog tags hanging openly around your neck.

“Oh, this is golden,” he said, bursting into laughter.

Steve followed close behind, coughing awkwardly into his hand. “Morning,” he said, carefully avoiding eye contact.

Bucky appeared a moment later, his hair a mess and a sheepish look on his face. He froze when he saw the room full of amused faces, then groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Stop,” he muttered.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What? We’re happy for you.”

Bucky peeked out between his fingers, his cheeks flushed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely,” Natasha said without missing a beat.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into Bucky’s side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, his fingers brushing against the dog tags that still hung from your neck.

For the first time in decades, everything felt right.

And this time, he wasn’t letting go.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Epilogue:

The cabin wasn’t exactly quiet, but it was peaceful.

Birdsong filtered through the open windows, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. You could hear Sam and Steve arguing over something in the distance—probably who was worse at chopping wood—and Natasha’s low laughter as she egged them on.

Inside, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, filling the room with a comforting glow.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling a mug of tea in your hands as you watched Bucky fuss with an old, battered photo album on the dining table. He was quiet, his expression soft as he carefully turned the pages.

“Found it,” he said finally, holding the album up with a triumphant grin.

You walked over, setting your mug down as you slid into the chair beside him. He flipped the album open to a faded black-and-white photograph, the edges worn with time.

It was the two of you, standing arm-in-arm outside a church somewhere in Brooklyn. Your dress was simple but elegant, and Bucky was in his military uniform, his smile wide and a little crooked.

“God,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the page. “I forgot how young we were.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm. “We were kids,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t have a clue what we were doing.”

You leaned into him, your shoulder brushing his. “But we did it anyway.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes filled with something deep and unshakable. “We’ll get it right this time,” he said softly.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. We will.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Grave

Later that afternoon, the two of you walked down the winding path through the woods, your hands intertwined.

The small cemetery came into view as you rounded the bend, its weathered headstones standing sentinel in the clearing.

Bucky led you to a particular grave near the edge, where the shade of an old oak tree offered shelter. The headstone was simple, but the name engraved on it made your chest tighten:

[Your Full Name]

1920 – 1943

You knelt down, your fingers grazing the stone as you tried to reconcile the name with the person you were now.

“They told me you’d died,” Bucky said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “When I saw it all over the papers—‘Nurse Killed in Field Hospital Bombing.’ I thought—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t think there was any chance you survived.”

“I guess Hydra had other plans,” you murmured bitterly.

He crouched beside you, his metal hand brushing your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything you went through. For all the years we lost.”

You turned to him, your hand covering his. “It wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly. “And we’ve got time now. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, his jaw tight as he looked back at the grave. “You’re not her anymore,” he said after a moment. “Not exactly. But you’re still my wife.”

Your throat tightened, but you smiled through it. “And you’re still my James.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Future

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of gold and crimson, the two of you made your way back to the cabin.

The others were gathered on the porch, laughing and teasing as Sam triumphantly held up a perfectly split log. Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. Natasha sat on the steps, polishing one of her knives as she watched them with a faint smirk.

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours as you approached.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, taking in the way the setting sun turned his hair to bronze and cast warm shadows across his face. There was still pain there, still scars from all you’d been through, but there was also hope.

“I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady.

Because this time, you weren’t just surviving. You were living.

Together.

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