#my organs are imploding though

[street-smarts00]

(i only came to this) party 4 u

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you. 

You barely went to team bonding and you NEVER went to Tony Stark's parties. Well, not until last night. And you’re never going again. 

Because of James Bucky Barnes.

WC: 11.4k

Tags/warnings: shy reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, intoxication/drinking, emotionally constipated reader 

A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve written, WHOOPS. I couldn’t stop with this one so hope some of y’all enjoy it! Ps: no I don’t know what card game Steve and Bucky are playing, make believe (shrugs) beta read by my friend @whats-yesterday00

It’s official. You’re never leaving your room again. 

Not after what happened last night. 

From this moment forward you are not leaving your room. No matter the reason. No matter how much they beg. 

Actually that’s a lie, you would have to leave your room at some point. 

But you’re going to camp out in your room for as long as possible. 

There’s a chance that if you do leave your room, and risk running into him, you’ll melt into a pile of goo on the floor. Or maybe you’d implode from the mortification.

Either way, you shouldn’t risk it. 

You should just revert to the old version of you. The girl that didn’t ever leave her room. Was too intimidated by the other avengers to spend time with them. The girl who — even though you had been given a warm welcome — didn’t feel like part of the team yet. 

For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you. 

Steve would occasionally organize team bonding events. After you joined, Steve planned them more frequently. A subtle way to get you to open up to them. 

Sometimes you would attend. Key word, sometimes. 

Usually, it would take some convincing from a few of them. Like when Sam would crack some jokes about how this week you HAD to be there because they were doing XYZ and so on. At some point you’d feel guilty for missing it and show up only to sit there quietly the whole time. You’d speak when spoken to, but never intentionally join a conversation. 

A majority of the time, you wouldn’t feel up for socializing and gave some excuse as to why you’re not feeling well. Steve never pushed you to show, but his eyes grew soft with concern whenever you told him you couldn’t attend. 

But, at some point, the Avengers noticed a change in you. You stopped turning down bonding events and started actually participating. They would find you hanging out in the lounge more often or sticking around to watch movies. 

After a long and brutal game of Uno during game night, they were all left surprised by how excited and competitive you were. The game ended with a stare down between you and Clint. 

You were still a relatively shy person, just more willing to open up and be yourself around them. None of them knew what caused this sudden change, but few of them had their theories. 

The first time you were tempted to leave your room was about two months after you started living in the compound. 

You were standing on the only chair available in your room which happened to be the swivel desk chair. Was it the safest way to hang up your room decor? Probably not. But you wanted to decorate your walls and this was the only way to do it. 

Your arms were starting to grow tired. One hand was holding up the poster, desperately trying to keep it straight, while the other was trying to rip off a piece of tape. 

Somehow the chair moved just the right way and you lost your balance. You stumbled to the floor and took the chair with you.

“Shit!” You loudly groaned after landing on your side with a thump. 

As you carefully stood back up, you heard a voice from the other side of your door. 

“You okay in there?” 

Your stomach dropped at the realization someone heard you fall. The urge to ignore the voice was strong, but you also knew they were just trying to check on you. 

With a slight limp, you approached the door and opened it. Behind it was a concerned Bucky Barnes. Up until now, you’d never gotten this close of a look at him before. You never noticed how blue his eyes actually were. It was almost hypnotizing the way you were so easily lost in them as he stared back at you. 

“Are you alright? I heard a crash.”

You blinked back to reality. “Yeah I’m fine. I fell trying to put up a poster,” you gestured towards it- now discarded (and thankfully not ripped) on the ground. 

He peeked inside to see the fallen chair and poster. “Want some help?” 

His kind gesture shouldn’t have surprised you. There was no indication Bucky Barnes was a bad guy. He was a great partner to work with in the field and his friends spoke very highly of him. But it did surprise you because outside of that, you never really had the chance to actually interact with him. 

You also heard a notorious amount of grumpy old man jokes from Sam that you didn’t exactly know how to interpret. 

“Yeah sure,” you nodded. 

He followed behind and entered your room. He examined the decorations you managed to put up in the time you’ve been living there. 

There were various music and movie posters of pop culture he mostly didn’t recognize. There were fake plants littered all around the room, scattered on different surfaces. The shelves were also covered with books. Rows and rows of books, that would’ve taken him years to get through. Close to the ceiling were strings of lights that gave the room a soft warm glow.

While he stood in the quiet of your room he noticed the faint music playing in the background. His face grew with curiosity as he looked around for where the sound was coming from. 

“What song is that?” 

You walked to your desk and grabbed the chair off the floor. “I’m not sure. It’s a playlist of old music I found online. Sometimes I like to put on old music from the 30s and 40s to have as background noise.”

You pointed to a YouTube video playing on your computer. 

“You like old music?” He inquired, looking slightly surprised. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know much about it,” you shrugged. “I don’t know what was popular back then or have any favorites.” 

He glanced at the video playing on your computer, “I could give you some recommendations if you want.” 

“Really?” you asked with growing enthusiasm. 

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Yeah why not? If you wanna get into that type of music. Who better to learn it from?”

“That sounds great,” you said with a shy smile. 

The realization dawned on you that now you were both just standing in the quiet of your room. You grabbed the poster and cleared your throat to grab his attention. 

“Oh right,” he mumbled, looking a bit flustered and ran a hand through his short hair. “Where did you want to hang it?” 

“Up here,” You pointed to the empty space on the wall next to your desk.

He took the poster from you and carefully stepped on the chair as you held it still. He placed it against the wall, following your directions for where to hang it. You handed him a few pieces of tape and he slowly flattened out the poster before sticking it to the wall. When he was finished, he stepped off the chair and took a step back with you to get a proper look at it. The picture hung high above your desk. A starry sky with a collection of different constellations.

“It looks nice. I like what you’ve done with your room,” he complimented. 

“Thanks. And thank you for helping.” 

“It was no problem. Wouldn’t want you breaking a bone from falling off a chair,” he lightly teased. 

You started to blush at the embarrassing reminder. “Please don’t tell anyone about that.” 

Bucky pressed his pointer finger and thumb to his lips and ran them across his mouth, showing you his lips are sealed. 

After he left, you admired the poster on the wall, listening to the music still playing in the background. The image of him still fresh in your mind. 

Bucky was nicer than you expected. Not that you expected him to be an asshole. But he was one of the few Avengers you hesitated to talk to because they were a bit intimidating outside of work. Bucky had a consistent glare or grumpy look on his face that kept you at arm's length. 

The day after the poster situation when you made yourself coffee in the morning, someone stopped near you and waited for their turn to use the coffee machine. 

“Hey, I made that song list I was telling you about.” 

You looked to see Bucky standing next to you and digging something out of his back pocket. He handed you a folded piece of notebook paper. 

“Most of them are from the 30s and early 40s, songs I used to listen to. But I also included some late 40s and 50s songs I was introduced to after the war and … everything.”

When you took the paper from him your stomach swirled with something you haven’t felt in a long time. 

“Thanks,” you replied sweetly, “I’ll give them a listen later.”

He offered you a small smile before filling his mug with coffee.

That was probably the first time you started to see through his tough exterior and he let his real self shine through the cracks. 

_____

After that day you started to pay more attention to Bucky. In the field, in the compound. Just in general. 

While you still didn’t spend much time with the team, in the brief moments that you did, your attention would drift towards him. You were more aware of his presence when he was near.

And you did in fact give the songs he recommended a listen. You listened to them quite often actually. 

You were still listening to those songs weeks later.

You were in the kitchen listening to your new “oldies” playlist. It was late in the night and you needed to focus on something that wasn’t the chaos swarming in your brain. So, you decided to break out the baking supplies and royal icing you bought weeks ago. 

As you flattened out the dough with a rolling pin a figure appeared from the dimly lit hallway. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked once he noticed your presence. His voice was laced with sleep.

“Making cookies,” you answered, grabbing the cookie cutters. 

He walked closer to the kitchen island and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Why are you making cookies at one in the morning?”

“Stress baking.” 

There was a pause as he watched you cut flower shapes out of the dough. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You shrugged without looking up, “something like that.” You didn’t feel like elaborating. 

This guy you barely know definitely does not want to be hearing about how you can’t sleep from anxiety. He didn’t need to hear that after the last mission you went on with the team your brain was constantly screaming at you all the things you did wrong and could’ve done better. 

“Do you do this a lot?” he gestured towards your work. "Bake in the middle of the night?”

“I have once or twice. It also helps that no one is coming and going so I get some peace and quiet.” 

Bucky visibly tensed at your explanation, “sorry I ruined it.” 

Your head perked up immediately to prove him wrong. “It’s alright, you didn’t.” 

He looked relieved to hear that. 

“What are you making?” 

“Sugar cookies, but I’m gonna put icing on when they’re done.” You placed the cut out dough on the baking sheet. 

Your stomach coiled with nerves before speaking again. “I could save you some. If you want,” you said in a quieter voice. 

His eyes softened and he smiled at you. “That’d be great.”

As you continued placing cookie dough on the sheet, he walked over the fridge to fetch what he came down to the kitchen for. 

Now that the room was quiet, he could fully process the music that was playing in the background. For a moment, he stared at the inside of the fridge as he listened to the beginning notes of the next song. 

He finally grabbed the bottle of water and closed the fridge door before eyeing you with a quirked brow. 

“Billie Holiday?” 

You looked up from the cookies in confusion. You momentarily registered the song playing in the background was “What a Little Moonlight Can Do” by Billie Holiday. One of the songs from the list he gave you. 

“Oh yeah I finally made my own playlist. Most of the songs are the ones you gave me,” you grabbed the baking sheet and carefully placed it in the oven.

“You liked the songs?” His voice sounded like it had a hint of surprise. 

You nodded as the corners of your mouth perked into a grin. “I do yeah. They’re really good. It’s different from the normal stuff I listen to but it’s really growing on me.” 

Joy inched its way onto his face as he listened to you. “That’s great. I’m glad.” 

You leaned back against the counter and took off the apron you were wearing. “You have good taste in music.” 

The ends of his ears turned red, “Thanks.” 

Silence returned to the kitchen. you both stood there not knowing what to say next. The air between you was thick, like you wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. 

The song continued playing in the background, almost taunting you. 

You’re in love 

You’re hearts a flutter 

And all day long, 

You only stutter 

How dare Billie Holiday tease you right now with him in the same room. Who gave her the permission to take a peek into your heart and put it on display in front of him. 

The music was disrupted by Bucky clearing his throat, “well, I should go back to my room.” 

You shoved your hands in your pockets, “hope you get some sleep.”

He nodded before making his way out of the kitchen and walking down the hall. 

A few seconds after you were sure he left, you took a long deep breath. You stood there grappling with the fact that you definitely were starting to feel something for him. 

Something strong. 

Something you couldn’t get rid of.

The next morning you stood on the other side of Bucky’s door with a small plastic container in your hands. 

This was starting to feel silly. You’ve stared down countless criminals and kicked the crap out of them. But this was making you nervous. 

With a shaky hand you finally knocked, and hoped that he was actually in his room. 

It took only a brief moment for Bucky to answer. He must have just showered. His hair was a bit messy, slightly damp and he smelled nice. He was wearing one of those black compression shirts that hugged his muscles all the right ways. 

It should be illegal for him to look that good. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, surprised to see you. 

His question paused your ogling and brought your attention back to why you were there in the first place. 

“I saved some cookies for you,” you offered him the tupperware. 

Bucky’s eyes softened as he glanced between you and the dessert. He took the container from you and opened the lid, looking down with a smile at the flower cookies with purple, yellow and pink frosting. 

“Thanks, they look amazing,” he complimented. “Hope you didn’t stay up all night making them.” 

You shrugged, “It’s fine, I ended up getting some sleep. It helped me clear my mind.” 

Only because something else obsessively invaded your thoughts. Someone that cleared away the anxiety from your job. 

_____

As the weeks rolled by, you started to leave the sanctity of your bedroom and brave the common areas. 

Was it because of Bucky? Maybe. 

You found yourself intrigued by the man. And it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. 

That’s why you slowly but surely started to hang out with them more. You needed an excuse to be around him. 

It was almost embarrassing how much your crush on Bucky was affecting you. You were so worried about talking to the other teammates, yet desperately wanted to talk to him. Even if it was for a fleeting moment. 

The team took notice of your increased presence around the compound. Some were quiet about it, others weren’t, and loved to tease you. 

In a weird way, the teasing made you feel more welcomed. Like you were really part of the team. 

“Well well well,” Sam started with a smirk as he walked into the gym. “Look who’s training while the sun’s still out.”

You froze in the middle of wrapping your hands to look up at him, Bucky, and Steve about to start their workout. 

”I’m not nocturnal Sam,” you joked back.

Usually, you would visit the gym at night before you went to sleep while no one else was there. As of lately, you had a slight change in routine. 

“Could’ve fooled me. I heard that you bake in the middle of the night.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his comment, “How’d you know that?”

“Little birdie told me.” his grin couldn’t get any wider. 

You looked to the only possible suspect. Bucky’s eyes quickly averted from you as his ears turned pink. 

Steve shook his head with a smile at his two friends. He tapped Sam’s shoulder before making his way to the bench, “c’mon quit bothering her.” 

Sam playfully rolled his eyes at Steve before pointing in your direction, “I better see you at game night later.” 

You shrugged, “Maybe I could stop by.” 

“You better stop by. We’re breaking out Uno,” he beamed before following behind Steve.

You smiled to yourself as he left and finished wrapping your hands. Before you could hit the punching bag, you realized Bucky didn’t leave to join Sam and Steve. 

“You want some help?” he offered while pointing towards the bag.

You nodded as nerves turned your stomach. “Yeah sure.” 

He walked closer to the punching bag, held it, and prepared for you to strike. 

You exhaled and prepped your stance while staring at the bag in front of you. Your punches started off weak and hesitant — mostly because of his presence — before you slowly relaxed and drew more of your strength. 

Besides Sam and Steve, another Avenger that always tried to rope you into social functions was Tony. Occasionally he would throw some party for a holiday or even for no special reason, simply because he wanted to. 

The only party of his that you attended was the first one he threw after you joined. Only because he didn’t give you much of a choice. After that, you never attended another Stark party.

Well, until last night.

“I’m going all out for this one. Thor’s coming back to earth and man does that guy like to party,” Tony boasted about his plans for the weekend in the lounge. Or what would soon become last night's party. 

You silently sat in the corner of the couch “reading” a book. Well, you were reading but now you were nosy and listening to the people around you. As part of your attempt to be more social with the team, you bravely chose the lounge instead of your room.

You heard earlier that Thor was returning after being away from earth for a few weeks doing some Asgardian space duties you didn’t know the details of. 

“Don’t set anything on fire this time,” Wanda teased before taking a sip from her mug.

Tony spun on his heel to point at her. “That was not me!” 

A few chuckles could be heard throughout the room, even a quiet one from you. You’d heard the same story from three different people about how Tony swears it wasn’t his fault that his drink spilled and caused a small electrical fire. 

“Regardless, it’s going to be amazing and I better see you all there on Friday,” he then pointed at Bucky playing cards with Steve. “And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

”Looks like I lucked out considering you almost burned the place down,” Bucky quipped back without looking up from his cards. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t me,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Steve nudged his best friend before placing another card down on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun.” 

Bucky gave a long stare to Steve. You noticed he tended to do that a lot. Turn a normal glare into a staring contest with Sam or Steve. A few seconds passed before he placed his next card down with a sigh. “Fine.” 

Having sensed that your eyes were on him, Bucky glanced up at you from across the room. Your gaze darted away and back to your book in an instant. 

Tony noticed this and walked closer to the couch, studying you trying to read. He could clearly tell you were listening in and watching. “What about you, wallflower?” 

Your head perked up in confusion. 

You knew he was addressing you because of the nickname. At first Steve was worried about Tony calling you that, but you actually secretly liked it. It was like the teasing, made you feel more included. 

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?” 

You let the question hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your response. After hearing Bucky’s answer, the idea of attending Tony’s party was sounding more and more appealing. 

“I might.” 

You tried to ignore how a few sets of eyes landed on you. Including his. 

“Seriously?” Tony asked, not expecting you to actually accept his invitation.  

”Yes seriously, I’m considering it,” you answered with more confidence. 

Tony excitedly snapped and pointed at you. “That’s a yes! You can’t take that back.” 

You awkwardly smiled in return. 

“Finally! I knew this day would come,” Tony cheered as he left the lounge. 

You attempted to actually read your book now but felt Bucky’s gaze lingering on you. When you met his eyes, they returned to the pile of cards on the coffee table. You then finally went back to your reading. 

_____

You don’t know what feels worse. The pounding headache from last night's drinks, or the anxiety pulling you apart from the inside out. 

While you laid in bed, the lights were kept dim to not aggravate your headache further. You were admiring the poster Bucky helped you hang up. For so long you’d look at it and your thoughts would drift to the man who helped you hang it. Your mood would lift or your heart would flutter making you feel giddy. 

Now, you wanted to rip it off your wall. 

It stared back at you as a reminder of what you did last night. You couldn’t stop thinking about how it only took a little liquid courage and one single brave moment to embarrass yourself. You most likely ruined your chances of becoming real friends with him, or even something more. 

There’s no way Bucky actually wants to be with you. There’s no way Bucky felt the same way, held the same admiration for you that you did for him. He’d probably be nice about it and let you down easily. 

Well, he tried to let you down easily, but your fear interrupted him before he could inevitably ask you to forget about what happened. You couldn’t listen to it. You didn’t want to hear the heartbreaking reality that he didn’t want you beyond a spur of the moment fling. 

You’d rather just let the whole thing blow over. Let Bucky take your silence as a signal to let this pass. Let everyone forget about it and go about their business like normal. Because words always travel fast here. And by now everyone probably fucking knew about you and Bucky. 

As the hours rolled by and the sun was setting, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you ran out of the water and food stashed in your room. 

You have to leave. As much as you don’t want to, you have to. 

It kind of felt weird, spending all day in your room. You’d just started getting used to being around everyone, that now it felt kind of normal. You almost looked forward to the social interactions. Even if you didn’t speak a lot or join in some conversations. Just being around them felt … nice. 

You rolled over in bed and reached for your phone left on the nightstand. After turning off do not disturb, the screen was flooded with notifications. Part of you was surprised that they were checking in on you considering it used to be normal for you to live like a hermit.  

Natasha: Morning sleepyhead, you hungover? Feeling alright?

Clint: I got doughnuts, you better get down here before Thor wakes up and eats them all 

Steve: Hey, you doing okay? 

Let me know if you need anything

And 1 missed call followed by 2 texts from Bucky:

I know you’re hiding in your room 

Can we talk?

You really didn’t want to talk. Because you knew he wanted to talk about last night. You weren’t ready to have that conversation yet. You weren’t ready when Bucky tried knocking on your door hours ago and you still weren’t ready now. 

Maybe later tonight. Depending on your bravery. 

You didn’t answer any of their messages. Just got out of bed and shoved your phone in your pocket. 

You hoped there wasn’t a large crowd or any crowd period in the kitchen. But unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. As you approached the kitchen you heard voices that only got louder as you got closer.

You stayed behind the doorway while you listened. Not exactly intentional eavesdropping. More like you froze at the realization they were talking about you. 

“What the hell did I do now?” Tony complained, he sounded offended. 

“You told everyone about me and Y/N,” Bucky scolded Tony, his tone sounding bitter and angry.

“Correction, I told two people last night,” Tony countered. “It’s not my fault that the gossip was so juicy it spread like wildfire.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled. 

“What’s unbelievable is you and your girl not making out sooner.” 

You heard Bucky sigh and after a pause he quietly mumble, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “She’s not my girl.” 

Those words echoed in your ears as if you heard it up close. She’s not my girl. 

A suffocating ache wound itself around your chest. Your fists clenched so tight, your fingernails made an imprint on your palm. 

His girl. You could only dream of being his girl. 

You almost went back to your room. Almost. But you were already here, and the kitchen wouldn’t be empty for hours. 

During the pause in their conversation, you passed the threshold. The room fell silent. The sound of a pin drop could bounce off the walls. You felt the tension in your bones with every single step you took. 

You didn’t look any of them in the eyes. You couldn’t. Just kept your focus trained on the floor as you moved the counter. 

From the cabinet, you found a large refillable water bottle to stock up and keep in your room. You waited at the fridge for it to fill. 

All their eyes on you made your whole body tense. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Their looks weighed like a heavy blanket and they practically saw right through you. 

Steve was the first to break the silence. “How’ve you been? Are you feeling alright?”

You cleared your throat before speaking. You don’t know the last time you said something, your voice was probably hoarse. “I’m fine. Was a bit hungover this morning, didn’t feel well.” 

The second the water bottle was filled, you tightened the lid and turned back to the counter where you found the box of doughnuts that Clint texted you about. With a nervous hand, you grabbed the last chocolate frosted doughnut. 

You belined for the hallway, eager to leave when Bucky called your name. His voice reached through your chest cavity and squeezed your heart. You didn’t stop walking. You couldn’t speak to him. Not yet. 

____________________________

“And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

Instead of actually acknowledging that he was absent during Stark’s last party, Bucky opted for poking fun at the man. He didn’t even have to look up from their card game to know that Stark was rolling his eyes or pinching his brow in frustration. 

Bucky felt Steve’s elbow nudge his side before he placed another card on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun,” Steve tried to encourage. 

Bucky stared back at his best friend, trying to silently tell Steve that he would rather Stark actually burn down the building.

Bucky hates parties. 

Actually that's a lie. 

Bucky Barnes used to love parties. Before HYDRA, he used to be the life of the party. He’d be cracking jokes with his pals or going out dancing with dames. The music was loud and the excitement ran through the room and into your bloodstream, carrying you across the dance floor. 

After everything that happened, he didn’t have much party left in him. It left him more reserved, more introverted. His blood ran cold now. 

He always went to those team bonding things Steve organized because, well it was Steve, but they were also smaller, more intimate. He even found himself having fun. Some of the movies the team chose were weird, but some he really liked. During game nights he was more engaged then he expected he would be. 

But the large parties he wished he could avoid. Now, the loud music irritated his ears. The modern music that played wasn’t to his taste and hard to dance to. The very few festivities he did attend, Steve managed to convince Tony to play one or two old songs from the 40s or at least the 50s, but that was it.

Steve stared back at him with an expression he was all too familiar with. It was the same look that Bucky would give scrawny little Stevie back in the day when he tried to convince him to join.

Bucky sighed and placed a card on the table. “Fine,” he grumbled. 

In his peripheral vision, he sensed someone looking in his direction. When he turned away from their card game, he was met with your eyes. But only for a second, before they retreated back into your book. 

Steve's mouth curled into a smile as he put down another card. “Who knows you might like it. And maybe your girl will go,” he whispered. 

“She’s not my girl,” Bucky muttered back. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn’t want a reminder that he didn’t have the luxury of calling you his girl. 

From the moment you met, he knew he needed you in his life. Not just because you were pretty. And God damn it you were so pretty. But because you were enchanting. 

It was like you had some magnetic pull on him he couldn’t avoid. 

He’d worked with you on multiple missions because of course Steve immediately caught whiff of Bucky’s interest in you and paired you guys up. He saw first hand the power you wielded during a fight. The mysterious way you hid in the shadows and snuck up on people rivaled only him and Natasha. He almost got knocked out once because he stood there watching you attack a guard that towered over you like it was nothing. 

Steve wouldn’t shut up about that for a whole week. 

But when you weren’t beating up criminals or sitting in silence during mission briefings, he barely saw you. You almost never showed face at team functions and (more importantly) you never spoke to him. 

He was worried you didn’t like him, or even worse you hated him. Steve and Sam tried to convince him that wasn’t true but it still never left his mind. It was still in his mind when he passed by your room and heard that crash. Bucky remained cautious, scared that you would ignore him or act coldly, but he still felt compelled to make sure you were okay. 

And when he did finally get the small chances to talk to you, to see the parts of you that you often hid, he felt a thousand times lighter. Bucky saw the light in you grow brighter as you became more comfortable with the team. 

In the moments you let your walls down, you shined like a diamond. 

But he never saw you shine like that at Stark’s parties. 

Bucky shook his head as he placed a new card,  “besides, she never shows, you know that.” 

Bucky noticed Stark approaching you to test the waters with an invitation for you to attend. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but then again, it isn’t exactly a private conversation. And he had enhanced hearing anyway. 

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”

“I might.”

His head immediately snapped in your direction. He couldn’t hear what Stark asked you, he was too focused on your response. 

“Yes seriously, I'm considering it.”

As of lately, you had a habit of saying you might go instead of actually saying yes. He noticed this because every single time you said ‘maybe,’ you showed up. It seemed like a way to give yourself an escape. A safety net to land in the roaring sea of anxiety. 

But if you were considering it, that definitely meant you were going. 

He tried to not linger on the fact that his heart rate increased the more he thought about it. 

Stark seemed quite excited at your answer. “That's a yes! You can’t take that back” 

You gave a bright smile in response. Bucky loved your smile. He’d go to hell and back to see you smile. 

He didn’t realize he was still staring until you looked up from your book. He quickly returned his attention back to the cards in his hand. 

Bucky cleared his throat, “is it my turn?” 

“Nope,” Steve tried to hide the humor in his voice as he placed a winning card. 

Bucky sighed while tossing his remaining cards on the table. He wasn’t too bummed about losing the game though. He was still thinking about seeing you Friday night. 

_____

Steve Rogers is a traitor.

Well, at this very second he is a traitor. Because he is on the dance floor, dancing with you. 

Slow dancing with you. 

Bucky was watching from afar. Wait, that sounds creepy when he thinks about it like that. He was observing the party, and naturally his gaze landed on you. How could it not? In every room he entered, he looked for you.

The party had started by the time you showed up. He was in the middle of conversation with Sam when he saw you walk in by yourself, fashionably late. 

He could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. The burgundy dress you wore made his head dizzy. 

Bucky had a plan. He originally was going to catch you on the dance floor with a song that was easier to dance to, aka an older song. But you were already dancing with Steve and Wanda when one of those newer Sinatra songs came on. Well, new to him. A while back Natasha gave him a crash course in 20th century music after the war. 

Should he be bitter and maybe just a tad jealous? No, he shouldn’t. He had all night to ask you to dance and yet he stood off to the side. Then Steve swooped in and ruined his plans. 

And now the little punk was dancing with you. 

Of course you wanted to dance with Steve. You were closer with him then you were with Bucky. Steve was the first person you started opening up to. And why shouldn’t you? Steve’s amazing. He’s sweet, courageous, a gentleman, someone to look up to. Hell, Bucky looked up to him. Even when Steve was that scrawny kid in Brooklyn, Bucky admired his bravery and good heart. 

Steve was a good man. Bucky was a broken one. 

“Oh no, who’s victim to your impenetrable stare now?” Natasha asked as she approached him. 

“I’m not staring,” he mumbled, pushing off from where he was leaning on the bar and turned his back to the dance floor.

“Sure, and Tony isn’t drunk.” 

“Got the fire extinguisher on deck?” He downed the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar. 

She chuckled, “yup.” Natasha walked around behind the counter and grabbed herself a fresh wine glass. “You know, if you ask her to dance, she’ll say yes.” 

Bucky hated it when she saw right through him. For a woman with no enhanced abilities, Natasha sure had a way of reading people. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’ve been watching her all night, Barnes.”

He cringed, “It sounds creepy when you put it like that.”

Natasha shook her head and smiled as she continued to pour herself a glass of red wine. “Then don’t put so much distance between yourselves. Maybe actually talk to her, ask her to dance.” 

“She’s already dancing with Steve,” he answered, looking down at the counter. 

She raised an eyebrow at him in fake confusion. “That’s not jealousy I hear, is it?” 

“I’m not jealous,” Bucky quickly rebutted. He paused while his jaw clenched. “I just don’t wanna bother her.” 

Natasha sighed as she put the bottle away. “You don’t bother her. Believe me.” 

He crossed his arms, “how would you know that?”

She carefully swirled the red liquid in her glass. “The same way I know that you’ve wanted to dance with her all night.” 

Bucky stared at her with annoyance and disbelief written all over his face. Natasha stared back at him with a slight smirk knowing she was right. 

Their staring contest was abruptly interrupted by Thor stumbling towards the bar. 

“Romanoff! Barnes! How are you enjoying the festivities?” Thor beamed. Bucky couldn’t tell if Thor was just that excited or if he was bordering on intoxicated.

”I’ve been having a wonderful night but“ —Natasha gestured towards Bucky— “I don’t think he’s in a partying mood.”

Thor looked at him with a slight pout. Yeah he was probably a bit intoxicated, Bucky thought.

”That sounds terrible. We need to fix that right away.” Thor rushed to the cabinet to grab a fancy looking bottle and two clean short glasses. He set the bottle on the counter across from Bucky and waved a hand behind it to show it off. 

“I brought this back from my most recent trip to Asgard. It has aged for a thousand years. It’s too strong for mortal men, but you my friend” —he patted Bucky on the shoulder— “are well suited for it.” 

Thor poured some of the drink into each glass and pushed one closer to Bucky. “This should help raise your spirits.”

He stared at the honey colored liquid hesitantly before picking it up. “Thanks pal.” He offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Thor raised his drink to the man across from him. Bucky took another look before raising his drink and clinking it with Thors. He took a sip and found it to be sweeter than he expected. 

It was also much stronger than he expected. 

Thanks to the discount super serum he received, he couldn’t get drunk. Bucky hasn’t been drunk since 1945, the last time he went out to a bar with the howling commandos. 

After two and a half of whatever that Norse drink was, he was starting to get that dizzying buz he hasn’t felt in decades. He wasn’t as drunk as Thor or Tony were, but he was feeling more confident than he had been earlier in the night.  

He wouldn’t bother to hide the glances he threw your way. At some point he got rid of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. If someone asked if he did that because he was warm or because he wanted to show off to you, he wouldn’t have answered. But it was pretty clear when he noticed you looking at him and he would stand up straighter or flex his arms. 

Then of course when you caught his eyes he winked at you and then smiled when he saw how bashful you looked. 

Bucky was definitely having a better night than before. And it just kept getting better the more he interacted with you. 

His favorite —but also least favorite— part of the night was when he accidentally ran into you. 

He was leaving the bathroom at the same time you were. As he turned the corner he stumbled into your side, not expecting you to be there. As Bucky collided with you, you yelped and almost fell down yourself. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he tried to regain his balance. 

You grabbed onto his arm and helped him stand straight. “It’s fine, no worries.” 

His chest ached at the feeling of your hands on his bicep. 

A look of confusion crossed your face before you asked, “are you drunk?”

”No.”

You raised an eyebrow at him; your expression screaming that you don’t believe him. 

“Maybe,” he mumbled. 

You scoffed and let go of his arm, cautiously as you made sure he wasn’t going to fall over. “I thought guys like you and Steve couldn’t get drunk.” 

“We can’t. But Thor gave me this funky Asgardian beer.” Bucky's words slurred together as he explained.

“I think it’s mead.”

He looked baffled, “what’s mead?”

You shook your head amused, “not beer.” 

He scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t talk like I can't smell the tequila on your breath,” he joked.

You playfully swatted at his arm away using very little force. “Shut up, it’s the first time I’ve let loose in a long time.”

He loved seeing you riled up. You looked so adorable. 

”You should do it more often.”

”Drink?

“No, come to these stupid parties,” he gestured down the hall to where music was coming from. 

“I will if you’ll be there,” you replied in a sweet tone. You sounded more forward than he was used to. He was a bit surprised but decided to lean into it. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Maybe.”

“Good,” Bucky smiled as he remembered what it meant when you said maybe to plans.

He hoped you would keep showing up. He’d go to every single one of those dumb parties if he knew he’d see you there. 

“I like seeing you like this. More social, having fun. No more hiding in your room.” 

“I didn’t hide,” you protested, even though you knew he was right. 

“You avoided us like the plague,” he countered. “For a while I thought you didn’t like me,” 

Your jaw dropped at his confession. “You thought I didn’t like you?” Your voice sounded both a bit worried and surprised.

“You never spoke to me!” 

“I gave you cookies!”

“But that was like-“ he paused to do the mental math, “three months after we met. Before that I wasn’t sure.” 

You relaxed as you settled with the information. “Okay, but it wasn’t just you. I didn’t talk to anybody,” you answered with a shrug. 

“And look at you now.” He gestured to you with a small smile of admiration. “Going to parties, spending time with us. You looked like you were really having fun.” 

Your eyes lit up with a look of realization as you leaned back against the wall. “Wow, you were watching me?” You teased him. 

Bucky should’ve known that would come and bite him in the ass, again. 

“I wouldn’t say watching.”

You squinted at him, that glimmer still present in your eyes, “hmm sounds like you were.

“I can’t help it, not when you look like that,” he said in a sultry voice. 

You tilted your head, “like what?” 

Bucky licked his lips as he fully took you in. Even as your makeup took the toll of the night, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyeliner was a bit smudged and your lips still shimmered from the left over gloss. He gazed down at your dress, it had a flowy skirt that hid some of your curves but a slit down the side that gave him a view of your leg.

“Like the most beautiful woman at this party.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Come on,” you playfully dismissed his compliment. 

Bucky took a step closer to you. “I’m serious, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he continued as his voice got lower. 

Your cheeks turned pink and your voice raised in pitch, “you’re such a flirt, Barnes.” 

“Maybe,” he returned with a smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are breathtaking.” 

Now your face was crimson. You tried to bite back a giddy smile but he could see right through you. 

“Stop being so sweet, it’s making me want to kiss you.”

Bucky's heart pounded in his ears and he felt his face start to heat up. He desperately hoped you weren’t kidding. 

He quickly glanced at your lips and leaned closer. “Oh yeah? What’s stopping you?” 

Your eyes slightly widened at his question, like you weren’t expecting him to take you so seriously. He watched the contemplation in your features as you stared back at him. 

Hidden behind his confident exterior, Bucky’s stomach was churning as he awaited your response. Even with the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream, he still had a lingering cloud of anxiety telling him you really didn’t want to kiss him. Telling him that you didn’t want him. 

“Right now?” You whispered. You looked up at him with those doe eyes that made him weak in the knees.

Your gaze darted between his and lingered on his lips. “Nothing,” you breathed before capturing his lips in yours. 

Bucky was taken by surprise at your forwardness, his lips froze for a split second before moving in rhythm with yours. You reached up, placing your hands on his neck and face. He sighed against your mouth as you pulled him down closer to you, desperate to taste him. 

Bucky’s hands traveled up and down your hips, starved for more of your touch. His metal hand settled at your waist while his right hand slipped past the slit in your dress and grabbed at your thigh. You leaned into him, your back arching off the wall you were pressed up against and your leg wrapped around his, pulling him closer. He continued to paw at your thigh, his hand sneaking higher and higher, finding its place on your ass. A soft moan escaped you, trapped against Bucky’s lips. The sound tasted like heaven to him. 

Asgardian alcohol was nothing compared to the intoxicating drink that was you. Bucky was lost in the touch, the smell, the feel of you. He breathed you in like it was his first breath of fresh air in years.

It was like the earth stopped spinning just for you two. Time was put on pause and there in that secluded hallway, you and Bucky were the only people in the world. 

Of course, you were in fact not the only people in the world, let alone that party. While your lips were still interlocked and hands grabbing at each other, footsteps inched closer. 

Immediately you pulled away from each other at the startled gasp of, “holy shit!” 

Bucky and you froze in horror at the man across the hall. 

Neither of you noticed Tony approaching around the corner. He stared at you with shock written all over his face, which then transformed into a cheeky grin. 

“Wow, and to think you two almost didn’t show up.” He pointed at both of you, “If you guys get married, I better get credit in your vows.”

“Stark,” Bucky warned in a sharp tone, staring daggers at the man in question. 

Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me. Please, go back to eating each other's faces.” He chuckled before retreating down the hall back to the party. 

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Even after he cut it he couldn’t shake the habit. 

He couldn’t look you in the eyes yet, still too flustered. “He’s such an ass,” he joked, shaking his head. 

You fixed your hair and offered a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know,” you mumbled.

The air in the room wasn’t the same after Tony walked in. The realization of what you were doing had caught up to both of you. Bucky had wanted to kiss you long before now, he just never expected it to be a spur of the moment first kiss. 

That doesn’t mean he regretted it. Not one bit. 

“We should probably return to the party.” Bucky cleared his throat, “listen I know it might be a bit awkward when we get back but, I wanted to ask if-“

”I’m sorry, I um,” you interrupted with a slight panic in your voice.  

“I’m gonna go. Have a good rest of your night Bucky,” you excused yourself with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

Bucky watched you shuffle away and down the hall, in the opposite direction of the party. His posture deflated as his stare lingered from where you left. He tried to ignore the slight ache in his chest but it stayed, infecting his heart like a poison. 

Finally when he had the chance and nerve to ask you to dance, you ran away. 

_____

From when he returned to the party to the next morning when he woke up, that ache didn’t fully go away. It became quieter, more tolerable to deal with. But still present. 

He tried to dilute it with reasonable answers. You might have still been flustered from being caught in the hallway. You might have been more drunk than he thought and didn’t feel well. 

But his train of thought always returned to anxiety and doubt. The voice in the back of his head that told him you didn’t want to be seen with him. You were embarrassed to be seen kissing him. The voice that screamed he wasn’t good enough and you would never have feelings for him. 

For now he would shove down those left over doubts. Try to ignore them the best he could. 

Unfortunately that wasn’t an option when he was hounded at breakfast. 

When he walked in the kitchen, he felt the tone change. It was subtle, but as Sam, Clint, and Yelena’s conversation died down, he sensed multiple pairs of eyes landing on him. 

“So Bucky, how was your night?” Sam asked before sipping his coffee. 

Bucky walked to the coffee machine and grabbed his own mug from the cabinet. “It was good,” he muttered. 

Yelena spun in her chair to face him, “you had fun?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”

“Why do you care so much?” Bucky groaned as he poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself. 

“No reason, just wanted to see what you thought of the party.” 

Bucky shrugged, turning back around to face the group. “It was like every other party.”

“You don’t get drunk at every other party,” Sam countered in a snarky tone. 

“I was not that drunk,” Bucky protested.

“Drunk enough to get freaky in the hallway?” 

Sam’s question had Bucky gripping his mug so hard he almost shattered it. Anger seeped into his bloodstream that made his veins hot.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. “Stark, that son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath. 

Yelena's interest was piqued at Bucky's reaction, confirming her suspicions. “So it’s true? You and Y/N kissed?”

“Oh they did more than kiss,” Sam added. 

“Sam,” Bucky warned with a sharp tone.

“Did you see him peacocking? He kept flexing his arm muscles at her and at one point I think I saw him wink. I guess all that paid off.” Clint finally added his thoughts, amusement creeping its way onto his face. 

Yelena sat with a smile, still processing the information. “Wow, I didn’t think you two would get together for another month or more.”

“We’re not together,” Bucky corrected. The words tasted like a nasty poison on his tongue. 

“You will be soon,” Clint insisted. 

“Don’t bet on it.”

“What are you talking about? Sam asked. “You like this girl. You’ve been crushing on her for months!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched before. His stomach boiled over with the feelings he tried to push down. 

He shook his head and waved them off. “Never mind.”

Yelena leaned forward, eager to understand. ”No wait, Bucky what happened?” She asked calmly, voice filled with concern.

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His lips sealed shut while he stared at the floor, contemplating how honest he should be with them. 

“It’s nothing. After Stark walked in on us she didn’t exactly tell me how she felt about the kiss.” Bucky nervously ran a hand through his short hair. “I tried to ask her to dance. She left before I could spit it out.” 

“She’s a shy girl. She was probably overwhelmed and embarrassed.” Clint offered. 

Not embarrassed because of you, Bucky tried to remind himself. 

Sam stepped closer to Bucky, his tone of voice much more serious than before. “Just talk to her about it. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

Bucky looked down in his mug, the hot black coffee staring back at him. “Have any of you seen or talked to her yet? It’s still early. I don't know if she’s awake.”

”No, she hasn’t been down here yet,” Yelena answered. 

Clint grabbed out his phone, “I’ll text her-“

”No, Clint,” Bucky cringed. 

Clint held up a hand to him, still typing away on his screen. “Calm down, I’m telling her about the doughnuts I bought.” 

Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed at the explanation. 

“Let me know if you find out she’s awake. I’d hate to wake her up just to pester her about this.” He grabbed his coffee and a doughnut for himself from the box on the counter. 

“Leave a chocolate frosted,” he instructed as he walked to the lounge. “She only likes those.” 

____

It’s been three days. 

In the last three days, he’s seen you once. When you tip-toed into the kitchen, barely looking him in the eyes.

He already thought about you every day. He’d leave his room with anticipation, eager for the chance to see you. 

Now that same anticipation had a sour taste. Bucky would go to the gym, lounge, or kitchen with hope that he would see you there. And every time he was crushed at the sight of a room without your presence. 

You had gotten pretty successful at staying hidden. After that brief awkward encounter on Saturday, you made yourself completely undetectable. He should’ve known it would be an easy feat for you considering you were a spy before joining the Avengers. The only indication that you were even still in the compound were the clean dishes on the drying rack and the missing food from the fridge. 

Not only was Bucky missing and craving your presence, but he had to sit with the unknown meaning behind your kiss. He had no idea how you felt about him, and it drove him mad.

The lustful look In your eyes and the desperate touch of your hands on him told him that you might feel the same way. But the way you recoiled and shut yourself out said something else. 

One thing he did know was that all this overthinking was going to be his downfall. 

It was past midnight and instead of staying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, he decided to go to the gym and let out some stress. 

Little did he know he wasn’t the only one with that same idea. 

He wasn’t that surprised to see some of the lights on as he approached the gym. Every so often someone was working out late at night. Who he didn’t expect to see was you, laser focused as you striked at the punching bag.

Bucky stood still for a moment, watching you, debating whether or not he should leave you be or talk to you. 

His legs seemed to be moving on their own as he approached you. 

“Want some help?” 

You jumped, startled out of your focus. “You scared the shit out of me!” You placed a hand over your heart, probably felt it pounding. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t answer my question though.” 

You looked at him with puzzled, furrowed brows. 

“Do you want some help?” He repeated, gesturing towards the punching bag. 

You paused before answering in a calm tone. “No thanks.”

You shifted your weight and prepped your stance, attention returned to the bag. 

“I thought you didn’t work out this late anymore,” Bucky commented with fake innocence. 

You shrugged before you started punching again. “Guess old habits die hard.” 

“Like hiding in your room?”

You hesitated. He watched your jaw clench before you punched again. 

“I am not hiding.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days.” 

Your punches got stronger while your voice stayed calm. “Didn’t feel well. Needed rest.” 

“I texted you.”

“Sorry,” another punch. “Didn’t see it.” 

Bucky exhaled, “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not-“ 

“Yes you are,” he interrupted, a bit of frustration leaking through his firm voice. 

“We’ve barely seen you. And this isn’t like when you first got here, because I still saw you back then. You’re ignoring us.” 

You’re ignoring me, he wanted to say. 

Your attention broke from the punching bag. Your hand landed limp against it as you turned to him. 

“Why do you care?” You asked with more curiosity than you showed on your face. 

“Because I’m worried about you. And I know something’s wrong.” 

You didn’t reply. Just stared at the floor and picked at the wraps on your hands. 

Bucky didn’t want to pester you about it, but he had to stop you from isolating and keeping everything bottled up. He knew better than anyone what that felt like. The desire to hide away and run.

He could see the walls you built up slowly starting to crack, but you held on so tight to that security. Desperate to not let it fall down. 

He was going to get you to open up, whether it hurt him or not. 

“Is this about the kiss?” 

Your eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. “Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about that right now.” 

“Well when do you feel like talking about it?” He interrogated, folding his arms. “Tomorrow? A week from now?”

“Fine!” You snapped back at him. “We got drunk, flirted a little and kissed. Can we just put this behind us and forget about it?” 

Forget about it? You really want him to forget about the kiss? The best kiss of his life. The kiss that brought warmth back into his cold veins. Forget the kiss that made all the decades worth of tension fall off his bones and disappear for a few minutes. 

He scoffed, “I’m sorry but I can’t just forget about it.” 

Your cheeks that were previously pink from your work out turned red. 

Bucky kept his gaze trained on you. He watched your eyes repeatedly dart away from him, still trying to hide while you stood right in front of him. 

“Why did you leave after we kissed?” He asked, keeping his voice steady even while his insides were twisting. 

“Bucky,” you groaned, pleading with the man in front of you. 

“I gotta know.” 

You looked down at your hands and resumed picking at the wrappings. 

“Did you mean it?” You inquired, deflecting from his question. “What you said that night.” 

He pursed his lips, trying to mentally sort through all the things he said. “Which part?” 

You paused your fidgeting, hands tense as you spoke. “All those nice things you said about me. When you said I was the most beautiful woman at that party.” You finally looked at Bucky, eyes swimming with uncertainty. 

“Did you mean it, or were you just flirting?”

You were trying to hide behind a guarded expression, but Bucky could see the vulnerability in your eyes and hear it in your voice. 

You felt the same way about him. 

But just like him, you didn’t believe your feelings were reciprocated because of the overwhelming fear. Your vision was clouded by fear and doubt. 

He took a few steps closer. You took a half step back. 

His eyes stayed on you. He never wavered. 

”I meant all of it,” he answered softly. “Every single word.” 

Your eyes widened and lips parted. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You gave him a nervous grin and shook your head as you tried removing the wrapping from your hands. ”That’s overselling it a bit,” you lightly joked. You fought the hand wrap with a shaky hand, struggling to take it off. 

Bucky inched closer. Before you could register what he was doing, he reached forward and gently grabbed your hands. He separated them and continued undoing the wrapping for you. His touch was soft as he handled you with the utmost care. 

“I’m being serious,” he started, eyes trained on your hand. “Whether you believe me or not.” 

He finished working on your left hand and moved to your right. You didn’t protest. You didn’t stop him. 

“If you really want to forget about the kiss. Go ahead.” But now he knew you didn’t want to forget about it. He swallowed, preparing to place his own heart in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think I could ever forget it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Friday.”

He chuckled as a blush crept its way on his face. “Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time we met.”

He felt your hand freeze against his. “Bucky, that was over 6 months ago,” you reminded him breathlessly. 

He finished unwrapping your hand, looked up at you, and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered. 

Bucky still held your hand, neither one of you moved away from the other. 

You took a deep breath, the expression on your face looked like you were mentally wrestling with yourself. 

“What were you going to ask me before I left?” You asked cautiously. 

“If you wanted to dance with me.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as his cheeks turned pink. He softly caressed the back of your hand, “I’d been trying to ask you all night but never got the chance. Or the nerve.”

Bucky searched your eyes and found wide pupils in a sea of emotion. He wasn’t sure if they shined from the lighting or if they were glossy. 

You licked your lips, “I would’ve said yes by the way. If you asked.” 

He smirked back, stomach fluttering with butterflies. “You mean if you let me ask?” he asked, tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “yeah. I was just being an asshole.“ 

“You’re not an asshole,” he countered, genuinely. 

You squinted and tilted your head. “I was a little bit.” 

He chuckled in defeat, his thumb still tracing your skin. 

You peered down at your hand intertwined with his, swallowing down the nerves caught in your throat. “I uh- I was scared and catastrophizing. I thought of the worst case scenario and let it control me. I shouldn’t have run away, I’m sorry.” You sounded small, defeated. 

With his free metal hand, Bucky gently pulled your chin up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who gets stuck in their own head,” he comforted. Your breath shuttered as his touch traveled to the side of your face before brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just don’t shut the world out okay?”

You nodded, with a bashful smile. “Okay.” 

Bucky’s mouth curled up in a way that matched yours. “I love your smile,” he complimented, his voice dripping with admiration. 

You bit your lip as a blush danced across your face. “Don’t say sweet things about me. It’ll make me want to kiss you,” you warned with a teasing hint in your tone.

Bucky's smile turned to a wicked grin. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours as he caressed your cheek. “What’s so wrong with that?” He whispered with desire. 

He felt your breath against him as you whispered back. 

“Nothing.”

Bucky wasted no time and captured your lips with his. He instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, flush against him. 

This kiss was different from the first one. You still tasted the same on his tongue, your lips left the same imprint on his. But the rhythm was different. No rush of passion. No hunger that needed to be resolved. 

It was slower, more delicate.  Like the two of you were absorbing the others' existence into your bloodstream. 

When you separated from him Bucky chased after your lips. You giggled as he pecked all over your lips and cheeks. Your laugh only spurred him on more as he grabbed on to your face to keep you still and smiled against your skin. 

You made him feel lovesick. He felt like he used to, back in the 40s, before everything went wrong. He felt like Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky chuckled as he finally retreated from his kissing attack on your face. He stared at you lovingly, his hands traveling back down to your hips.

“So, hypothetically, if I were to ask if you wanted to go dancing, like we find somewhere in the city we can go to dance one night, what would you say?”

You looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Is this a hypothetical or are you asking me out?” You pondered with a mischievous tone.

Bucky loved it when you teased him like that. You were going to drive him insane. 

“I’m asking you out.” 

You stood up straighter, your eyes pierced him with confidence. “Then do it.”

Warmth stirred in his chest as he finally asked what he’s been meaning to for so long. 

“Would you like to go dancing with me?” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a soft, quick kiss against his lips. “I’d love to.” 

_____

The lounge was quiet. Yelena sat on the couch with Wanda as a movie played in the distance. Steve sat on one of the chairs ignoring the movie, his nose deep in a small notebook he liked to sketch in. Natasha sat on the other chair, her back and legs against the arm rests as she focused on a book. 

The elevator dinged when it reached the floor. As it opened, Bucky walked out and passed through the lounge with you in his arms bridal style and barefoot, holding your heels in your hands. 

All of their eyes slowly peered away from what they were doing and towards you and Bucky. 

Natasha was the first to comment on the display, “uh, Barnes, why are you carrying your date?” 

“I complained my feet hurt on the way home and now he won’t put me down,” you announced back to her. 

Bucky abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Do you want to walk back to your room?” He asked, voice deep with a teasing tone.

You sunk further into his chest as a blush crept onto your face. “No,” you mumbled quietly.

He chuckled and continued walking. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Awe, what a gentleman,” Yelena remarked.

“Anything for my girl,” Bucky yelled back as he walked away with you in his arms.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for them to get together for weeks!” Yelena joked as she turned back to the group. 

“Try months. I knew that when she started leaving her room it was because of him,” Natasha added.

Steve looked up from his notebook, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you think I pushed for him to go to that party? I had a feeling she would go if she knew he would be there.” 

“Seems like everyone knew but them,” Yelena remarked.

“I’ve known the whole time.” Wanda chuckled, “For two quiet people, their thoughts are awfully loud.” 

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Heinrix van Calox Lore & Headcannons

Don't mind me, I'm just over here chewing on some random thoughts about our favorite agent of the Inquisition. Playing around with some of it for a fic and writing it out because it helps me organize my thoughts.

Knight World Culture & Heinrix's Internalized Hatred of Psykers

Having grown up on a Knight World, Heinrix would possess an internalized hatred for psykers (generally called "witches" on Knight Worlds) that we see him continually struggle with.

In Warhammer lore, many Knight Worlds survived the Age of Strife due to the fact that these worlds tended to shun psykers and not take advantage of the benefits of advanced machinery. So, when the warp imploded and AI told humanity to get fucked, many Knight Worlds were spared from the horrors of the Age of Strife and went on existing as they always had, led by a doctrine of tradition.

The noble families that lord over Knight Worlds hold to a rigorous belief in honor, fealty, social status, obligation, discipline and self-mastery. This creed is only reinforced by the Throne Mechanicum when, at 18, a prospective Knight pilot bonds with their Imperial Knight suit. The Throne Mechanicum is the cybernetic control hub of an Imperial Knight, and it connects to the pilot via neural interface implants in the pilot's brain. Through this neural connection, the Throne Mechanicum implants positive associations with the concepts of honor, fealty, etc., when the pilot bonds with their Knight. And it continues to do so over the course of the Knight's life. This is why these beliefs are so ingrained in Knight World nobles - because it is constantly reinforced by their bonds with their Imperial Knight suits.

On Knight Worlds, being a psyker is to be something impure, rotten and dangerous. They are the antithesis of everything the nobles hold dear and their shunning of psykers was what kept many of those worlds safe during the Age of Strife. Psykers are seen as unpredictable, violent and corrupted by the warp, and thus have no place in Knight World society. If not outright killed, they are always exiled and sent away on the Imperial Black Ships, just as Heinrix's family did with him.

Though Heinrix never went through the Ritual of Becoming - the rite to bond with an Imperial Knight suit - he was certainly being prepared to and would have grown up with the belief that psykers are corrupted and dangerous. Thus, when his psyker abilities manifested during his adolescent years, everything he believed about psykers was turned inward and became truths about himself.

Time and experiences have altered and evolved his beliefs, and we see him show empathy and understanding for other psykers like Idira and the RT, if they are a psyker. However, at his core remains the belief that psykers are inherently lesser.

We see this time and again, especially on his romance route, with how he talks about himself and psykers, in general. During his romance scene in Commorragh, if the RT questions why he remains loyal to the Imperium, Heinrix will say that the Imperium "deemed me stable enough to keep me as a sanctioned psyker" - refering to the Imperium's sanctioning process for psykers the Imperium wants to enlist. In Heinrix's mind, it's only through the grace of the Imperium that a corrupted individual like him is allowed to live. Which brings me to...

Heinrix believes it's his duty to die for the Imperium.

Heinrix literally believes he owes his life to the Imperium of Man. He grew up believing psykers were evil and corrupt individuals, likely deserving of death. And then his own powers manifested and suddenly he was one of those evil and corrupt individuals.

Something to understand about the Imperium is that sanctioned psykers are rare in Warhammer lore. While there are not any concrete numbers, conjecture from Warhammer books, etc., puts the ratio of those identified as psykers by the Inquisition as one in one billion. Then, in order to sustain the Astronomican, roughly 1,000 psykers perrish daily after being locked inside coffin-like devices bound to the Golden Throne. Inside, their essence is extracted and used to power the Astronomican. Psykers are constantly being shipped to Terra in order to fuel the Golden Throne, and the Imperium is, of course, holding onto backlogs of psykers in case ships don't come in or Terra gets cut off. This is what the majority of psykers in the Imperium are used for, and not many psykers are deemed worthwhile enough to go through sanctioning, which is also limited by the number of sanctioning implants available. Remember, no one is making these devices anymore.

The existence of a psyker in the 40k universe is not a happy one. If you manage to not get sacrificed to the Golden Throne, or used as a test subject or whatever else the Imperium is doing with psykers these days, the most common way to serve as a sanctioned psyker is to become an Astropath. Which sounds like it sucks. Very few are chosen for other service.

Considering all of this, it's hardly surprising that Heinrix feels he owes his loyalty to the Imperium. The Imperium allowed him to live. And then the Inquisition came along and saw something in him worth making him an acolyte for.

After being disowned by his family and having his implants ripped from his body, Heinrix likely thought all that awaited him after the Black Ship was death as a sacrifice to the Golden Throne. And yet he was pardoned and given another chance at life, as long as he uses that life to serve the Imperium.

If the RT passes a Persuasion check to get Heinrix to talk about what happened when he used the cogitator on Kiava Gamma, he even concludes his explanation by saying his "path leads to one place, and one place only."

This man fully expects to, and is ready to, die for the Imperium. The Imperium is the only thing giving him purpose. The Imperium accepted him after his family disowned him. The Imperium is all he has, and he will use the life they allowed him to keep and serve them faithfully until that life is used up. In his mind, he deserves nothing more and ought to be happy to be given the opportunity to exist and serve.

Heinrix is extremely self-concious about his appearance.

We get a hint about this in Act 5 when talking to Tanakia, a member of Calcazar's retinue. She mocks him by talking about the attention he paid to his hair and eyes, a sore point for Heinrix considering that, by the time he joined the Inquisition, he's lost an eye and had a chunk carved out of his head in order to remove various implants.

During his romance scene in Commorragh, he refers to himself as a "maimed freak" and talks about how he used his biomancy to repair his damaged cranium and eye in order to "look more like a human again."

If you're romancing Heinrix, he even leaves after you release him in the Anatomical Opera. When you find him in the Pit, he talks about how he didn't want the others, or the RT, to see him in the condition he was in.

Considering his childhood as a noble on a Knight World, care for appearance would be something strongly instilled within him. Knight Worlds are feudal worlds with highly aristocratic societies, so the concept of presenting a buttoned-up and well-kempt appearance would be important for children of noble families.

Heinrix talks about spending years working to reconstruct his eye, which I think also hints at him having a fastitidious and perfectionist personality. I have a personal headcannon that he dislikes the fact he wasn't able to perfectly match his original eye color, and it's a sore spot for him.

Okay, this is a lot longer than I originally intended for it to be. I've got more, but need to stop turning this man over and over in my head and get some actual work done.

[jjwolves]

LIVING WAGE ➽───────────────❥

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA the Worker X Reader Who Doubts Her Sincerity

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1800 words, ~9 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Comm -> @namosaga <3<3<3

Warnings: Profanity

When had you started thinking you loved her? Was it when you hired her to unlock that damn taxi you were stuck inside and she screamed so hard into her megaphone that the doors imploded out of the universe? Was it when she picked you up off the ground and dusted you off--that kind of simple act of politeness you made for people who tipped extra well? Or was it when, much later, she kept you company on your quest to get the Frigid Transistor and animatedly chattered about "pitching a tent to father nature's board of representatives". Maybe it was how she looked when you talked to her, an understanding, crimson smile which bent her eye. And the way she always remembered what you said, even weeks (if weeks even existed anymore) apart. "Quit looking at me like as if I shouldn't remember! You said it, didn't you?! Your own words obviously don't mean much to you if you throw 'em away right after you use 'em!! LITTERBUG!! If I'm on memory duty, you'll need to start paying me more." Even if she was being a bit rough around the edges, you appreciated her clumpy-sugar-with-rocks-in-it style sweetness. Although, the last part made your chest tighten a little--which was odd. You weren't sure if you even had organs anymore, for one, but mostly you startled at the idea ENA laid out, joking or not. Realizing that you loved her was a bump over the head, but realizing that she might need extra compensation to stay around was a concussion. Just like that, the simple bliss of lovely daydreams from afar had taken on a new dimension you didn't want to look too hard at. Somewhere, the blossom petals flowing about in the air deepened and darkened in negative color.

"Oh my. You look prepared for an aristocratic seminar. Of course, I know there's no seminar. That's what makes your style so very choice. Unless you're going to host one right now?" A smooth titter. Once again, ENA picked up on things that you thought would go straight over her head. You nervously straighten your tie, the small figures of ancient warriors painted on it shaking fists at you for temporarily throwing their world off-kilter. You say that you enjoy being presentable. It's not necessarily a lie, but your deepest intention is to impress a certain bi-colored worker. It's impossible to know if she's predicting the trend of your intentions and just hasn't shown you the wares yet, or if the data has gone in her eyes and out through her hat. That is, until she slyly points it out, voice dripping with her own brand of suavity. "I'm flattered that you're dressing for two. Although... Shouldn't I be the one getting stylish for my most beloved customer?" A playful elbow makes you wonder if you're receiving a hint or an off-brand red herring. You're sure of one thing: there was never such a nuisance of a word such as customer.

You start using the pretense of business to test the waters with ENA. The results are... inconclusive. You hire her for tasks that you may or may not have fabricated just to see her for a little longer--offering money in exchange for helping you find, say, your family's prized "tuning paperclip". You suppose that she's likely been on the receiving end of much stranger requests, considering she doesn't bat a rhomboid eye at the idea that you two need to "wait" together at a restaurant for your treasured paperclip to "return" to you, and that you needed her help "waiting". "You can rest assured that you've made a safe investment. We'll get your prized paper pincher back ASAP. Yesterday!" Little did she know that you had the paperclip you spraypainted gold in your back pocket in case you needed to pretend that you found it. There's no time to dwell on your hidden desperation, though, when ENA is sitting next to you and willing to kill some time. For some reason, she actually took her hat off before coming in. Your favorite polygon begins drumming her fingers on the table, and when you look at her, you swear her eye flits away from your face at the last second. Maybe she was staring, maybe you were just hoping too hard. Something about the air of the restaurant, rich with the sound of the ceiling-ocean occasionally letting go of a brief rain, felt like ENA was waiting for you to say something. And so it went for a while... This newfound anxiety made it impossible to begin a conversation without inspecting it from every angle before it was out of your mouth. You would have liked to have tried, if ENA hadn't let out a surprised boop and deftly pilfered the faux heirloom out of your back pocket the moment she noticed its sparkle. She held it out for inspection, top of her face subtly shadowed over. "Are you fucking serious? This is your heirloom? You sure know how to inherit 'em." ENA carelessly tossed the paperclip onto the table and stood up before you could get a word in, try to apologize, try to explain. Beg, maybe. "And here I really thought... Well, either way, I'm done wasting my time here. Consider this stupid job completed." She was out the door before you could muster an ounce of courage.

You suppose you could have taken that for an answer. It was obvious that ENA was annoyed that you'd wasted her time--you'd stepped over the line drawn for anyone performing a service as an act of exchange. It was clear. And yet, you felt like something was left unresolved with your parting. Maybe a stairway to heaven had broken off, fallen into your brain and dream-angels had taken it over, but you were gripped with the sense that every conversation, laugh, even interaction had been real. If it was about money at first, ENA had really cared for you once she got to know you nonetheless, and you were too busy spiraling to see it. You remembered when you helped her move a jade slab and how her hand lingered on your shoulder. The time she brought turron for you unprompted. You remembered the odd silence at the restaurant. What if she was waiting for you the whole time? Somewhere, a clock's ticking hand freezes and traps a flower petal. You should settle this once and for all.

You do everything you can to meet with ENA again, even if you can't find her available for hire at the Hub. You pester the Receptionist, interrogate Froggy, yell at a cactus, bother Coral Glasses for Blood ID. The last option is the only one that yields any results: directions to the Bed Door. Not long after, you're knocking on the door of some sort of burned-out shell of an old Japanese home beneath a blood red sky. Clouds of fleas fly about overhead. From the inside, you can hear shouting. "I'M OFF, YOU HEAR ME! OFF!" A pause as an angular eye scrutinizes you through the peephole. Your patience is rewarded with a door swinging open to reveal a tired-looking ENA, crimson smile brittle as a disembodied arm holds her head in place. "Well, hello there." An expression you're not used to seeing on her, of eyes downcast, slips onto her face. "I suppose there's something else you want me to do. Sorry to inform you, but I'm off today. It is a weekend, and on weekends, there's no days left to work lest you fall into the time-end; quite hazardous--ahem. I'm unavailable." You steady yourself for a moment before releasing the burning truth: The whole restaurant thing, the awkward little moments on all of your jobs--you were just nervous. "Ah. 'Nervous.' I'm sure someone sells something for that around here." You asked her why she was holding her head in place. "Ha. You see, I'd rather not launch into uncouth behavior and say something that'd damage our professional relationship. We, heh, have a nice thing going. Right?" You sigh and lean against a wooden beam. You say that you want to hear what's on her mind--not as a customer or reviewer or anything, just as someone who knows her. Someone who's... sorry they're so bad at saying what they need to. ENA allows herself to spin into a quiet fury, kicking her door further open and storming outside, angrily pacing about. "I just--You! GHH! You made a fool outta me! I was waiting for you to say something--do something! Anything! But you didn't do shit!" Shrinking under ENA's presence, you admitted that you were nervous because you liked her. ENA's eyes widen. Hell, you like her a lot. You were just too nervous--you didn't want to overstep boundaries or make it seem like she had to as an employee, and you thought that maybe she was just flirting to be friendly to a customer, and... ENA put a hand to your mouth to shut you up, gruff voice ripping through your ears. "Just shut up for a second. What you're saying... I don't... I was waiting for you to say something. How obvious do I have to be?! Do I have to light a star balloon on fire and wave it around?! And that restaurant, g0d, I can't stand the fact that you didn't even try to spend time or anything. FLAKE! I thought we were starting to-!! And flirting to be friendly?! Would I be talking to you like this right now if I was a PUSHOVER?! You have some nerve!" ENA grabbed you by the collar and you couldn't bring yourself to look away as ENA bit down on each word with gnashing teeth. "There, feelings all out on the floor?! Enough PR bullshit, you owe me a date. And oh, I'M paying by the way. Are you better now?! Can you function for once?! I can't be any clearer, buddy." Your favorite polygon shoved you off her porch. "Put on that suit from earlier--you know which one--and meet me at the same place in 26.9 minutes, worm! GET TO IT!" And just like that, she was swallowed by the darkness of her house and her door was slammed in your face as she stomped upstairs to get ready. Your head was heavy with swirling thoughts, mainly: Was that all it took this whole time? and I better get home and change ASAP. Yesterday.

A/N: I hope it lives up to expectations! The idea is slow burn-oriented, so the story ends up being a little longer than normal.

A/N: A story where Meanie gets shit done in a merciless streak of productivity. My PC is about to die OK gn :o)

[lovebugism]

SAYING UGLY THINGS ON CHRISTMAS EVE WITH STEBE PLEASEEEEEEE

let's just pretend it's still christmas ok? hope you like it angel! — steve gets cruel when he's anxious, and with his parents coming to town, he's practically a timebomb (ditzy!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 2.1k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were only trying to help. 

Really, you were. 

Steve’s been stressing himself sick about his parents coming over, and you’ve been following him around with your heart in your throat, trying to help him before he totally implodes.

He’s always a ticking time bomb when his parents are in town. He doesn’t know how to be anything else when it comes to them. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than perfect because he’s terrified of his mom’s backhanded compliments and his dad’s sneering replies. 

He always turns into his teenage self when he’s scared — and there’s nothing more terrifying than being a teenager again.

You know all this, so you try your best to be supportive when he gets in moods like these. When he’s on edge and fussing over every little thing. You help him dust the top of the fridge and organize the spice cabinet and wipe down all the windows — even though you know his parents won’t notice, or otherwise care, about any of it.

And then, when you finally get the buzzing ball of anxiety to cuddle up with you on the couch, you manage to screw everything up all over again.

His head is on your chest, wild hair still drying from his shower. You hear him sniff once, then twice. “What’s that smell?” he wonders, not entirely apprehensive ‘cause the TV’s got most of his attention.

“What smell?” you ask, more distracted than he is. 

His weight on you is a comforting one. You pet him like a cat accordingly — one palm rubbing up and down the length of his back and the other curling in his hair. With your nose among the chestnut strands, you don’t smell anything other than his floral shampoo.

“It smells like something’s burning.”

You pull back from him and sniff hard once. It smells a bit smoky, like cooking something over a campfire. Because something is burning. Your heart plummets to your stomach at the realization. 

“Oh…” you hum under your breath, blood running ice-cold.

Steve only tenses up because you do. Your warm hands on his body go suddenly rigid. His scruffy chin rubs against the chest of your sweater when he turns to look at you. His honey eyes twinkle with confusion and concern. “Oh, what?”

“I think that might be the turkey…” you answer in a tiny voice because you know what’s coming.

“The what?”

“I put it in while you were in the shower, ‘cause you were so worried it wouldn’t get done in time—”

“Shit, babe!” he blurts and pushes himself off the couch. He rushes towards the kitchen without another look your way. You follow behind him like a puppy and hopelessly try to explain yourself. 

“—And then you wanted to cuddle after, so I laid down and totally forgot about it!”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” he scoffs and swings the door of the stove down. He flinches at the billowing gray smoke. He rises again and rummages through an adjacent drawer, in search of oven mitts.

Your face swirls with confusion. “No!”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I forgot!”

“That’s not an excuse, babe!” He grimaces as he reaches into the hot oven. The tray clatters to the stove with a smoking turkey on top. It’s not totally burnt, but it’s hard as a rock and charred all over. Neither of you are chefs, but you could probably guess it’s less than edible. 

“Shit…” Steve huffs under his breath. His hands fall to his waist and he cocks a hip to the side, blinking at the molten turkey before him because he’s at a loss for what to do now.

You stand just behind him, cowering as you wring your hands together. You feel small, like a child moments away from getting scolded. “I’m sorry, Steve,” you murmur, voice wavering. “I just wanted to help—”

He laughs loud. A bitter scoff, at most. “Well, you did a great job of that, didn’t you?” he says with a sour smile on his plush pink lips.

Tears burn the backs of your eyes. You decide to blame it on the lingering smoke. 

“I said I was sorry,” you insist in a tiny voice, trying your best to stand up for yourself. You fucked up. Both of you know it. Rubbing salt in the wound doesn’t help anything.

“That doesn’t fix it, baby!” he argues, hands gesticulating wildly when he turns to you. His chiseled features are sharp with anger, but you decide to count your blessings ‘cause he’s still calling you baby. He only uses your real name when he’s really upset.

“I’m gonna have to go all the way to the store and make it all over again!”

“I’ll pay for it, Stevie, it’s okay—”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“My parents are coming over tonight! And if everything’s not perfect, I will never hear the end of it,” he agonizes, voice fragile and close to breaking. His honey eyes go glassy when the red emotion slowly turns blue. “About how I can’t make it on my own, how I moved out too early— how I never should’ve moved in with you.”

His words sting a little bit, in the most literal sense. The very center of your chest starts to ache, like he’s shoved a red-hot knife into your sternum. 

You try to shrug it off as best you can. “Well, who cares what your parents say?”

“I do! I have to, ‘cause I’m the one that’ll have to hear about it every goddamn day!”

His misplaced anger begins to build, like the looming shadow of a boogeyman. The weight of it starts to suffocate you. At a loss of how to make any of it better (because you’ve got a record of doing the exact opposite) you try to bring your high-strung boy down again.

“It’s just a turkey, Steve. We can make another.”

You prepare yourself for an argument, but Steve only huffs — so deep it makes his chest rise and fall. His head tips back as he rubs two wide palms over his face, down to his chin and back up again. He swipes his fingers through the still-drying strands of his unstyled hair and doesn’t say a single word. 

His teeth are clenched tight. You can tell by the sudden sharpness of his jaw and the way his temples are slightly shifted. His eyes are still shut as he breathes in deep, rhythmic patterns. You can almost hear him counting to ten inside his head in attempts to calm back down again.

Steve is painfully self-aware of how hotheaded he gets when he’s anxious. Every little thing feels like the end of the world when he’s cranked up to one hundred. Problem is, he only realizes how cruel he’s being after he’s hurt someone with it.

That someone in question is you now. The sweeter-than-sugar you, the brighter-than-sunshine you, the well-meaning-but-sometimes-totally-careless you. 

And Steve, on the other hand, is utterly troubled. He’s harsh, and he’s hopeless, and he loves you so much he’s not totally sure what to do with it all. Sometimes it scratches him like barbs. Maybe that’s why he confuses love and anger so often.

He thinks of his parents — how they were supposed to love him, how maybe they do, how they have a terrible way of showing it, and how he isn’t at all deserving of the way they treat him — and something inside him seethes. It burns somewhere deep within his ribcage and squirms like a feral animal trying to break free.

He feels trapped and he turns violent, like some kind of hurt dog. ‘Cause if he can’t be loved, then he might as well be feared. And sometimes he bites you, the warmhearted stranger willing to love something that doesn’t know how to love itself. And maybe that’s why he snaps at you when he’s so high-strung. 

You love him the most, out of everybody in the whole entire world, and no one could understand all this quite like you do.

“You’re right,” he sighs when he comes down to earth again, arms falling to his sides when his shoulders are no longer tense. 

The shades of red give way to something more golden when he looks at you. It makes his heart twist because you’re still looking at him the same way you were ten minutes ago — like you’re looking at the rest of your life in the flesh.

One more breath, and the worry slips away.

“Yeah, you’re right— it’s just a turkey— everything’s fine.”

You want to comfort him. Your wringing hands ache with the longing to hold him like you were before all this, with his cheek to your chest so your heartbeat can keep him grounded. You’re just not sure if he wants that yet.

So you linger in place and try not to implode with your yearning.

“I can get a storebought one before they come over if you want,” you offer meekly, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I don’t think they’ll know the difference if we just lie and say we made it.”

He laughs again. One snorted breath, but much more genuine this time. A grin blossoms like a pretty flower on his rose-petaled mouth. It’s impossible not to smile back at him.

“Or we can just, like, not say anything, and watch my parents pretend to like it,” he jokes.

“That’s evil,” you say, hiding your giggle behind your palm. “But then we’d probably have to eat it, too— to make it believable and everything, you know? And I don’t think I can put that in my mouth without gagging.” You snort a laugh at yourself, then grow strangely serious as you mumble, “That’s what she said.”

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. It paints the kitchen golden and makes your chest feel all sparkly. “C’mere,” he hums with a grin, throwing his arms out for you. 

You gravitate towards him instantly, like he’s the sun and you’ve just suffered a terribly long winter. You hug him tight accordingly — suffocating, warm, and tender. He holds you back the same. 

His arms curl around your back, wide palms spreading along the length of it. He noses at your hair and presses a gentle kiss there. “Sorry for yelling,” he apologizes, mostly muffled from where he’s holding you so intently. “You forgot. It’s okay. I overreacted.”

It’s still hard for him to apologize sometimes. Even when he’s in the wrong. Especially when he’s in the wrong. He grew up with parents who fought and then acted like nothing happened the next day. There was never any closure. Just bottled up feelings.

It feels good to be wrong — to acknowledge it and to still be loved after.

“I really was trying to help,” you mutter, burying the words into his chest.

Steve nods against you. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse—”

“You didn’t make it worse, don’t say that,” Steve interjects before the words can properly leave your mouth. He squeezes you tighter, in hopes it’ll make his words stick more. “You know I’d stress myself to death if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah. And if your parents came home to a corpse, that’d be really morbid,” you murmur gently.

Steve chuckles when he pulls away from you. He unwraps his arms from around you, just to hold your face in his hands. His palms are warm and softly calloused against your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs over the warm apple of them.

“It would be,” he concurs with a nod and a big, dumb grin. His honey eyes sparkle as they melt for you. “I’ll tell them that when they come over— that you singlehandedly saved their son. They’ll have to love you, then.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but it isn’t really. It’s true in a lot of ways. Way more than you know.

“Think they’ll still like me even if you don’t say all that?” you wonder meekly and with your nose scruched, peering up at him with a hopeful gaze.

“Oh. Yeah. Totally,” Steve scoffs without thinking twice. He shrugs like it’s obvious with his face twisted like he’s confused why you’d even ask. “They’ll fall in love with you the second they see you.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic,” you mumble, laughing under your breath. 

You’re not nearly as confident as he is because you have no idea you’re made of flower petals, sunsets, and winter skies — all things delicate, tender, and impossibly loveable.

“I’m pretty sure it’s impossible not to be in love with you,” Steve insists, still cradling your face in his palms. It’s easier than saying that he loves you so much that he’d follow you anywhere — or that the rest of the world could fall apart, and he wouldn’t care as long as you were standing with him. 

“I think you’re biased,” you tease with a quiet smile.

“I know from firsthand experience, babe,” he argues with a rosy smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m an expert on the matter, actually.”

[nap-thym3]

Sebastian Solace(Pressure) x Reader/Self-Insert, Pt. 2

I actually turned that one-shot into a fic, so If you’d like to see more, I’ll be posting new updates on my ao3 :)

____________

The churning of the ocean, once a peaceful melody you may’ve played as white-noise, is now something that haunts your every waking breath. You can hear it even now. The whooshing of the currents, the bellowing of unseen gargantuan beasts, and the creaks and groans of the facility around you bending and bowing to the pressure of the torrential waters right outside.

Cautiously, you turn to survey the room surrounding yourself. The constant, oppressive darkness outside the thick windows doesn’t help your ramping unease. The idea that anything can be lurking in the inky depths, laying in wait for you to lower your guard. Watching, surveying. Hunting. Your palms sweat as your finger nails dig crescent imprints into your flesh. Every shuddering groan of the structure feels like another nail in your coffin. Darkly, you wonder just how many rooms- no, entire floors, have completely succumbed to the will of the sea by now. You can’t help but feel helpless, every avenue of your mind overtaken by the countless ways your life can be so quickly and effortlessly snuffed out.

What’s there not to be terrified of?

You scoff quietly. When you’d signed up for this gig, there was nowhere in the contracts explaining where exactly you’d be going. If you’d known the horrors residing in these waters, of being helplessly trapped thousands of feet where not even the sun can reach… you may’ve been a touch more hesitant to apply. Or who knows, maybe being confined to the same four-walled cell would’ve drove you here regardless. There was no point on dwelling on the millions of ‘what-ifs’. Your life was already considered forfeit, UrbanShade knew it, Sebastian knew it- hell, even the monsters knew so! It was only a matter of time before you were either swallowed whole, imploded, or drowned. The only one who seemed unable to get the memo was you.

You sigh, massaging your temples in a circular motion in an attempt to mitigate the encroaching migraine. There was no point in marinating in your own existential dread, you wouldn’t give UrbanShade nor its residents the satisfaction of breaking you. You’ve spent near your entire life bottling feelings up, old habits were hard to kick and you certainly weren’t going to try stopping them now.

A little more put together than a moment prior, you continue your journey. You were going to die soon. Maybe not right this second, but your chances of survival were incredibly slim, and you’d never considered yourself lucky or partial to gambling. The truth was plain and simple, inevitable. You were expendable and that was okay. It had to be. It must be. It will be.

Yawning, you passed through yet another sad-beige room. You must’ve opened twenty- no, maybe more like thirty doors?? Possibly??? Anyhow, point was, it was quiet. Disconcertingly so. The ambient hum of the overhead lights droning on had been slowly chipping away at your resolve. It was worrying how long you’ve gone without encountering any threats. Suspicious, even. Not once had you needed to make a detour, or find a key-card to progress. Rifling through the numerous desks in this zone hadn’t provided anything particularly useful either. Aside from the occasional ‘loose asset’ or two that you know The Merchant would be glad to take off of your hands. Oh, and a flash beacon! Though it was all-in-all a pretty lukewarm score. Regardless, you clipped the light-source onto your utility belt. You doubt you’d ever actually need it- not when you have your trusty flashlight and more batteries on hand than you could possibly ever need( Sebastian had given you an exponentially cheap price for those. Claiming it was more profitable to ‘sell them in bulk’ ). The monotonous repetition of pilfering office cubicles was mind-numbing, and you were sick of it.

Feeling frustrated, your pace quickens to that of a jog. Logically, you know you should be conserving your energy. It was reckless to be blindly racing through these halls, but you just couldn’t stand it anymore. If you had to die soon, so be it. But you weren’t going to just sit there like an appetizing bucket of chum and wait for death to come to you. You’d go down kicking and screaming.

Without you noticing it in your rising panic, your modest jog had turned into a run, and before you knew it, you were flying through rooms. Each one a never ending blur of the same layout. Cubicle, desk, door. Cubicle, desk, door. Cubicle, desk- chair? Chair!

Abruptly, you’re sent careening off-balance by an errant swivel-seat. When had that got there?Thankfully, you land on your side, the brunt force of your tumble distributing throughout your body evenly instead of in one specific location. Your expiration date could’ve been that much sooner if you’d somehow managed to break a bone. Stunned(kind of like how toddlers freeze before realizing if the situation calls for a meltdown or not), you remain curled in a fetal position on the floor, chest heaving with exertion. Remember when you said you weren’t an athletic individual? Yeah, that wasn’t an exaggeration.

A strangled wheeze erupts as you inch your hands up to your face, muffling your sounds of misery as pain ricochet’s throughout your body. It’d be one thing to land on carpet- but fuckity fuck, concrete?? Yeowch. God, you were so pathetic. This isn’t even the worst pain you’ve endured during your stay at the black-site. Maybe it was just your exhaustion, but all that big inner-monologuing over accepting your fate on your own terms and all that other melodramatic bogus- only to epically face-plant so soon afterwards? Ugh. Embarrassing. You lay motionless in a limp pile of limbs on the floor, gasping for air like a fish on land.

Slowly, you drag a palm down over your sweat-slicked face, before you rolling onto your front. Your ribcage digs into your organs, but you endure for the moment. Now that you’re not actively moving, you have a moment to catch your breath and scatter the panicked, adrenaline-filled haze that had clouded your mind.

As you lay there on the steadily, increasingly uncomfortable, hard floor; chin perched on your crossed arms, and epiphany strikes through you. This whole time, you’d been brainlessly pressing forward. Assuming there to be only the one way through. But when had this place ever been so simple? Perhaps all you needed was a new matter of perspective.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, your gaze snags on a vent-grille a little ways ahead of you. Similar in design to that of the ones you usually traverse through to visit Sebastian. Oh. Sebastian.

Thinking of the fish-man now, you’re filled with melancholy. Would he be upset if you just… didn’t return? The idea of Sebastian waiting for you to visit again but you never returning leaves a heavy feeling in your stomach. No, you couldn’t imagine him being so easily rattled by your disappearance, no matter how much you’d selfishly hope him to be. The more likely scenario, on the other hand? He probably wouldn’t even notice. The constant ebb and flow of UrbanShade volunteers was sure to prevent people like you from occupying his mind for any longer than necessary. And yet, even still knowing that the shopkeep realistically didn’t hold you in the same regard… you crave to be curled by his side. Goofing off and trading quips, stealing a few precious moments to yourself to pretend that everything was okay. Your brows up-turn, features scrunching not only in physical pain, but internal pain too. You had it bad. Whether it was a case of simply pack-bonding to the nearest individual, or (hopefully) something more akin to genuine connection remained yet to be seen.

Heartbeat no longer thudding in your chest, you rise up on scuffed knees, mildly cringing at the bloodied and torn fabric of your wetsuit. Without anymore fanfare, you crawl into the vent. Through a few winding turns you’re quickly spat out into, finally, a new room. Bouncing onto your feet, the heavy blast-door slides open, and you’re greeted by your typical scene rather than the looping office-space. You don’t waste anytime jumping through the frame, only twisting around in surprise when the door hurriedly slams closed. Well that’s odd, the doors normally stay open, no?

Confused, you watch as the screen, typically presenting the previous room’s number, is instead displaying a pixelated “>:(“

You incredulously snort, unsure how to proceed.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, you timidly shuffle before the entry-way.

“Hello?” You greet, yet it sounds more like a question. Honestly, you felt pretty ridiculous calling out to a door of all things.

The screen goes blank, nothing but a red, blinking cursor remaining stationary. What the fuck? Was someone actively hacking the screens? But why? How?? Were they friend or foe? Unsure, you wave a hand before the display. The cursor doesn’t move, nor do any new messages appear. A little perturbed, you rub your weary eyes. Was it a trick of the light? Or maybe a malfunction? Whatever the case may be, your intuition doesn’t like it. So far, it hasn’t led you astray. Wearily, you turn away from the peculiar door.

Walking down the corridor, you’re surrounded once again by thick plexiglass-glass. This time, however, it doesn’t just stop at little viewing windows. No, everything but the floor beneath your feet and the ceiling above was made of the same reinforced glass. You sway on your feet, suddenly nauseous and feeling entirely too exposed. You can feel your vision tunneling, everything except for the door ahead of you blurring out of focus like a low-resolution camera.

You feel as if you’re walking on a tight-rope, one step away from falling into the oppressive darkness on either side of you. Shakily, you try to focus your breathing. In and out. Concentrate on pulling oxygen. In and out .

So focused on what’s in front of you, you fail to notice as a sickly green light begins filter through the darkness.

Behind yourself, the odd little screen flickers back to life.

“Goodbye :)” It reads.

Sebastian, ever on the move, didn’t stay in one place for too long. Sure, there were a few, self-made outposts he frequented where he felt confident no friends would interrupt his business dealings. But he couldn’t rely entirely on the bumbling ex-convicts UrbanShade ‘hired’ to retrieve the information he sought. No, it was best that if he wanted things to get done right , he shouldn’t shuck the entirety of the workload onto the fools who didn’t even care for their cause. Which was exactly what he was doing.

His frequent routes through the complex weren’t typically above-ground. Neither did he rely too heavily on traversing through water. He was sore to admit it, but despite his genetic ‘enhancements’, there were much bigger fish than him lurking about the complex. Ones that didn’t bargain, nor were they nearly as susceptible to the ways of persuasion as humans were. No, just like him, his fellow test-subjects were nearly all carnivorous in nature. They all hungered so deeply, so ravenously that they rarely deigned to even take a moment to consider before lunging. No amount of shared trauma or sympathies were greater than the hollow of their stomachs. Sebastian’s expression sours.

His current path took him through the utility tunnels, a labyrinth of narrow, concrete halls that he had mapped out over countless excursions. Here, he was less likely to encounter any unwelcome reunions that roamed the more typical halls. His movements were swift and silent, honed by years of surviving in this underwater hellscape.

Body on auto-pilot, Sebastian’s thoughts drifted to you, as they so often did these days. Especially so since your last visit. Sebastian’s chest warms as he recalls the way you’d looked(admired, really) at him. As if he were anything but a monster. Of how you had called him pretty. How stupidly sincere you were, refusing to backtrack as any other sane person in your shoes would do- even as he gave you ample time to do so. He curses his tender heart, maybe the only part of him left that was well and truly human. Most days he wishes that the scientists who swapped his organs and irreparably altered his body would’ve taken his heart too. It certainly would’ve made things a lot easier.

As his mind circles back to you, a small flicker of concern breaches through the current of his thoughts. You were stubborn, he’d give you that, but how long could you really last down here? He knew UrbanShade’s plans, their blatant disregard for human life- er, life in general. Everyone down here was expendable, a pawn in their grand plan. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had grown… accustomed, of your visits. Of your banter and your resilience. It’s been so long since someone’s looked at him and seen anything else other than a ghastly experiment. You spoke with him, really spoke with him, not just at him. Plus, you didn’t even mind his crass attitude- hell! You even matched it more often than not. Most others in your place wouldn’t dare to rebuke his snark. In a cruel place devoid of connection, you were a rare exception.

He shook his head, clearing away any residual gooey ‘sentiments’. Sentimentality was a weakness he couldn’t afford. He had a mission, and attachments would only complicate things. Still, as he navigated the dark passageways, he couldn’t shake the tentative hope of being able to see you again. Wouldn’t that be nice?

There’s a great bellow somewhere above, undoubtedly from that of the ‘eyefestation’. It was one of the more ‘tame’ byproducts of the black-site’s experiments. Well, as tame as anything down here could be. It was sentient, for a start. Sebastian wasn’t sure by how much exactly, and didn’t particularly care- nor had the time to find out. What was important was that it was free of its enclosure now, all thanks to him.

Poor thing, it’s always been easily picked on by the humans. With a long, suffering sigh, Sebastian once again curses his bleeding heart. Soundlessly, he makes a detour to the upper levels.

[ventique18]

Obsessed with thoughts of first night with virginal 🐉

Warning: casual mature (reader referred to as 'you')

My guy only knows kissing from illustrated children's books. When you pry your tongue in, he was like '-$(#-(?????? Wtf????' in his mind but then melts at the dopamine rush it sends. He was already in heaven from the cartoon ass lip-to-lip kiss so this was already crazy for him.

Lilia never talked with him about the birds and the bees because he was confident in the boy's draconic instinct or whatever.

Malleus literally doesn't know what to do as a consequence. He also doesn't read smut romance books because basic romance books don't interest him.

So he just stands there stiffly as you do all the kissing. You find it a bit odd but don't say anything, because you're caught up in the heat. But while you're feeling passionate, he on the other hand is experiencing the same emotion x10 for the first time so he's so confused and constantly wondering if he'll simply implode. What is this emotion? Why am I feeling like this? He's so incredibly flustered but he's good at keeping composure, so he just stares at you and watches you as you kiss and nip marks on his torso the entire time.

When you put your mouth around his length, he jerks and freezes on the spot. What are you doing to one of his excretory organs? That is dirty? He does always wash it though, so he trusts you and sits there like an idiot. He bites his lip when you lick him. He bites his hand when you suck him. What the fuck is this sensation? It's incredible. He's never felt like this in his entire life.

When you put him in you, he feels so damn wonderful. He comes. He comes literally the first three seconds.

You're both so surprised lmao. He does know there's some other slimy liquid that comes out there but he only knows now that that's its intended purpose.

You laugh and get off him, but cuddle him sweetly to let him know that it's okay. Not like he needs reassuring because he literally doesn't know you're expected to not come that fast.

You accept that this one is done, and you go lie next to him. But he embraces you this time and kisses you again; this time doing to you what you did to him earlier. Everything that you did to him earlier.

Extra: if you're a woman, when he gets there, he stares stupidly while holding his member. Where was he supposed to stick it in again? He tried to look earlier when you put him in you, but the angle wasn't good and he has no clue. He first tries to enter the bottom one, but it rejects him easily, so it must be the other one. It slides in perfectly.

He's surprised that he doesn't immediately blow this time. He doesn't know that he's supposed to move though so he just stands there doing nothing. You only think he's trying to compose himself, but you're impatient (you didn't come the first round) so you snap your hips to get him to move.

He does and it feels incredible.

This time he really just lets his instincts take over.

He finds himself kissing you everywhere.

He holds you so tightly that sometimes you can't breathe.

You come wildly, but he doesn't relent. He doesn't know he's supposed to wait for you to calm down so he ends up overstimulating you. He forgets his strength and cracks the bed, but he just flicks a wrist to revert it and bolsters it in the process. No furniture shall disturb him.

You come again together and he gives you a smoldering kiss.

When your breathing calms down, he growls in your ear

"Again." As he flips you over.

[amellderiva]

My army of hot Rooks

I'm not exactly sure what's the purpose of this post other than my need to ramble, but if you find some enjoyment in it, then hey, it's a win-win for the both of us!

Calypso de Riva

elf-blooded human (27) | spellblade mage | antivan crow | solasmancer

The first of the bunch, mom's unlikely favorite, the one with tragedy in her blood. Fiercely loyal, though in a clingy way, hilarious, though in a cringe-y kind of way, yet somehow still charming. She has endless empathy for others and almost none left for herself. Everything that goes wrong has to be her fault, obviously. She could be literally perfect and still find a flaw to punish herself for, because... idk, she wasn't loved enough as a child? She's the only one of the gang who hated herself just enough to fall for the voice in her head that betrayed her time and time again. She grew up in a Circle listening to how she was being punished by the Maker, maybe that's why.

Astrid Thorne

dwarf (22) | champion warrior | grey warden | lucanismancer

The baby of the bunch, with that unshakable optimism and kindness you only ever find in the young. She's uncertain (about herself, about the world), as the events of Veilguard check off a long list of painful firsts in her life, but she's got a stellar poker face and a steady inner compass that always points to what's right to balance that out. Probably the only one who never let her anger outweigh her pity for Solas. A huge fan of both Lucanis and Spite (equally!), but not exactly thrilled about what their relationship might mean for her future. She respects the Crows as individuals, but perhaps not as an organization? And she actually likes being a Grey Warden, the purpose and the knowledge that she's helping. She'd hate to give that up to become the wife of the First Talon.

Porcia Mercar

elf (29) | duelist rogue | shadow dragon | nevemancer

Easily the most photogenic (probably thanks to that glorious bone structure), and very likely hiding many, many secrets in that hair of hers. She's a "stab first, ask questions later" kind of gal, with anger issues she should really look into. Or at least try to reign in. But she enjoys the intensity of wanting to murder people over the tiniest inconveniences, like walking too slowly in front of her. Or looking at her wrong. Or, even worse, looking at Neve wrong. Don't do that. She has deeply conflicted feelings about Tevinter: on Monday, she wants to burn the whole place down, but by Tuesday, she'd throw herself into the fire to protect it. Hates Solas with the passion of a thousand suns. Frankly, she should've stabbed him more. Stupid ass bitch, how can you fuck up so many plans in a row?

Eurydice Ingellvar

qunari (33) | evoker mage | mourn watcher | davrinmancer

The one who actually has her life together. She knows her strengths, knows her flaws, knows what she likes and what she'll absolutely not tolerate, and she makes her decisions accordingly. She's that friend; you know, the one so competent it's kind of unfair, which somehow makes them insanely attractive, because the adulting is adulting. She's kind without being overbearing and confident without screaming main character energy. Sometimes she drifts into a daydream and gets this ethereal, not entirely here aura, but then she snaps back with the perfect solution to whatever disaster is unfolding. It's amazing. She is amazing, if I can say so myself. Half her friendships implode because people just keep falling in love with her. She's fully convinced she could fix Solas with one hour of weekly conversation over the span of six months. She calls Vorgoth "father" when it's just the two of them. Not in a sexual way.

Evander Aldwir

elf (24) | slayer warrior | veil jumper | bellaramancer

A bit of a himbo, with a generous dash of "notice me senpai" energy. His heart's in the right place, but his impulse control is terminally absent. Sometimes that leads to goofy mishaps, and other times... well, murder. He tends to make rash, heat-of the-moment decisions he soon regrets, but since he hasn't connected the dots between that and his frantic desire to seem grown up, capable, and leader-like, progress isn't even on the table yet. He's deeply manipulable (he wants to believe in/to people), and an absolute simp. Like, if the game would let me, he'd be the party's communal bicycle. Thinks he's a real ladies' man. He's not. Originally a city elf who tried to go Dalish but never really fit in – still salty about that, and way too quick to insult the same gods he worshipped yesterday. He does love his vallaslin, though. And he's convinced Solas probably didn't get much action with the ladies either, which is obviously why he's so self-sabotaging.

Lesha Laidir

human (??) | death caller mage | lord of fortune | taashmancer

She's the group's adrenaline junkie; not full-blown, but definitely hovering in that sweet, reckless zone. The bigger the threat, the better she feels, because the focus that comes with that quiets the general chaos in her mind. She has amnesia, which is just my way of explaining why she looks like a carbon copy of my canon HoF (is it time travel, is it an au, is she an Amell bastard? nobody knows, especially not her). Some days she's chill about it; other days, the need to remember who she was hits so hard she throws herself headfirst into danger just to feel something. Hobbies are a nightmare – everything she tries, her brain goes into overdrive with conspiracy theories about how it might connect to her past. It's exhausting. So instead, she drinks, fights, and lives as hedonistically as the world allows. She wants nothing to do with Solas or any of that ancient elven nonsense. Elga-who? Fen-howrel? And more importantly, why? The past should stay dead and rotting, thank you. She's deeply fond of Taash, and tried to stay away from them as long as she could, believing that they deserve better than her. Taash said that's vashedan.

[yvette-tal]

Sam coming over for the first time and finding the Mermaid Pendant…^^

What turned into a simple visit to Sam’s house had somehow turned into him practically begging you to come over to your house for once. I mean, you couldn’t really blame him for wanting to come over since, obviously, he’d never been to your house but also because you hadn’t come by to see him for two weeks.

You looked over your shoulder as Sam pulled on your sleeve, smiling a bit when he had pulled you closer and closed his room door. “You haven’t come to see my for like two weeks, did I do something?” He asked, his cheeks reddening and his gaze averted from yours “you can always tell me if there’s something wrong…” The pout on his face looked adorable, you just couldn’t stop yourself from smirking wide and cupping his face in her hand.

“I’ve just been busy, sweetheart~” You tilted his face upwards and leaned close, laughing to yourself as you watched his blush spread across his face and up to his ears “Would a kiss make your feel better? Maybe two?” Sam swore he would implode as you pecked the corner of his lips, staying silent for a good few seconds even as you squished his face in your hand, amused with the blank look on his face.

“Can I come over to your place?” He asked suddenly, his voice hushed just in case his mom was outside tryna be nosey “please~? I wanna…s-spend the night with you..” His cheeks hot darker and darker as he realized how that sounded, the smirk you were giving him was not helping at all either “s-shut up..”

“I haven’t said anything, Samuel~” You whisper, fighting back giggles as Sam pushed you away. “I know what you meant, silly. The answer is no, though.” You tell him, mostly only able to think about how ugly and unorganized your fam was right now—let alone your house. You absolutely did not want Sam to see all that but you were sure he was gonna continue asking until you said yes.

A few more minutes of Sam whining and crying about wanting to come over finally had you relenting, watching Sam pack up an overnight bag before you left through the front door so his mother wouldn’t get suspicious of you not leaving—because Sam had suggested you both sneak out of the window.

You both held hands on the way back to the farm, a comfortable silence between you two and a smile on Sam’s face as you both walked past all of your coops, fish ponds, barns, and farming sections on the way up to your house. You cringed having to drag Sam through it cause you thought it looked a mess but he looked interested in everything so that was a weight off your shoulders for now.

You were seriously dreading how he was gonna reacting to seeing your house, mentally cursing yourself for not just organizing your chests already. “Please ignore the mess…” You mumbled as you both went inside.

“My room is probably worse, don’t worry!” Sam reassured you, smiling as you both took your shoes off “Your farm is so cool! I’ve never been on one before so it’s a 10 out of 10!” You rolled your eyes slightly, laughing as you lead him to your bedroom, thankful you had upgraded your house(even if it was just once) and you now had a double bed.

Something caught Sam’s eye as he was following you, making him freeze after he’d turned his head to look. There on a table beside the fireplace was a glimmering Mermaid’s Pendant. His cheeks were set ablaze in seconds, his mouth hung open as he stared at it, thinking there was no way you had meant to leave it out in the open like that for him to see.

“What’re you looking at?” You asked after noticing he hadn’t followed you fully, peeking your head around the corner before he could stop you. “oh.”

Now you both are standing there staring at the pendant like idiots for a good five minutes before you awkwardly cleared your throat, yanking Sam inside of your room “I-I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming over..” You muttered, your face hot as you turned your face away from him, feeling so stupid and embarrassed for just displaying the pendant in the first place.

“i-it’s uh..it’s ok..” Sam muttered quietly, looking down at the floor as you both got ready for bed, the air slightly tense as you both settled into bed, the time just hitting 10pm.

“I’m actually happy t-that…you want to marry me..” Sam mumbled, the covers pulled up just enough to hide the big smile on his face.

You relaxed instantly, letting out a huge sigh of relief as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close against you “You’re so cute, seriously..” You mumbled, feeling Sam laughing as you kissed his forehead “go to sleep, right now.”

.

.

.

“So when we’re you gonna—“

“Samuel, go to sleep.”

[littlelambscandyland]

I've Got You Now

Yan!Cg!Master(Dhawan) x Little!Fem!Reader

Notes- First things first, I don't think the Doctor would ever treat their kid badly, but for this story's sake the Doc is a shit parent. Second things second, I am heavily debating writing a part two but my head feels like its going to implode so I'm ending this one here for tonight.

Warnings- Master's kind of delusional but he's also kinda right, Reader is the Doctors kid (bio or adopted idc), Reader and Doctor have a really bad relationship, Reader gets severely injured, (Just to be safe)GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF INJURIES, Coming to terms with dying, Childhood Neglect, Lack of Self Worth, Panic Attacks, Hypnotism, Forced Regression

The thought spun in his head. Should he, should he not? Normally he wouldn't care for the random alerts on his screen, but with his TARDIS blaring in his ear that he needed to go to the coordinates the Doctor was last seen at... Well, what else did he have going on? One small trip to destroy whatever she saved could be fun. Though he was a bit confused on why his TARDIS was being so dramatic about it.

👽~~~~👽~~~~👽~~~~👽~~~~👽~~~~👽

The sound of the beast's footsteps echoed throughout the entire ship. Your so-called parent is nowhere in sight. You wouldn't be surprised if she just abandoned you to save her little human friends. Well, maybe not abandon, but she would definitely leave you, take them to safety and then finally come back for you. Funny thing is it wouldn't even be a conscious decision, she just won't think of you or realize you're gone until several hours later.

Maybe you should quell your rage for a second and focus on staying alive. Your one hand pushes heavily down on your eye. You're practically holding your eyeball in its socket. The other hand tries its best to keep any organs that might try spilling out from the gash in your side that all but splits you in half. Several other injuries litter your body, but none of them feel as important as the preservation of your organs. Yes, your ulna is split and sticking out your arm, but your small intestine is still making attempts to spill out onto the floor. Yes, there's a shooting pain in your ankle and you can't get it to sit properly on the floor or move it, but your eyeball is just barely hanging on by the optic nerve. Yes, the clawed out gaps on your shoulder are bleeding too much, but you only had two hands. Priorities are priorities for a reason.

The floor seems more and more comfortable by the minute. The screeching beast is halfway across the ship... You wonder if it's just decided to leave you for dead. You felt like you were dying. Maybe it knew you weren't worth the fight anymore. The wall felt so nice against your skin; it made the feeling of fire burning in your veins just a little less hot. It's just as painful to slide down on the floor as it would have been to keep hobbling down the halls.

You're surprised with yourself; you always imagined you would be crying or screaming when you died. It isn't that you are okay with dying, quite the opposite really, you're just so damn tired you can't produce the tears. Maybe the deconstruction of your left eye also aided in your inability.

You aren't hopeful. You're far too aware of where you sit on the list of anyone's priorities. You would die here, and there's a good chance no one will even know. You are going to fade into oblivion. You wish you weren't so alright with doing this alone. You wish that you could be sad and remember all those who care about you, but there is no one. You've spent your whole life alone and now you would die that way.

A part of you feels a spark of hope when you hear something crashing to the ground just a room away. Maybe that monster will come and finish you off. End your suffering. You were too scared to close your eyes, but if it finally ended you, you wouldn't have to make that choice. The more you sit here the more the pain thrums under your skin. You wonder why people always say they don't feel anything anymore when they're about to die in movies. You certainly feel it.

God, you're so tired, but you can't bring yourself to go to sleep. This will be the last time you drift off. You'll never open your eyes again. And, despite the overwhelming pain you feel, you can't help but draw out these last few moments for as long as you can.

The room you are in is an observatory. When you loll your head slightly to the side you catch a glimpse of the large window. The stars shine way too brightly for what feels like such a dark moment. Why do they still get to shine while you fizzle out? It was beautiful though. You assume there are worse things to see before you die. You barely smile for a singular second. Born on a ship surrounded by stars, die on a ship surrounded by stars.

It still hurts. Why won't it stop hurting? Your blood is staining the floor. Haven't you lost enough for you to lose feeling? Is this some sort of punishment? Do you deserve this somehow? You were wrong before... You don't want to be alone anymore.

You shouldn't waste your strength. Still you start humming. A broken sound that barely resembles the lullaby you were attempting comes from your mouth.

When footsteps trail their way up to the room you realize you don't have enough energy to look at whoever or whatever was so calmly strolling through. When the footsteps pause before entering the room you think that maybe there is someone listening to your prayers. Even if they weren't good. Anyone was better than the silence. You heard the person breathing when they came in, but now it was like they were holding their breath. You ignore their indecision and keep humming with the same terrible tune.

You didn't even hear the person approach. A hand lightly moves your face over, careful not to knock away the hand still holding your eye in place. Your eyes meet hard brown ones. They swirl with knowledge and rage. You know these eyes, and yet you can't seem to remember from where. In your defense, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference between a duck and a dog in this state. You liked his purple suit though.

Words come out of his mouth and it sounds like he's an adult in a Charlie Brown movie. He keeps speaking for a minute before your mind finally catches up.

"This is very important."

You finally move your eye back to his face.

"I need you to know this so that you don't give up on me, yes?" He asks you like you could conjure up a response. "When you close your eyes, hm, eye you will wake up again. I will ensure you get taken care of. I promise."

If you could laugh you would have at his unstable level of hope. You think he must be able to read your mind because he also huffs out a broken sound that is almost a laugh.

"Go to sleep. You'll be better when you wake up."

You wanted to listen, but you were still so scared.

"Just go to sleep, love. I’ve got you now.”

You shouldn't trust a stranger, but you are so tired, and he sounds like safety itself.

When you drift off you don't wake up for several more days.

The bed you wake up in is the softest bed you think you've ever been in. It makes the feeling of heaviness in your body a bit less overwhelming. You feel like you had eight weighted blankets laying on top of you. You also feel like you're cocooned in the clouds themselves. When you finally open your eyes you wince at the light and panic for a second at the missing sight in your left eye.

Your brain catches up to you simultaneously slowly and quickly. You don't remember much after entering the observatory. The only thing that seems to have stuck in your head was a voice promising you that they would take care of you. A voice promising you that you'll be okay.

Despite the pain in your eye from the lights they were incredibly dim. You try with all your will to focus on your surroundings. Then, you do everything you can to pull yourself up. You feel stiff, but there's very little pain in your body. Only your side and your eye hurt, and even they were a dull thrum.

You take a deep breath and look at everything you possibly can.

The whole room and everything in it are different light shades of pink. There are other items that have other bright colors, but the decorations are all pink. The bed set is silky and baby pink. Even the walls are a pink shade that almost looks white. The pieces of furniture are white. You were thankful for that; if they were pink it'd make the whole room overly-pink. If it wasn't for the amount of pastel it would be anyways. There's a dresser and a vanity. There are three doors that you assume are the closet, bathroom, and exit. There's a bookshelf holding a few knickknacks and children's books, some in languages you don't know. There's a very large chest sitting next to a rocking chair. There's a net hanging from the ceiling that holds perfectly organized stuffed animals; it hangs right above the massive teddy bear sitting in the corner.

There was something inherently childish about the room. If you weren't as aware as you are, you would assume you died and came back as a little kid. Honestly, you wouldn't mind if that were the case. That being said, it looks so perfect, and you wonder if a room so beautifully set up should actually be lived in. It's like a dream.

A dream you are not supposed to be in.

You crawl out of the large bed clumsily. Your legs feel like they should belong to a squid. You stumble more than you walk towards the door that you assume was the exit. Thankfully, you're right. Unfortunately, you're already running out of the little energy you have, and there is an unending hall in front of you.

The humming against your skin as you leaned on the door frame reminds you too much of a TARDIS for it to be coincidence. You rest your head against the frame.

"You're a TARDIS?"

The heat that rises against your cheek is the only answer you need.

"Well in that case, it's nice to meet you, Madam TARDIS." You giggle to yourself at the title you gave her.

She hums again in response.

The happy moment ends with your understanding that there's only one other being flying around the universe in a TARDIS, and this is clearly not the Doctor's TARDIS. You worry a bit as you remember the dark eyes looking at you while you bled out on the floor. You worry as you remember the soft voice being so familiar, but not as aggressive as you were used to hearing it.

You are on the Master's TARDIS.

This situation doesn't scare you as much as it should. You know how to deal with him. You can handle the Master you've done it before. Besides, he helped you... For some reason, so maybe he needs you for something and that will help ensure you won't be killed by him instead. A girl can dream, can't she?

The elongated hallway seems shorter now, and you thank the TARDIS for her kindness. Still it takes you a while to get to the end. When you get there you hesitate for a second. A moment to catch your breath.

"There's no need to hide, Love, I know you're standing there." The Master's voice calls from where you guess is the console room.

"Not hiding." You say breathlessly.

By the time you start pushing yourself off the wall you end up running into a purple wall. Well, a purple chest. You blink for a second before looking up at the time lord.

"Hello, Princess."

His eyes gleam with a look you've never seen in any of his regeneration's eyes before. He has a large smile plastered on his face, and it looks like it should hurt.

"Hi..." You try backing away, but the Master holds your arm.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." He says, turning his eyes and body away from you.

He walks far too fast, and you start tripping over your own feet. Instead of slowing down the man spins you around to face him and picks you up. Your brain doesn't keep up with the actions. It didn't really need to because it was over as soon as it started. He sets you on a couch before you have a chance to comprehend what just happened.

"Wait here." He tells you with a point as he heads over to the console. You've never seen him so... Relaxed? Happy? Really you didn't know.

You look around the room. The control panel and all of the necessary equipment needed to pilot the TARDIS blends way too coherently into the fancy looking living room. Despite its regal feel it also feels deceptively homey. There's a large fireplace that is currently burning brightly. There are books lining one of the walls. All of the furniture is red and the walls are a darkened crimson color. There are two arm chairs and a large sofa, which is what he sat you on. There are two dark brown wooden side tables on both sides of the couch and tucked between the chairs. There's also a dark wooden coffee table in the middle of it all.

After taking in the room you stand up. You walk closer to the fire. It feels nice in comparison to the cold air around you. It's nice to just look at something pretty for a moment. Just a second to gather your thoughts. You haven't even stopped to think of the terror you went through.

Sighing, you gather your courage to start questioning the man.

Before you can speak the Master commands easily. "Sit back down. You don't have the strength to be running around."

You huff at him. "I'm stiff enough, and I'll stand if I want to stand."

He barely glances at you. "Sit down."

"No."

"I'm just trying to help, Love." He sounds so, so... Well, you don't really know, but it makes you angry.

"I don't need your help," Your words come out quietly at first and get louder as you speak. "I don't need your fake kindness, and I don't need you of all people telling me what to do!"

In an instant the two of you are borderline chest to chest. "Don't be ungrateful for what I've done for you," The Master warns, pointing a finger at you. "I could have left you there to rot just like the Doctor did. Don't think for a second you are worth the supplies I wasted on keeping you alive."

You wish you could say his words stung you. You wish you didn't know how replaceable you were. You wish you actually meant something to someone.

You drop onto the couch. A familiar feeling of defeat floods you. "Then why help me?" You question, looking at his shoes.

"Because I'm better than the Doctor."

You scoff at him. If there wasn't a lingering pain behind your eyes you would roll them.

He crouches down in front of you. He moves his head down so he can catch your eye. "I'm better than the Doctor, because when I see a child struggling I don't leave it to suffer."

The Master cups your face in his hand. Your eye pours out a sadness you can't express. A part of you agrees with him, another part of you wants to mention all the children you've seen the Doctor save.

"It doesn't matter if she's saved other children. She's supposed to care for you first. Yet," His thumb rubs your cheek. "She hasn't even attempted to find you. Never even went back to that ship."

"She gets busy..." You know you get angry at the Doctor, but hearing someone lay out the broken dynamic hurts, and you just want to make it seem better than it is. You need to make it seem better because every time you face reality it fills you with a pain that you can't handle.

"No one should be too busy for their little girl..." The Master's eyes start burning with that look again. "Certainly not one like you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He breathes out a smile and brushes some of your hair back. When he stands up you tilt your head up to keep looking at him. "Just wait here for a moment so I can stabilize the TARDIS, then we can get you something to eat, and you can ask as many questions as you want. Okay?"

You want to disagree, argue back, but you don't think you can handle him pointing things out so aggressively like that again. You agree with a voice quieter than you mean to use.

He gives a playful pout before patting your head and walking back to the console.

You still aren't sure what precisely is happening. This whole thing feels like a fever dream. You really, really want to cry. You are both hungry and feel like you are going to be sick. Your head is starting to feel heavy. Your eye and side were starting to hurt…

The pressure builds up behind your eye until tears start falling out. You attempt to wipe them away, but they keep falling too fast. God, what the hell? What is your life? You just woke up from almost being killed in some gruesome, horrific way, and now you sit on the TARDIS of your father's, now mother's, best enemy. You're almost completely healed but there are lingering problems, and your body seems to hate you. The man who you always thought had terrible opinions just pointed out how neglectful the being you're supposed to call your parent is. And, you just woke up from almost fucking dying!

A part of you welcomed the lack of air your lungs pulled in. The light pain draws attention away from your problems and reminds you that you're alive. That being said, you think you may be having a panic attack. Every sense is buzzing with a need to be experienced. You can't catch your breath and it devolves into hiccups and hyperventilating. Your brain feels like it's going to explode, and you can't stop thinking about what the thing looked like attacking and chasing you. Confusion rings, questions about how you're alive, why he would help you, and what you were supposed to do now. Hurt seeps through at the knowledge that you would have died if the Master didn't save you. You choke on sobs because your mother doesn't care about you, because you were confused, because you almost died because-

You suddenly feel much warmer than you did.

"You can cry, dear, I've got you."

You can feel the Masters cheek pressed to yours. You aren't on the couch anymore, well you were, but you were sitting in his lap. The thought of pushing him away passes as soon as it comes. There's something comforting about the way he holds you. It feels like something you should know, but can't understand.

Your breathing slows down just enough. The tears keep falling from your eye and you burrow yourself into the time lord's suit. Every time a disturbing thought comes to mind it gets washed away, and you don't know why. It's confusing, overwhelming, and exhausting. The only comfort you truly feel is the constant of the Master's hand petting your hair or rubbing your back.

"Princess..." He calls out to you.

You whine into his coat as he tries to pull you back. He pulls you away despite your cries. There's a soft look in his eyes that mixes with a terrifying depth. Your head hurts and you don't want to deal with any of it anymore.

"I want you to listen to me, okay?" He looks kind of like a puppy. You nod lightly. "Good... How old are you?"

You blink at him in confusion. What sort of question is that? Is he just trying to upset you more?

"Stop thinking," He demands softly. "How old are you?"

Your head stops hurting, but the pain turns into dizziness. You have no idea how to answer his question. It makes your panic start to rise again.

"No, no..." He pulls you back to his chest. He rocks you a bit. "Come back to me."

His voice floats so smoothly. His presence is so calming. The panic melts away so quickly. It feels like something is crumbling in your head, but you can't figure out what it is or why it matters. You feel... Small?

"How old are you?"

"I dunno." You whisper into the fabric.

"Hmm," He hums as if he's thinking of your answer. He keeps rocking you slowly. "Are you little?"

Is he asking if you've shrunk? You think you're the same size.

You can't feel him silently laughing. His nose brushes your hairline. "Are you a big girl?"

Ohh... You don't think so... What's the difference between a big and little girl?

That's not good is it?

"Darling," He calls out again. "Are you daddy's little girl?"

You nod. Why would he ask that? No one else lets you be small. No one else takes care of you. Of course you are his little girl.

Daddy could be so confusing sometimes.

[fearcrowz]

What is your advice on maintaining and keeping track of stories and characters that go to those stories?

Honestly as much as it is a pain, I'm very lucky my brain can tab and file everything in a memory bank thats just for my stories and OCs. BUT I am getting older and due to some mental quirks, my memory isn't getting any better. I use Discord to store all my story stuff. (A friend uses Google Docs and thats good too), or you can put the extra oomph in and mess with Toyhouse or any other sorta site like that.

I mainly use Discord private servers though, it's personal, easily accessible to my phone or computer or iPad, and I can put sections to help organize thoughts and characters. Sometimes ramblings and a LOT of typing. I have a discord for possibly all my major stories. Here is some examples below for The Ones We Buried and Eyes Like Stars:

I just have everything organized with writing and whatever else I toss in. You can also have channels like music inspiration for said stories or characters, or customize how ya want. I do recommend writing your stuff elsewhere as well as a backup just in case discord ever implodes on itself one day. I dont because I'm lazy but it would be a smart thing to do.

[littlecrittereli]

Hi, first of all I’d like to say I love your art and writing, I read Reprogrammed in one sitting and it was marvelous, got me thinking of AUs. Everything my angsty little heart could desire. Wild Kratts has been a staple of my childhood so it’s amazing to see talented creators appreciating the show.

Secondly, for your Guardianship AU, that comic you made about Chris calling Martin cringe immediately thrusted a scenario into to brain that I could totally see happening as an alternative plot in “Let the Rhino Roll”

Zach: that’s a child

Chris, being held like a sopping wet kitten by a Zach Bot: and that’s and ugly, pickley, bitch!

Lastly, about the Reprogrammed AU, what’d you think would happen if the bros swapped places (Martin got captured why Chris remained safe). I love making AUs for AUs by tweaking certain things so I’d love to hear your thoughts. Personally I think it’d be a mixed bag as Chris would be both guilty and crippled with anxiety over his lost brother, leading into desperation and lashing out. Meanwhile I think Martin would loath the situation, but also feel weirdly content since he’s the one that got captured. That meant his little brother and friends were all safe and weren’t the ones going through the suffering. He’d probably also have heaping loads of guilt if he hurt Chris cause that’s his little brother who he’d sworn to protect and he just hurt him. So much angst potential

UR SO NICE THANK YOU!!!!!!!

(also that's such a silly prompt for Guardianship AU I will maybe draw that sometime if I get the chance <3 )

oooo.... a Martin version of Reprogrammed.... that would be really interesting! I agree that Martin would probably feel relief that Chris is safe. That is... until any sort of confrontation with Chris or Martin having any suspicion that he's hurt him. Martin would probably self destruct after that. But in a way I think Martin would be able to handle everything else a bit better because Martin takes on the mindset of "Bad things happen sometimes and it's out of our control" Meanwhile Chris is a very meticulous thinker in the sense that there needs to be a reason for things happening, and there needs to be a person to blame them on. And I think Chris would try his absolute best to fill in his brother's role during his absence, but ultimately feel super out of his league and Aviva or Koki would end up being the ones to step up as team lead.

Because as much as Martin goofs off or seems unorganized, I don't think the team realizes just how much they rely on him to make decisions. Ofc they make a lot of choices as a team and it's definitely not Martin bossing them around all the time, but in times of crisis or emergency, Martin's quick decision-making is what keeps them on their feet. Chris is great at planning, organizing, and strategizing, but put him on the spot and the poor guy will implode.

Super interesting concept though! I appreciate your thoughts; thank you for the ask!

[expirisims]

Just Thought I'd Share These!

As you all may know by now, I tend to go back to my Redwood Harbor save when I'm supposed to be playing other rotations X) ! I can't help it! I just really feel connected to that population for some reason though I love all my little simmies! Anyway, I have all of Pleasant Isle and most of Northeney already played which I promise to get queued up as soon as I have time to organize everything.

-- I've been super busy this summer and I've been feeling nostalgic for the days before the interwebs and social media--hence I've been unapologetically less active online. --

I have also been playing in Redwood Harbor to probably no one's surprise and let me tell you this rotation has brought a LOT of change! At the end of the last rotation Shayne and Cristina got engaged so I have played through their wedding (yay I was on their household for it!), my party king Reggie has embraced fatherhood and is growing into a responsible Sim without my intervention, and Thomas is going through...something...Seriously both his career and his marriage to Corinna are in serious turmoil and I hope I can get to their household before everything implodes, but that's the beauty of story progression and free will, I just don't know. It's not up to me; it's up to them.

So with all that being said, I have had the wedding album for Cristina and Shayne sitting on my laptop for ages and since it's going to be a while before I get to posting the next rotation of Redwood Harbor I thought I would share that with you all while I get the rest of Pleasant Isle and Northeney organized on my computer!

Most (if not all) of the poses are of course by @bmit04 my absolute favorite for poses, which you can find at her site here!

If you have any questions about any other of the cc I used, clothing or additional poses let me know and I will look it up for you!

Enjoy!

And outtakes as per usual X)

Bride: Cristina Guevara, Groom: Shayne Gibbs, Matron of Honor: Alicia Monk, Best Man: Harold Weldon, Bridesmaids: Brianna Pollak and Jess Engle, Groomsmen: Terrell Thigpen and Jamie Torrez

I should have taken this as a warning...in the actual wedding there were a lot of puddles! LOL! Facepalm... Also, many of you may recall that Cristina is also super close to Edith, in fact, she was Maid of Honor at Edith and Clark's wedding...HOWEVER...Edith also has an extensive past with Shayne so that coupled with the fact that most of the wedding party were already friends of Cristina and not necessarily Shayne, I chose Brianna as the third bridesmaid :)

[ask-elliot-doorman-fam]

Bishops Solver Research. Page 108

Biology and Habits of a Solver Infected Drone.

Subject 1: Uzi Doorman.

Standard Infection. Inherited by genetics. Flesh contained within torso, modified to include lungs, digestive system, organic core protected by ribs, spines unique to specific strain and initially caused by stress.

Drones Infected by the solver share more in common with mammals then a typical worker, with biological imperatives to find a breeding partner, with nesting behavior, pack bonding, and a "haze" described as a compulsion to be close to chosen partner, and general "floatiness".

Note: I have noticed a difference between Cyn-Controlled Solver Drones and those that have been severed from the hivemind due to our increased interaction with drones from other universes.

Those that are still connected to thier version of Cyn/The Solver (Sometimes there's a distinction, other times there is not) do not have the same mammalian urges, they do not form packs, have a desire to mate, nor do they experience "hazes"; unless you count bloodlust as a haze.

This suggests that these are mutations caused by Cyn's absence, the virus acting on it's own to spread itself, (Cyn may have combined multiple genomes to create the desired traits and now the more primitive aspects are no longer blocked by her.) or that another entity is guiding these changes, either consciously or unconsciously.

Subject 2. Tera Doorman.

Nothing about my sister's infection is standard.

Her infection was through infected oil my mother unknowingly fed her, not genetics, as such, her body and the solver within it are not as synergistic as they should be.

She shows all the instinctual changes standard in a cyn-absent infection, but also shows moments of intense bloodlust- a feature usually reserved for the Solver-Controlled subset.

The flesh inside her body is massively overgrown. Woven through her limbs, her fingers, even her head has modifications, with matter resembling human brain tissue.

Her stomach is enlarged, as is her core, which is so padded with tough, thick tissue that it can withstand impossibly hot temperatures, or, of course, any external damage. (The only way to destroy it would be to crush it with an astronomical amout of force, best bet? A planet imploding.)

That is to say nothing of the draconian form.

I wish I was joking. Tera's solver is so overactive it has gathered enough material to completely incase her in flesh, which then can be shifted into any form. Though she seems to be subconsciously choosing a dragon, why I'm not sure, but it does the trick in both protection and intimidation.

Of course. Her healing factor is diminished greatly because of this overactive growth of her core and surrounding flesh witch is what causes her scarring and pain. To fix the problem, the solution would be, upsettingly, to remove her from her robotic chassis, and allow the solver flesh to form a new body without the confines, though I'm not sure if every part of her personality would remain whole...

Don't tell her that, she won't take it well.

She is an anomaly. We are all lucky that she is who she is, otherwise?

Cyn would have seemed like an insect.

[jinxedgods]

you're totally right, it feels like so few people are in it for vi and jinx. vi and jinx's relationship is the heart of the show and i wish more people focused on it!! and i understand the reasoning behind the lack of investment because vi and jinx, especially in acts II/III, have very little screentime together. but idk i just wish people talked about them more because personally i think it's really interesting to think about how, if they did reconcile, what their dynamic would actually look like. also there is a criminal lack of fan art and fan fiction of them just being sisters..apologies for invading your inbox i am just a desperate creature who thinks about vi and jinx every day

Never be afraid to be in my inbox. Live in my inbox. Move-in to my inbox.

I agree wholeheartedly. Every minute of arcane, I rooted for Vi and Jinx to reconcile. I legitimately think their lives would be better if they did (even if that’s a controversial take for some reason). I will always be reckless and stupid enough to have hope for my favorite characters. I will imagine them reconciling. I will imagine them healing. And yes, I will insist that there was always hope for them.

I feel like many arcane fans think that the ending of the show — Vi and Jinx relationship imploding — is meant to show the audience that their relationship sucks and these sisters should have nothing to do with each other. Others see their falling out as inevitable. Many are saddened, but ultimately okay with their estrangement because they aren't as invested in their relationship as we are.

I’ve posted my thoughts about Jinx and Vi and been meant with skepticism— as if I didn't get the point of the story. I've learned to not care what others think.

They had my heart from the first episode. Vi became one of my favorites because she has so much loyalty and love for her sister. I love Jinx because of her spark and tenacity. Even their tragedy shows how much they love each other. In her darkest moments, Jinx heard Vi’s voice pushing her to keep going. Even in the words “I am the monster you created” show their bond: she was scarred because she loved Vi so much and still does. So no, I will not stop loving them because of the tragedy. The entire show is about sisterly love.

The Vi&Jinx corner of the fandom seems small. In fandom, romantic relationships are almost always more popular than familial relationships (unless its father-daughter like Jinx and Silco — people always go feral for that for some reason). I am a huge caitvi fan but the only reason I reblog more caitvi content than Vi&Jinx stuff is because there simply is not enough Vi&Jinx stuff for me to reblog.

There is some amazing fanart and fics of Jinx&Vi (though I wish there were more 😭).

The potential of their relationship is so good especially domestic fluff skdjcbdndnd

A fic I love (please read the warnings tho)

[aphroditestummyrolls]

New Chapter of Spare Prayer Hi

At least try to keep up, Jesper.”  East Stave was heaving, each step clogged with the bustle of Mr. Crimsons and Lost Brides— the Komedie Brut seemed even more brutal than usual. They moved in wild packs, kettled from dance hall to bar to gambling den by barker after barker. There were so many, it felt like getting a hundred party invitations at once— and every single one dug into Jesper’s brain like burrs. He had to intentionally choose his steps, or his feet would walk right in one of the smoky doorways. Even an alleyway game, he could spare a moment! When was the last time resisting was this hard? And did Kaz really need to torture him like this? Making him walk the staves with broken feet would hurt less.  It only stoked the angry flames in him higher. He knew exactly what the boss was up to.  “So, this is my punishment, then?”  “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.” He couldn’t see more than the shadowy back of Kaz’s head, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had eyes back there, too. Jesper could only imagine his smirk.  “Testing me? Making me walk East Stave like my life isn’t bloody imploding–!” “I thought you liked chaos.”  “Oh, fuck you!” He spat like a hissing cat. “My da is in the bloody Cr—!”  A gloved hand yanked him hard, and for a split second, the frantic gunslinger thought his boss may be pitching him into the canal. Instead he was pulled down into a small boat he hadn’t noticed, icy blue eyes piercing right through him.  “And who’s fault is that?” His jaw jumped, his mouth barely opening through his gritted teeth. “If you want him to stay there, you won’t broadcast his location through the whole Barrel!”  He was right— that was the worst part. Jesper wanted to kick the Boss’s cane out from under him, and knock him into the water.  No you don’t, and you know it, it took a hard shake of his head to clear the thought. His stomach churned. The mental image of Kaz, splashing face down into the dark canal only made him think of poor Rotty.  Somehow, though, the fire in his gut only sparked higher. If Kaz hadn’t needed to change up a perfectly good routine for no reason, Rotty wouldn’t be another waterlogged corpse for the bodymen. “Y’know, if I’d been there, Wylan never would’ve–” “Words ride the water, Jesper, you know that.” Kaz snapped. “Keep your damned voice down. And take an oar.” 

[randomthefox]

I'm deeply perplexed by the latest issue of IDW, so it's a day that ends with a "y." But, being the lore nut that I am, I'm wondering who is in control of the Restoration now. I believe the issue is implying that Lanolin and Jewel will eventually co-lead the Restoration once they're ready. They plan to get ready by rebuilding Emeraldville. As an aside, can I just mention how stupid it is that they left Emeraldville as a memorial to the war? What happened to the people that used to live there? Were they all resettled even though rebuilding things is the Rostoration's job? Kind of ironic that they chose to build their base under a monument to their failure as an institution. Or is it implied that all of the people that used to live there are dead. If so, why are they rebuilding it now? Who's going to live there? But that's not my main point. My main point is who's going to be the leader of the Restoration in the meantime? In issue 78, Tails, Amy, and Blaze will visit the other Restoration outposts to see how they are doing, confirming that the Restoration has garrisons, airfields, and offices throughout the islands. So, why is Lanolin talking about restarting the Restoration as if the institution is completely destroyed? The Restoration continues to operate; they simply no longer report to a central authority. 

This signifies one of two things. One, if the Restoration works perfectly without a central authority, it indicates that the Restoration was unnecessary in the first place. The cities and towns can take care of themselves without a central authority, and all of the drama surrounding the Restoration was completely unnecessary because the Restoration was an inefficient organization that was only spinning its wheels to keep power. Or two, if the islands devolve into disorder and Lanolin and Jewel are selfish fucking morons! They took a break to work on themselves, leaving behind a tremendous power vacuum as if the world would simply stop while they were away. Lanolin and Jewel fully anticipate just return to their position when they are ready, implying that they have not elected a successor. This would all be quite interesting if the comic were truly interested in investigating the ramifications of its characters' choices. If this comic was good, I'd be excited to see the Restoration implode as these dozens of bases with military assets respond to the government under which they operated disappearing in a single evening. Will bases attempt to form partnerships with other towns? Will some simply cut themselves off from the outer world? Will Restoration commanders establish their own mini-military dictatorships? Will some Restoration commanders take the risk of attempting to fill the power vacuum forcibly? I feel the need to reiterate the Restoration has no way of electing a new leader. Amy just gave Jewel the position. If someone wishes to be in a position to govern the Restoration in the event that everything goes wrong and Jewel and Lanolin don't step in, they must use force.

But I know that the comic isn't going to explore any of that, because that would risk the comic actually being entertaining. We cannot have that. Ian Flynn is simply going to overlook all of the interesting implications that result from his inability to adequately world-build since all of the wonderful storytelling chances his writing offers are completely accidental. He wants to pretend that the changes he's made to the Sonic Universe have made it a utopia when it would be anything but if he bothered to think about the consequences of his writing decisions. I can't wait to see what unsatisfying way Ian decides to settle the Restoration's lack of a leader in issue 78, as well as see Kit as a manipulative schemer, despite the fact that this contradicts how he's been presented thus far. The reason I can't let IDW Sonic go isn't just because it's a malignancy on a product I like; it's also because it has some excellent concepts and a lot of promise, but then explores it all in the worst way humanly possible. Send ask.

I haven't read it and I'm not going to if I can avoid it. But it's funny to me that they're apparently still trying to keep going with this whole idea of the Restoration being a thing. Even though it doesn't exist in the video games. Honestly one would have thought that based on what they think "the comics are canon to the games" means I might have assumed the entire idea of destroying Restoration HQ was to in-universe remove that organization so it's conspicuous absence from the video games wouldn't raise any continuity questions. But apparently they're going to still cling to the concept of such an organization being a thing? A thing that apparently only their stupid fucking OCs care about or have anything to do with lol.

Flynn is just THAT much of a fucking Archie Snape that he CANNOT and will not let go of this blatant Freedom Fighters replacement I guess.