#technical stuff has to be made carefully so everything works well

[mmyashas]

they have added only one creator because the new dynamic for korean members is really different– its going to be treated w/ attention because it's the first time a creator that has a totally different alphabet joins the qsmp!

[fatedroses]

The Devil's in The Details

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Several Hundred Lives

​​Title: Several Hundred Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 10.86k

Warnings: Kissing, canonical violence, mentions of depression

Prompt: “How about a kiss before I go?” from this list

Summary: Almost 70 years after her husband’s disappearance, Y/N runs into an old friend at work, and her carefully constructed life starts to unravel.

A/N: This fic is almost entirely unedited, but it has been a labor of love since the beginning. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please send me a message. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me in all the ways you do. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You swallow back the lump in your throat and force a watery smile, looking up at him. Bucky has an eagle eye for when you’re even the slightest bit upset. He probably already knows that you’re upset, but you don’t want him to be able to see it on your face. Not now.

“You’ve got everything?” you ask, your voice breaking. You try to disguise it by clearing your throat and reaching out, patting down the flat collar of his uniform.

Bucky reaches up and takes your hand, then lifts it to his lips. The kiss he presses against your knuckles makes you inhale sharply. Tears flood your eyes.

“How about a kiss before I go?”

Holding in a sob, you close the distance and slot your lips against his. Your arms find your way around his neck and you cling to him, standing on your tiptoes in the cold Brooklyn street. Somewhere down the way, a shout comes from a window and a door slams. The city is waking up.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, your lips just a whisper away from his. Your breaths come out in white puffs, mingling and clouding the space between you. You duck your head, tucking it into the crook of his neck and clinging to him even tighter when his arms wind around your waist and pull you close. Heat radiates from the bare skin beneath his collar and it immediately warms your nose where it had begun to turn pink from the frigid December temperatures. If it were any other day, you and Bucky would be cozied up under the covers, but it’s not any other day. Today is the worst day.

“I have to, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “Someone’s got to.”

Sniffling, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to memorize the feel of him. The nightmare you’d had last night, sometime after he’d crawled into bed beside you, still lingers in your mind. Since the day you first set eyes on James Buchanan Barnes, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to imagine your life without him ever again. Apparently, you can, at least in your dreams.

Bucky gives you a squeeze and gently pries you off of him. He straightens his uniform and fixes his eyes on you. They’re just as teary as yours.

“It’s time. Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble while I’m gone? And that you’ll keep an eye on Steve for me?”

“He’ll hate that you’re asking,” you croak. You aim for a smile, but it’s more of a grimace than anything. “He’ll tell me he doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Then don’t tell him.” You get a lopsided grin out of your husband, and then he’s backing away. He takes a few steps toward the bus stop down the road. You watch him in silence as he holds your gaze, then finally turns and stuffs one hand in his pocket, the other clinging to the strap of his canvas duffel. 

You stand on the sidewalk in silence, arms dangling at your sides and coat wide open, staring at the back of his head and his broad shoulders. His figure had become blurry as he walked further away, and then he’d become a black smudge in the distance. Then, Bucky had turned the corner and disappeared completely.

Numb from both the cold and the sharp knife of loss that’s been plunged into your heart, you head back inside. You climb the three flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment. It’s technically your apartment now as well—the courthouse wedding the afternoon of his enlistment made it so—but it’s still hard to think of it that way. The neighbors are starting to wake up now. You can hear them as you trudge down the fourth door on the left. Mrs. O’Reily will be by to check up on you soon, no doubt. Bucky had asked her and Mr. O’Reily to look out for you, just as he had you looking out for Steve.

You close yourself into the chilly apartment and try not to think about how empty it feels. He’d tried to convince you to get a pet before he left, hoping that it would make you feel less alone in his absence, but you’d brushed him off. A goldfish couldn’t fill the absence Bucky’s left in the bed at night, and not even the cutest of kittens would be able to bring him home safely. That’s all you wanted. You’re certain it will be all you want until he finally returns.

The job in historical records wasn’t one that you’d expected to find so enjoyable, but Tony Stark pays generously, and the benefits are great, too. It’s enough for you to move into a comfortable apartment in Manhattan, only a short subway ride away from Avengers Tower.

Your office is tucked away on the fourteen floor. It’s generally a quiet place, so when you hear Stark’s voice in the hallway, along with one that’s vaguely familiar, you’re a little surprised. Your supervisor had told you that Mr. Stark doesn’t visit the records department very much at all. It’s usually Pepper.

Grabbing the file you need to have signed by your supervisor, you stand up from your desk and head out into the hallway. If he’s passing by, you can get the signature and move onto the next task on your list. If you miss him, however, you’ll have to wait until he’s finished with whatever wild goose chase Tony is sending your department on. That could take hours, depending on how mundane the search topic is. It’s honestly surprising how many times he has you search the records, especially considering the Tower’s central intelligence system.

“Sir, if you have a second—” The words die on your lips and your mouth runs dry as soon as you look up. You’ve stepped out into the hallway, directly in front of Mr. Stark, but the man beside him isn’t your supervisor.

It’s Steve.

“Careful,” Steve warns as he’s pulling Tony out of your path to avoid a collision. You step backwards, into the closing door of your office, and the soft-shut door bumps you a half-step forward again.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” you blurt. “I didn’t think you’d be right outside, and I thought for sure I heard Mr. Conner’s voice. I just have some papers for him to sign, or I wouldn’t be out here.”

He gives you a tight smile. You force your eyes to remain on him and not drift to Steve. Does your old friend recognize you? It would be ridiculous if he didn’t—your cosmetic changes can only hide your true identity so much, and Steve’s always had a good eye.

You haven’t searched him out, even after all these years. You’ve been too afraid of what might happen if he blew your cover. Ever since you heard the news of his return, you’ve wondered what he would say if he saw you again. If he found out what you did, and how you’re still here. Of course, this was a scenario you never could have dreamed of. Never in a million years could you have predicted that Steve Rogers survived the crash into the Arctic. Never in a million years could you have predicted that you survived everything you’d been through.

“Y/N, is it?” Mr. Stark asks, and you blink, nodding after a second.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be sure to send Mr. Conner your way.” He pauses, then gestures to Steve, glancing up at him and then back at you. “Steve, this is Y/N. She’s a whiz with historical records, so if you ever need help finding something about an old flame of yours, she’ll help you out.”

There’s a note of teasing in his voice, but Steve doesn’t respond to it. His eyes are fixed hard on your face. When you meet his gaze, you can’t look away. You feel trapped, like a bug pinned under a microscope.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve replies. His voice is polite as he holds out his hand for you to shake. When you do, you inhale sharply. It’s as if you were dreaming until you felt his skin against yours. Some small part of you had been convinced that this wasn’t real, but it very much is. Steve is alive.

“You too.”

With a polite, somewhat shaky smile, you turn and push your door open, then hurry back into the safety of the 10-foot by 10-foot office where you spend most of your days. You stand just inside the door and listen for them to continue moving. Your heart is pounding against the inside of your ribcage.

Finally, after what feels like a suspiciously long amount of time, Mr. Stark and Steve move on. You heave a sigh and close your eyes once you feel they’re far enough away to not hear you. For several long moments, you stand in place by the door, trying to catch your breath, but your laptop chimes with a message notification and you’re pulled back into the reality of your day-to-day life. Someone probably needs a record pulled from the physical archives, so you cross the room and sit back down at your desk to see what they need.

It isn’t until four hours later, close to the end of your workday, that you make it back to your office. Your pants have dust marks from where you’d wiped your hands on them after an unfortunate incident in the lesser-used portion of the physical archives, and your stomach is audibly growling after having missed your normal lunchtime.

A knock at your door as you’re pulling your lunch from your work bag makes you sigh.

“Come in,” you call. The door opens, but your spoon slips out of your hand before you can look up. You set the container of leftovers on your desk and reach down to dig out the spoon before it can make its way all the way to the bottom of your bag, grumbling to yourself. It’s been months since you’ve cleaned it, and the thought of what you might have to clean off before eating makes you cringe a little inside.

“You’re here.”

You freeze, bent over in your chair with one hand in your bag. You hold your breath, waiting for Steve to say something more.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers wrap around your prey and you slowly sit back up, but you don’t lift your head to look at him. There’s no dirt or lint on the spoon but you carefully clean it with the front of your shirt anyway. Steve is staring at you in silence and the feeling of his eyes focused solely on you makes you want to hide. Why does it feel like you’ve done something wrong? 

“How?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice—something you can’t decipher is worming its way into his tone, but you’re too busy scrambling to figure out what to say to decide if he’s more angry or upset with you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and stare down at your lunch. With just your fingertips, you inch the container sideways until it’s perfectly centered in front of you, with its square edge lined up with the edge of the desk. The spoon goes next to it.

“Y/N, please,” Steve pleads, and you realize then that the edge isn’t anger. 

Looking up, you see the tears in his eyes. It makes your heart ache and you immediately look away again, your own eyes stinging. You stare blurry-eyed at the framed diplomas on your wall, right next to the mandatory emergency exit map.

“After…” Though it can’t change the past, you still refuse to speak of Bucky’s death. The day you found out about his death was one of the worst days of your life.

You swallow again and take a shaky breath. Your hands tremble as you open up your cold lunch and set aside the lid. Steve steps closer and you duck your head, shielding your face from his ever-prying eyes.

“Y/N.”

“I couldn’t do it,” you admit. It feels like you’re choking. “I couldn’t live without him.”

It was true. After you’d found out about Bucky’s death, you’d isolated yourself in the apartment. When you did open the front door, you never spoke to the people that came to check on you. Some of them would bring you food, but you never ate it. You’d put their dishes in the fridge until they went bad, and then you’d scrape the containers and return them after they’d been cleaned. Eventually, people stopped bringing you sympathy food, and then you didn’t even have to worry about cleaning the dishes. When you did eat, it was very little, and only out of necessity. You slept most of the day. You lost your job. You waited for yourself to waste away into nothingness.

A few months after the war ended, a woman appeared on your doorstep. She convinced you to invite her in for coffee, and you’d begrudgingly forced yourself to make two cups. It was the last of the coffee—Bucky’s favorite kind—and you’d silently loathed her for it. While she sipped hers in the armchair that hadn’t seen guests in over a year, you sat across from her on the couch, holding the cup between your hands. All you could do was try to absorb its warmth. The thought of drinking it made your stomach turn, though you hated the thought of wasting Bucky’s coffee even more.

“There was a woman that said she could help me feel better. She said she was a doctor, but that she had worked with Dr. Erskine. She said that she had known you and Bucky, and that she wanted to get to know me, too. To honor his memory.”

“Dr. Erskine didn’t have any partners,” Steve says, and you shake your head.

“She wasn’t his partner, not really. I found out later that she was one of his assistants. After he died and the war ended, she secretly wrote down all she could remember about his work. She was even able to find some of his research that he’d managed to keep hidden. She started reworking his formulas.”

You look up and Steve is staring at you in shock. The tears are gone now, and you can see him starting to connect the dots.

“They gave you a serum,” he concludes, and you nod, taking a deep breath and sighing heavily.

“Yes. I didn’t know it at the time, but they gave me a serum to help boost my… well, everything. It’s not the same as yours. It doesn’t make me faster or stronger or smarter, but it’s allowed me to age much, much slower than any person should. I heal quicker when I’m sick or injured, too.”

He nods and puts his hands on his hips, turning slightly to inspect the books on your floor-to-ceiling bookshelves as he processes the information. You wait in silence, watching him. It feels so strange to see him standing in your office in modern-day clothing. It’s like a fever dream.

“Does Stark know? Or Fury?” he finally asks.

“Nobody knows. Or at least, I haven’t told anybody. I move pretty frequently. I’ve been here about a year now, but I started drafting my resignation this morning. The past decade or so I’ve had to start moving more often than in the past. It’s getting harder to hide.”

A small smile makes the corner of Steve’s lips turn up, and he turns to face you again. “You won’t have to move this time.”

Frowning, you ask, “Why not?”

“Because I’m here. You won’t need to hide what happened.”

Steve’s a smart guy, but you stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious. When he doesn’t continue, you sigh and sit back in your seat. 

“Steve… Don’t you think they’ll notice when I’m not aging like the rest of the normal people around here? Don’t you think there’ll come a time when some sort of facial recognition software outs me? I mean, I work in the historical records department! Someone’s bound to find a photo or a record of me, especially now that you’re around. Imagine how many photos there are of you and Bucky. You don’t think I’m in some of them, too?”

He goes silent for a second, before his smile is gone and he fixes you with a serious expression. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Y/N. I promised Buck that I’d keep an eye on his girl. I intend to keep my promise.”

A wave of fresh tears come back at the mention of Bucky and you look upward, blinking a few times before you have to wipe them away.

“You what?”

“Before the train,” clarifies Steve, “He and I promised each other to take care of the other’s family if one of us didn’t make it back. You were his family. He loved you more than anything, Y/N.”

“I loved him too,” you reply, your voice breaking, and you start to cry. Steve steps forward, but then stops himself, hesitating until you look at him. It’s only then that he comes around the side of your desk. Once he’s within reach you find yourself standing and throwing your arms around him, hugging him tightly as you cry. The reality of his presence has truly hit you.

Once your tears have dried, Steve takes your leftovers from your desk and puts them in the microwave you keep on the small table to the left of your desk. He presses one of the buttons with his thumb and the turntable inside starts rotating. Satisfied, he turns back to you with a box of tissues in hand.

“I still can’t stay,” you tell him, taking one and dabbing at your eyes. “If anyone finds out how old I am, they’ll do all kinds of experiments on me. They’ll expect me to do what you do, and I’m not a soldier. I don’t have the same abilities that you do.”

“No one will expect that from you, and I wouldn’t let anyone experiment on you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“If they tried anything, you and I would leave,” Steve argues. “I won’t let them do anything to you, Y/N. I promise.”

The microwave beeps and he opens the door, then takes your food and sets it in front of you. You stare at it for a second before he says,

“Think about it, but don’t stay away. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I don’t sleep much.”

“I don’t either,” you quietly admit. “You’d think that I would have adjusted to all the noise and lights after all these years.”

“Come find me next time.”

You nod. “I will.” Looking back up at him, you smile and let out a quiet laugh. “It’s good to see you.”

He smiles back. “You too, Y/N.”

Later that night, you lay in bed awake, staring at the ceiling. Steve had texted you shortly after he left your office—you don't want to know how he got your cell phone number, considering you purposefully had a landline number for your job at the Tower—and you couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d sent.

I meant what I said, he’d texted. I made a promise.

You roll over in bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. It lights up obediently and you squint at it as you jab your thumb against the screen until the call connects.

“You called.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He hums and you hear rustling on the other end. As quietly as possible, you reach over and turn on the lamp beside your bed, then sit up against the headboard. You pull the blankets up to your chest, still holding the phone against your ear.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

“I’m here,” you tell him. You take a deep breath, then let it out, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you once they announced you were alive,” you clarify. “I’m sure it must have been terrifying to wake up in a completely different world.”

“It’s not so bad,” he replies, but his tone is sad, and you know what he’s thinking.

“But it’s not the same, and I should’ve been there. I promised Bucky I’d look out for you too, you know.”

He chuckles a little. “I gave you a run for your money.”

You grin. His laugh is infectious, and the feeling of being with a friend again is starting to settle your nerves. “Yeah, running off to enlist and then turning into a jacked-up superhero,” you tease.

“Buck chewed me out for that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence for a few moments and you adjust the blanket over your legs, then wiggle your feet a little until it’s back where it was.

“I miss him,” Steve finally says, and you close your eyes against the sudden tears that sting them. 

“Me too.” Sniffling, you open your eyes and smooth out the blanket, looking at the dim light outlining the blinds in your window. “I should try and sleep again.”

“Me too, but I’ve… I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they gave the serum to anyone else? Dr. Erskine’s assistant, I mean?”

You pause. You’d thought about it a lot yourself. If she had, there could be others like you. You could have a community, even though finding them could be difficult and dangerous.

It takes you a second to formulate a response. “No,” you finally say. “I don’t think so. I think… it’s just us.”

Steve inhales deeply, then sighs. He says, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Two years pass, and Steve convinces you to stay. Your secret somehow stays a secret. It’s a miracle, really, and it’s one that you try not to question. There’s probably more to it than that, but for now, you enjoy being with an old friend.

Steve has an apartment in the capital. A year after he convinces you to stay, you move into the same building as him. You live down the hall, and you silently root for him when a pretty nurse named Kate moves in beside him. There’s an empty unit between you and Kate, but it never lists and it never sells. You tend to ignore it. Kate tends to ignore you.

You’re coming home from work one day when there’s a commotion in Steve’s apartment. You pause to listen at the top of the stairs, one hand on the wall and the other holding your keys.

Gunshots.

Before your fight or flight has even truly kicked in, the door to Kate’s apartment flies open and she stalks down the hall with a gun drawn. She sees you, and the gun is pointed in your direction for a split-second before she turns and heads to Steve’s apartment. She shoves open the door, revealing a dark apartment.

Steve.

Your chapstick and hand sanitizer roll down the stairs when you drop your bag, but you’re already halfway down the hallway. There’s no regard for your own personal safety as you step through the front door.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit,” you hear Steve say, and then there’s a crash of glass. Light pours in through the broken window and you gasp.

“Steve!” You run across the apartment, pushing past a crouching Kate, and stop only when the sea of broken glass threatens to poke through your thin shoes. “Steve!”

He’s long gone by the time you’re at the window. The sound of a gun cocking makes you freeze.

“Turn around slowly, Y/N,” Kate orders. Her tone makes your blood run cold and you do as she says, raising your hands as well. You still have your keys and the silver Statue of Liberty keychain Steve bought you before you followed him to D.C. swings in midair.

“Are you armed?” she questions.

You realize then that she’s crouching beside Nick Fury, who isn’t moving. You stare at him with wide eyes. You’d only seen the Director of SHIELD a few times, and only from a distance, but he’s recognizable.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” you tell her, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Is he— Is he dead?”

She glances down at him without lowering her gun. “Yes. An ambulance is on the way.” When she looks back up, she glances at the window first, then you. “I suggest you make yourself scarce. You have a go bag?”

Shocked, you nod. “How do you know my—”

“My name is Sharon Carter, SHIELD Agent 13.”

“Carter? As in—?”

“Yes.”

You stare at her for a second, dumbfounded at the realization that your neighbor isn’t the sweet, flirty nurse you’ve known her to be since she moved in. Then again, you’re not who she thinks you are, either.

“Go, Y/N,” she presses. “They’ll want to question you, and they can’t find out who you are.”

You were starting to move when she repeated the command, but now you freeze, gripping your car keys hard enough that Lady Liberty’s torch might actually break skin.

“What?” you ask, and you feel cold. Surely she can’t mean what you think she does.

“Y/N Barnes, born in 1917 in Kansas with the maiden name Smith. Married to James Buchanan Barnes on December 10th, 1943. Injected with Elizabeth Robinson’s makeshift super serum in January 1946.”

Softly, you say the only thing you can think of, which is, “You knew?”

“Only a few of us did. You’re one of SHIELD’s most carefully guarded secrets, but you won’t be for long if you don’t go,” Kate answers. “Don’t trust anyone except Steve.”

“Not even you?”

She pauses, her eyes sad. “Not after this.”

Sirens down the street make you flinch and you nod, then hurry back to your own apartment. You gather up what you can from your fallen purse on the way, but decide you’ll have to go without the chapstick and hand sanitizer. Your hands are trembling as you unlock the door, then close it behind you. Your go bag is tucked underneath the couch. It’s fully packed and stocked, and you’re clicking the chest strap when the sirens stop outside. 

Steve has drilled the emergency exit plan into your head so many times that it’s second nature to push open the window and climb out onto the fire escape. The sirens are coming from the north side of the building, so once you hit the ground, you pull up the hood of the rain jacket you’ve put on over your work clothes and start walking south. 

You manage to get on a plane out of D.C. that night, and you sleep through most of the flight. After getting out of the airport, you find a hostel and check in just long enough to shower and ditch your phone. A quick trip to the store stocks your backpack with three burners, all equipped for international texting and calling. Steve had also written a list of other things you should buy after landing, since they wouldn’t have made it through customs, and you purchase as many of those things as you can. 

When your stomach starts growling, you find a local coffee bar and settle yourself onto one of the few empty stools. The woman behind the counter gives you a polite, albeit tight, smile when you ask if she speaks English, and then she takes your order almost indifferently. Within a few minutes, you have coffee and a pastry, and someone has switched the TV behind her to an Italian newscast about the fight on the SHIELD helicarriers.

You’re getting up to leave when a familiar name catches your attention, and you freeze with one hand on the bartop. On the screen, the news station has put up a blurry photo of a man beside a photo of a young man in an army uniform. You’d recognize the photo anywhere—you’d kept it in your wallet until it was too deteriorated to carry, and then you’d printed yourself a new one once you figured out it was public record. The photo was of your husband.

“Are you okay, signorina?” asks the worker, and you force yourself to look away from the broadcast to nod at her.

“Sì, um… Can you— What are they saying on TV about that man?” you ask her.

She glances behind her when you point at the TV, then listens for a moment before she replies, “They are saying that he is a… fuggitivo? A bad person hiding?”

“He’s alive?”

She nods again. “Sì. Can I get you something else to drink?” The young Italian woman gestures to the empty cup and plate you were about to leave.

“No, grazie.”

You leave the coffee bar almost in a daze. Logically, you know you should be moving to the next step of Steve’s emergency exit plan for you—a safe house near the southern border of Hungary—but it felt wrong to go into hiding when your husband was out there.

Bucky… A fugitive? He would never do anything bad of his own volition, which means something’s wrong, you think, heading back toward the hostel. You could get a ride back to the airport, and then travel back to D.C. from there. If Bucky was in trouble, he would need your help.

Your phone chimes and you pull it from the pocket of your shorts. You’d connected a junk email account and a new message has just come in. After a brief moment of hesitation, you open it to find a series of coordinates. There’s no subject line, no greeting, and no signature. It’s from Steve.

The map app on the phone tells you that the coordinates are to a hotel in Bucharest. There are no SHIELD safe houses in Romania, but deep down, you trust Steve. If anyone knows anything about Bucky, he will, and if he’s sending you the coordinates, then he could be meeting you there. 

A quick stop back at the hostel gets you set up with a rental car, and soon you’re on your way to Romania. You’re jittery the whole way, stopping only for gas, food, and caffeine. It’s a long drive—almost a full day—so by the time you reach the coordinates, your eyelids are heavy and your whole body aches from sitting.

The coordinates lead you to an apartment building. Most of the windows are dark, but there’s a light on in the small entryway. Once inside, you find a small white envelope with your name on it tucked halfway into the mail slot for apartment five. You carefully pull it out and a key slides from the open flap into your hand. There’s a note tucked inside the envelope too, and the familiar handwriting is a sight for sore eyes.

Dorothy - Stay here until I come for you. Could be awhile.

At the bottom of the flimsy yellow paper, the author had scrawled the name “Lionheart”. It takes your addled brain a second to make the connection, but then you remember the nickname you’d given Steve shortly after meeting him and Bucky. You’d just moved to Brooklyn and Bucky had teasingly compared you to Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” once he’d learned you’d come from Kansas. You’d shot back, calling him the Tin Man that didn’t have a heart. It had stuck, and soon you started calling Steve “Lionheart”, claiming that he had more bravery than any lion ever could. It was a nickname you used less and less as you grew, and you hadn’t used it since meeting him again in this century, but it was his nickname nonetheless.

You tuck the note back into the envelope, then shove it into the pocket of your shorts. Apartment five is up two flights of stairs, which you begrudgingly climb, but once the door is open, you’re relieved to find that the studio apartment, while old and out of date, is clean and furnished. Whoever’s been keeping this place on standby for Steve is clearly paid well. You’ve heard horror stories from Steve about some of the SHIELD safehouses he’s had to stay in.

After making sure there’s nobody hiding in any of the closets or under the bed in the corner, you dump your bag on the floor beside the nightstand and lock the front door. For good measure, you shove a chair underneath the dull metal doorknob, remembering that Steve had warned you to be extra cautious if you ever had to go on the run. If Sharon Carter had known your secret, there could be plenty more people that do. You do the same for the door leading to the exterior balcony, then collapse onto the bed in search of a good night’s sleep.

Two years go by, and Steve never comes. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that he never might, despite the fact that you know he’s still out there. He and the rest of his team have a major battle in Sokovia, which is heavily disputed in the news. You want to stand up for your friend and tell everyone you know that he would never do anything he didn’t think was the best course of action, but you keep your head down. It’s the only thing you can do to keep yourself safe.

All the while, you try to research and find Bucky’s whereabouts. When you’re not working your job at a local coffee bar or as a delivery driver for the small florist’s shop down the street from your apartment, you’re driving from town to town and listening to the gossip at the cafes and street markets. You’re not exactly sure what to listen for, but you listen anyway. You find a cheap laptop a few months after moving to Bucharest and you read through the declassified SHIELD files. There’s nothing on you, thankfully, but there’s a file on Steve and one on Bucky. You read them over and over again, combing through the information in hopes of something new that might help you find your husband.

It’s after one of these trips to a town a few hours away that you’re lingering at the bottom of the stairs, too exhausted to think. Between weird dreams, a bug that kept you up all night coughing, and pulling extra shifts at the coffee bar to fund your expeditions, you haven’t slept right in days. You’re considering plopping yourself down on the bottom step, leaning against the concrete wall, and sleeping there for as long as you can.

“Scuzați-mă,” someone says, and you turn.

Bucky stares back at you, a deer caught in the headlights, and you stare back. Your mouth feels dry and your heart is pounding, and you’re sure that you’re imagining things.

“It’s you,” he finally says. He stares at you from underneath the bill of his baseball cap. 

You try to swallow, but your mouth feels like sandpaper. “Bucky,” you croak.

He drops his head and looks at the floor. After a moment, he turns to walk up the stairs.

Panicked at the thought of him leaving, you reach out and grab his wrist. Your fingers wrap around leather. He immediately twists it from your grip and shoves you backward into the cement, hard enough that it cracks around you. Your head smacks against the wall and blinding white pain shoots through you. Your vision swims and the air is knocked from your lungs, leaving you wheezing as you try and stay upright.

He’s disappeared by the time you get your bearings, and you spend the night on the floor at the foot of the stairs, the back of your head sticky with blood. Your whole body aches. Just the thought of getting up makes you want to cry, and everything is blurry. Eventually you give in to sleep as it creeps up on you, mercifully shielding you from the pain as your head throbs.

When you open your eyes, you’re not on the floor of the apartment lobby anymore, but you’re also not at home. You’re laying on your side on an old mattress, staring at the dusty wooden floor of someone else’s home. The layout of the apartment seems similar to your own, but it's in a state of disrepair that makes your skin crawl a little bit. You lay there in silence as your brain catches up with you, and then you sit up, suddenly aware of the fact that someone has moved you while you were unconscious. The world around you spins and you shut your eyes again, gripping the bare mattress to try and keep yourself grounded. Your stomach lurches.

“Don’t sit up too fast,” Bucky says, and you feel like crying. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. It sounds different now—colder, harsher, and less familiar. He sounds like he hasn’t talked in a long time, though you know that’s unlikely. People are too friendly in your little town for anyone to go too long without saying at least a hello.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. It’s the only thing you can think of to say. 

The sound of his footsteps coming closer makes you open your eyes, and it takes you a second to focus them on something. You pick the metal legs of a small table and stare at them until his boots come into view. Then, slowly, you tilt your head back to look up at him. 

Though fundamentally he’s the same, Bucky looks just different enough that you would have needed more than a glance to know it was really him if you’d been standing across the room. His upper body is bulky, but you can’t tell if it’s truly him or if it’s from the thick canvas jacket he wears. It’s worn and brown, matching his boots that are scuffed on the toes. Underneath the jacket, his red shirt is faded, but it looks clean. The baseball cap he’d been wearing earlier is gone now, revealing blue eyes that are colder than you remember. They’re not the same eyes as your husband’s, though logically you know they are.

“Your hair is long,” you tell him. “Longer than it ever was.”

He stares down at you, seemingly unshaken by your presence. “You were in the museum.”

You frown. “Museum?”

“In Washington,” Bucky answers. He sets a water bottle down on the floor beside the mattress.

“The Smithsonian? I haven’t been to the Smithsonian in years.”

“In the pictures.”

“In the pi—” You stop, remembering the exhibit. You’d gone to see it only once, shortly after Steve had been recovered from the ice. There were artifacts and photos of him with the Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and other soldiers and officers. There was also a special section dedicated to Steve’s friendship with Bucky, and at the very end, in a small area tucked away from the main part of the exhibit, there had been a display of photos of you and Bucky. There were a few letters that you had sent him while he was overseas, too, and your stomach had soured at the thought of millions of strangers reading your private correspondence with him. They were letters that hadn’t been delivered to him for one reason or another. The thought of all those people reading things that he never got the chance to was infuriating, and yet there was nothing you could do without revealing your identity.

The photo of you that he’d kept in his uniform pocket was in a glass case, torn in half. Anyone looking at it could only see your head and neck. If the photo had been intact, they would have seen the floral dress Bucky had ruined on your wedding night. You hadn’t been able to get a proper wedding dress, not that you’d minded. He hadn’t either.

A small sign had explained that the photo had fallen out on the train before he fell, and Steve had retrieved it. He’d kept it with his personal belongings, clearly intent on keeping it safe. The army had never returned it to you since it hadn’t been with Bucky’s things. You’d thought it had been lost forever until the day you’d stepped foot into the exhibit. It was the only photo you’d had from your wedding day. After seeing it, you’d left the exhibit quickly. You’d barely made it back to your apartment before you’d broken down. 

“Yes,” you reply after a second, softer now. “I’m in the pictures with you. Do you… Do you not remember me?”

There’s a tension in the air, the kind that makes you shift uneasily on the mattress, and then Bucky shakes his head. You inhale sharply as tears sting your eyes. 

“I see.” It’s all you can manage without actually crying.

“You’re Y/N.”

You nod and sniffle, wiping at your eyes and then grabbing the water bottle with shaking hands. The cap is stuck and you twist at it until the skin of your palm is red. Frustrated, you set it back down with more force than necessary. It falls on its side and rolls away from you, stopping against Bucky’s muddied boot. 

“We were married.”

He’s only listing off facts that he’s learned, and your heart aches.

How does he not remember me?

Bucky reaches down and picks up the bottle. He twists off the cap and steps forward to hold it within reach. Gingerly, you take it from him. Your fingers brush against his glove but you don’t meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“And you were friends with Steve.”

You look up at him then. “You remember Steve?”

When he shakes his head again, you feel defeated.

Does he remember anything?

“He’s in the museum, too.” Bucky pauses. “I pulled him out of the river.”

“What?” You squint a little. You don’t remember anything about a river in the museum, and you had no memory of Bucky pulling Steve out of any rivers when you were kids.

“We fell from the plane to the river. I pulled him out.”

Your head is still throbbing and you feel a little nauseous. There’s no doubt you have a concussion. Closing your eyes, you try to make sense of what he’s telling you. It feels like your brain is full of soup.

“You and… and Steve fell into a river? What river?”

“The Potomac.”

The Potomac. Washington. The picture of him from the newscast.

Puzzle pieces are fitting together, and you start to understand. You open your eyes and look up at him, shifting slightly until your legs are in a more comfortable position.

“You fought Steve,” you prompt, “and then what? You went to the Smithsonian?”

Hesitantly, Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“What did you do after you pulled him from the Potomac?”

He doesn’t answer, and there’s a bang in the hallway. His whole body tenses and you flinch at the noise, staring wide-eyed at the door. Water sloshes out from the bottle in your hand and onto your jeans. It feels like you’ve been caught red-handed, but when nothing happens after a few moments, you relax. Your brain catches up.

“What time is it?” you murmur, almost afraid to speak. 

“Two.”

“That was the mail carrier,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You scoot back on the mattress after a minute, leaning your back against the wall and keep your legs out in front of you. “We’re okay.”

Bucky nods, clearly still on edge, and you screw the cap back on the water.

“Before you fought Steve,” you begin, hoping that telling him some of your story will help him loosen up, “I was living in the same building as him. Someone came in and shot a man, and I went on the run. I was afraid that they would figure out who I am—how old I am.” You laugh a little at that. “I’m almost a hundred years old. So are you. We were born the same year.”

He stares at you. Some of the tension in his body is beginning to disappear, and you try not to stare.

“I got on a plane that night. Steve got me a fake passport right after he found me, and he helped me get a go bag ready. He had a whole list of things I should buy once I landed, so I did, and then he emailed me the coordinates to this apartment building. I’m assuming we’re in the same building as before?”

Bucky nods a little and you continue,

“I drove almost a whole day to get here. I was exhausted. Whoever kept this place ready for Steve put the key in an envelope for me, along with a note telling me to hunker down and stay put until he came and got me. He signed it “Lionheart” and everything, just in case anyone read it.”

There’s a flash of something in your husband’s eyes when you mention Steve’s nickname, but he doesn’t speak.

“Anyway, I moved in to apartment five—”

“Do you like it here?” asks Bucky, quiet enough that you almost keep talking over him.

“Here? Wait, are we still in my building?”

He nods and you watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll elaborate. Then, when he’s gathered that you won’t say anything more until he does, he tells you, 

“This is apartment six.”

“Six? Do you live here?” A nod. “When did you move in?”

“Six months ago.”

You scramble to your feet and he takes a defensive step back. “We’ve been neighbors for six months and I—” The lump in your throat is back and you choke on it, coughing once. “How have I never seen you? Did you know who I was?”

“Yes.”

Tears sting your eyes and you cross your arms over your chest. Now that you know it’s the same building, you recognize all the similarities to your own unit. This one isn’t in as nice of condition, but it has the door leading to the outside in addition to the hallway. Unlike yours, however, Bucky’s covered the large glass panes in the door with newspaper. You stare at the light filtering in through the thin paper while he stares at you.

“So all this time,” you choke out, “I’ve been going out in search of my husband, when he’s really been less than a few yards away?”

Bucky doesn’t answer and you bring your hands up to your face, pressing the heel of each hand against your eyes. A sob escapes, but it’s bordering on the edge of laughter—not out of humor, but out of the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“God, I’m so stupid. If I’d just looked—”

You’re too wrapped up in your own frustration and grief to notice the edge of hurt in his voice when he asks, “Your husband?” 

You drop your hands back down to your sides with another laugh-turned-sob. “Yes! My husband! The man I’ve been married to since 1943!”

Bucky stares at you, seemingly unmoved by your display of emotion, but the way his fingers twitch at his side and the way he shuffles forward an infinitesimal amount makes you burst into tears.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you sob. You want nothing more than to reach out for him, but the fear of scaring him away has wrapped itself around your heart. It squeezes, tightening little by little the more you learn about the man your husband has become. “I saw your picture on TV and I thought that we could finally be happy together, but then when I couldn’t find you… I was so worried!”

A crease forms between Bucky’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Bucky, I love you! More than anything in the world, I love you!”

“How are you alive? The museum said…”

You’re sobering up quickly at the realization that you have to come clean. For decades you’ve had this conversation with an imaginary Bucky, and he leaves disappointed in you every time. Your stomach slowly deepens until there’s a gaping pit inside of it and you swipe at your eyes, wiping the tears onto the backs of your hands.

“The museum only knows what I want them to know.” 

He searches your face for further explanation and you sniffle. Your head is throbbing again, the wound exasperated by the crying.

“I was given a serum, similar to Steve’s, but—”

His fists clench and you snap your mouth shut at the sudden anger on Bucky’s face. “What did they give you?”

When you don’t immediately reply, he repeats the question, this time so insistently that you stammer,

“I don’t know, they never told me.”

He stares at you and you shrink back a little, then glance behind you before sitting down on the mattress. You sit against the wall with your legs pulled in, making yourself as small as possible in his already tiny apartment.

“What do you mean they never told you? Who?”

Softly, you answer, “Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Liza. She was Dr. Erskine’s assistant.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes, feeling completely out of orbit. Your head is throbbing again.

“Dr. Erskine,” repeats Bucky, and you nod. You wait for a moment, wondering if he’ll place the name. He doesn’t seem to connect the dots, so you briefly explain Erskine’s connection to Steve, and therefore to him… and to you.

The sun is setting, sending golden light streaming through the paper covering apartment six’s exterior door. You stare at it as he processes the new information, and you realize after some time that you’ve watched until the light has grown impossibly dim. It’s likely that you’ve fallen asleep sitting up. Neither one of you has said anything for some time now, and yet it has been comfortable. You feel just at home around Bucky as you used to, even if he doesn’t feel the same around you.

“I should get going,” you say, climbing to your feet and looking toward where he’d been standing. Bucky’s moved without you realizing it, and he’s now seated at the small metal table, writing something in a small red journal.

He doesn’t reply and you move two steps closer. Bucky doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky?”

No response. He continues to write. The pen scratches black ink across the page in almost frantic scrawls, and you realize after a second that you can’t read it. The language is a mix of English and Russian, and the handwriting seems altogether unfamiliar. 

“James?” you hesitantly ask.

The pen slows, then stops and a blot of ink smudges on the page. He lifts his hand to look up at you.

“I should get going,” you repeat, gentler than the first time. You don’t want to startle him—he’d clearly been absorbed in whatever he’d been writing. “Home, I mean.”

He caps the pen and sets it down. Bucky stays silent as he pushes the chair back from the table and stands almost robotically. You have to force yourself to stand still and not take a step back to give him space. The only thing that keeps you from moving is a silent reminder that no matter what happened to him over the past few decades, he’s still your husband. You took a vow on your wedding day and you refuse to break it now.

“You can’t stay here,” says Bucky, so bluntly that you blink in surprise.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you.”

You scoff a little. “What are you talking about? It’s perfectly safe.”

“It’s not safe for you to be with me,” he clarifies and you’re even more stunned.

“Bucky… What are you talking about? You’re not dangerous.” You step forward and reach for his hands, but he turns away, though he doesn’t step back. “Bucky…”

“They’ll come for me, and when they do, they’ll realize who you are. They’ll use you to get to me, and I can’t let them do that.”

“What? Who? Bucky, who are you talking about?”

His jaw is tight as he turns away, grabbing the notebook from the table. He shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, then lowers himself onto one knee a few feet away. With one deft hand, Bucky pries up a floorboard and pulls out a black backpack. It’s already packed with his supplies or belongings, or both, and he slings it over his shoulders before buckling the strap over his chest.

“You need to go,” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not,” you defiantly answer. “I’m not leaving you, not now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N.”

It’s only the second time he’s said your name aloud since you’ve been reunited, and it stops you in your tracks. Your hand, which had been reaching out to stop him, drops back down to your side in defeat.

“Don’t go,” you plead, opting for a gentler approach.

Something flickers in his eyes and he glances at the door to the hallway. After a second, he looks back at you.

“Do you need anything?” 

You shake your head. There’s nothing of value in your apartment. The only sentimental item you have is the keychain from Steve, and your keys are still in your pocket from the night before.

“Let’s go.”

He turns and opens the exterior door, then steps out into the afternoon sunshine onto the concrete terrace. You follow him in silence. There’s a bang from behind you as you reach the edge of the terrace and the short wall separating you from the three-story drop. Turning, you spot an armed officer bursting through the door to apartment six. You hadn’t even heard them coming up the stairs.

With a gasp, you grab Bucky’s arm. He doesn’t look back when he pulls you in front of him. You’re facing him and you have just enough time to see the officer lifting their gun. It’s pointed in your direction. In an instant, Bucky lifts you off the ground. Your legs wrap around his midsection instinctively, and your arms around his neck. You grab hold of the top handle on the backpack and squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel Bucky moving, his muscles flexing and tensing, and the wind blows cold against your back as he runs. Gunshots ring out all around you and you let out a squeak as you duck your head against his chest. His hands are gripping your thighs so tightly that it hurts, but you don’t dare speak up, especially when he grunts and you open your eyes just enough to see the world sailing by.

You and Bucky land on hard concrete with a hard jolt. You release him, your entire body screaming out in pain, and you echo the cry. You don’t have any time to think about what truly hurts and why before Bucky’s grabbing your hand and yanking you up off the ground. He pulls you alongside him until you’re running too, across the roof of a neighboring building as bullets rain down.

“Where are we going?” you shout, and something whizzes past so close to your ear that you can feel the heat radiating from it. You angle your path closer to Bucky’s, your chest heaving and your lungs burning for air.

He barely seems out of breath as he yells back something you don’t understand, but he’s still gripping your hand and pulling you with him. You hear shouts from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder just long enough to see that there are more officers now, and they’ve also made it to the rooftop. Overhead, a helicopter ominously sails closer and closer.

“Here. Go!” Bucky orders, and you duck through an open door into the utility stairwell of the building. You rush down the stairs, head pounding, until he ushers you through another door and onto the fifth floor. It’s another apartment complex and you let him take the lead, following him down hall after hall. He leads you to the main stairwell, where a woman carrying a large vase of flowers sends you a scathing look, muttering something in Romanian about men taking up too much space when they walk. 

Once you’re outside the building, you can hear the chaos of the officers on rooftops and in helicopters up above. Two cop cars are blocking the road outside your building, and they spot you almost immediately. You don’t have time to think about it, however, because Bucky is pulling you onto a motorcycle. Just like before, your arms instinctively wrap around his waist, and you rest your head against his back, squeezing your eyes shut as the motorcycle roars to life, then takes off. Wind whips past you, blowing your hair back and making your cheeks sting. 

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“Someplace safe!”

You and Bucky are on the run for hours. By the time he deems you safe, you’ve long outrun the assailants, and you’re exhausted. You’ve thrown up three times, and your head is pounding. He’s relatively unscathed, and for that, you’re thankful, because he leads you across a field of tall grass, away from where you’ve left your third motorcycle on the side of the road. How he keeps finding them is a mystery. You’re pretty sure the only reason you’re not stopping in a town and looking for a new ride is because this one ran out of gas, but he seems to have a destination in mind when he says,

“Just a little further.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you since the bike. You nod in response, then close your eyes against a wave of dizziness. Your concussion has reared its ugly head. 

Bucky grabs you when you stumble over something in the ground, and you heave a little bit, bending over at the waist. He keeps you from falling onto your knees as bile rises in your throat, but when the feeling subsides and your stomach settles again, he doesn’t let go.

“I’m okay,” you weakly tell him.

He still doesn’t release you. After a moment, you feel his arm move to the backs of your knees, and then you’re being slowly lifted into the air. Bucky cradles you against his chest and when you open your eyes, he’s watching you carefully.

“I can walk,” you protest, but it’s half-hearted. Truth be told, your legs are on fire and you’ve got blisters on both feet.

Silently, Bucky resumes walking. You let your head rest against his shoulder after a few minutes, and the swaying motion eventually lulls you to sleep.

You wake up in a bedroom. It’s clean and bright, with a blue-and-white patterned quilt over the bed and light-colored wooden furniture. White curtains flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. From the bed, you can see a three-drawer dresser, a nightstand, and a chair. The four-poster bed is warm and cozy despite the cool air, and you spy green grass and a deep green forest when one of the curtains falls back into place. 

A knock at the door makes you sit up.

“Come in,” you say, and it opens.

“You’re awake,” Steve greets. 

Your heart soars and you move to climb out of bed, but he stops you.

“You had a nasty concussion, one that would’ve taken most people months to recover from,” he says. He sits on the edge of the mattress and hugs you hard. You squeeze your eyes shut against a flood of relieved tears.

“I missed you so much,” you say as you pull away. Chuckling a little, you pat his cheek with one hand, scrunching your nose when his beard scratches your palm. “You look different.”

Steve chuckles. “So I’m told. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Good, actually. I’m hungry, and my head doesn’t hurt as much.”

He nods and reaches for a mug on the nightstand. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, but you hadn’t seen him bring it in. That’s when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway, clearly hesitant to come in. He’s watching you and Steve with a guarded expression, and you stare at him in silence.

“He’s real,” Steve says, and you nod.

“I know. He saved me.”

Bucky takes a careful step into the room. Steve moves out of the way, shifting to sit at the end of the bed with his back against one of the wooden posts. Bucky’s dressed in clean clothes and his hair is still long, but it’s been washed and trimmed. He looks healthier than when you’d been in the apartment.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask him.

“A week.”

You look down at the mug Steve had handed you. It’s filled with soup and you inhale deeply, feeling the steam warm you from the outside in. It smells delicious.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asks.

“Good. Better.” You pause. “Thank you.”

He nods, then goes back to staring at you in silence. After several long moments, Steve clears his throat, then stands.

“I’ve got to go check in with Nat. I’ll let you two… talk.”

Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder as he walks by. He ignores the way Bucky flinches at his touch. You take a sip of the soup, slurping a little as you lower the mug back down to your lap. 

“You can sit, you know,” you say, when Bucky stays standing a foot away from the door. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not safe for you to be around.”

We’re cutting right to the chase, I see, you think, staring back down at your soup.

“I have no control over anything, not even myself. If they ever find me—”

“They won’t,” you interrupt. “Not if Steve and I have anything to say about it.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue, but you glare at him, hard enough that he blinks and closes his mouth. 

“Listen to me carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Setting the mug back down on the nightstand, you slide out of bed and close the distance between you and Bucky. Someone has changed you into pajamas. They’re striped with buttons running up the front of the shirt, but they’re a little too big and you have to push the sleeves up so they don’t hang down and cover your hands. The pants aren’t too long that you’ll trip over them, but you know that you couldn’t run in them if it came down to it. Hopefully it won’t.

“You are my husband, and you are Steve’s best friend. You’re my best friend too, while we’re at it, and if you think for a single second that we’d let anyone take you or hurt you or harm you in any way, then you’ve got another thing coming. I have lived several hundred lives over the past seventy years because I couldn’t handle just a few of them without you, James, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take away my chance to live the rest of this life by your side.”

Bucky stares down at you, and you continue before he can jump in,

“I did not make a vow promising to be your wife for better or for worse just to give up when the going gets tough. If you wanna give up, then fine, but I’d rather die.”

When he leans in and kisses you, you’re too shocked to react. At first, you think maybe you’re imagining it and that it’s just some weird concussion-induced daydream, but the heat of his lips and the crushing grip of his metal hand on your wrist is too real for you to cling to that theory for long. You soften, kissing him back, and then so does he. Bucky releases your wrist, then slides his hand over your hip. His metal thumb is cool against the bare skin of your hip just above the elastic waistband of the pajama pants.

“I love you,” you murmur, panting slightly when he pulls away, and then he’s kissing you again. You close your eyes and reach up one hand, resting it on the back of his neck as he pulls your front against him.

“I love you a thousand times over,” you murmur again, and this time you rest your forehead against him so you can catch your breath. With eyes still closed, you add, “I will love you no matter what, James Buchanan Barnes. Nothing you say or do could ever change that.”

“Nothing?” he asks.

You pull away and open your eyes so you can look at him properly. He’s watching you with a guilt-ridden expression, his eyes so full of pain that your heart aches until there’s a twinge in your chest. You cradle his face with one hand and rub your thumb over his cheekbone. Bucky leans into the touch. 

“Nothing,” you affirm. “Absolutely nothing.”

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Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[ohburgee]

ok ummmm ummmmmmmm if you get done whit demo 4 I would luv to see this fic happening

the great flocci and player!reader, but the flocci is like a father figure to the player (fluff!!) like aaaaa he’s my fav in this chapter and it’s so little stuff bout him here💔💔💗💗💗💗

Protector

The Great Flocci and Player!Reader - PLATONIC

tw: Violence, guns, injury (bullet wound) 'with fluff' an: OOOOH FLOCCI REQUEST!! I just finished Demo 4, and I got to see Flocci one last time after I wished for Shovel hahaha, well here's your greatly Flocci request my star anon :>

You and Calypso went searching for hieroglyphs to uncover clues about the temple.

The two of you made your way through puzzles, obstacles, and even fought off enemies inside the temple. But when Calypso was called away by the Captain, she left you alone in a chamber to study and solve a puzzle.

As you worked, you heard voices approaching. It was the same group who had picked a fight with you earlier.

“Oh look, it’s them again. Tsk,” one of them sneered.

“They're probably going to solve the puzzle just to act all superior in front of the Captain,” another one muttered, and the group chuckled.

“How about we get them again? Another match sounds like the perfect comeback,” the smirking one said, raising their shotgun at you. You managed to dodge just in time.

One of them swung a curved dagger at you. You barely dodged again. But then, bang! A shot rang out. The bullet hit your shoulder, and you dropped to your knees, clutching the wound.

Before you could reach for your sword, another attacker aimed their gun at you. You braced yourself for the pain, but then, whoosh! A swirl of cloudy smoke filled the room.

The Great Flocci appeared.

With a snap of his fingers, the pirates vanished. Moments later, they were transformed into silly, cartoonish hieroglyphs on the wall.

You tried to get up but collapsed again, hissing in pain. Flocci stood over you with his arms crossed.

“Oh dear Summoner, you are truly BRAVE… and RECKLESSLY so,” he said, offering his hand to help you up. With another snap, he conjured a chair and gently lowered you into it.

“CONFIDENCE like that can lead you straight into DANGER, you know,” he said, inspecting your wounded arm. Carefully, he extracted the bullet. You winced and hissed, but he held steady.

With the bullet gone, he let it vanish in his hand, then used his magic to heal your wound. You stared at him, confused.

“What!?” he asked, his expression one of mock offense, as if you'd just stolen his bottle ship. Well, technically… you did.

“Aren’t genies only supposed to use their powers when making wishes?” you asked.

He shrugged and gave a dismissive tsk.

“Summoner, I can use my powers whenever I WANT. Not everything has to be a wish,” he said. He stepped closer and wrapped your arm in a white cloth. “Be more careful next time. I’m not always going to be around to save you,” he warned, before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

Later, Calypso returned. You told her what had happened. You simply said the group annoyed the Genie, so that’s what happened to them.

Flocci turned them back to normal a minute later.

...

You and Calypso eventually got separated while trying to find another way out. You encountered more obstacles, but you didn’t hesitate. You leapt forward, focused, until your foot slipped on the next stone platform.

You managed to grab the ledge with one hand, scrambling to find a foothold, but there was nothing. You were slipping.

You lost your grip.

But before you could fall, a pair of large hands caught you and lifted you up.

You already knew who it was.

It was Flocci.

“You really are a CLEVER one, Summoner,” he said, holding you by both shoulders.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and made a dramatic face. “Do I really have to be a FATHER figure to you, Summoner?” he asked, sounding both annoyed and amused. He flew you gently back to the beginning of the puzzle and set you down.

He patted your head and crossed his arms and stared at you like a dad scolding a runaway child.

“Promise me, Summoner. Be careful!” he scolded.

“I will. I’m sorry,” you said, and he patted your head again. You smiled.

With a snap of his fingers, a bundle of fruit appeared in your arms.

“Here. Some fruit to help you on your adventure,” he said. Before you could respond, he vanished once again.

You looked down and picked up a kiwi. It had a little carved pouty face on it.

You chuckled.

[adhd-coyote]

Hi!!!

What about Echo (post skako minor) getting a kiss on the inner thigh? Dealer's choice for who (could be more than one person he has two thighs lmao) would be kissing him.

I'm excited to see!!! i love your work!!

Okay so I have not watched anything to do with tbb and that includes the tcw episodes so I’m just kinda wingin’ this

-

It was moments like these that made Echo glad he'd always paid attention during Tech's tune-ups. Not only was it best to know how his own limbs worked, but now, with Tech gone...

"Echo?"

Echo blinked as Rex's voice pulled him back into the present. His Captain - well, not technically a Captain anymore, but Echo would always think of him as that - was frowning at him, small and soft.

"You okay?" Tired eyes searched Echo's face, filled with quiet concern. "You had that look again..."

Echo did his best to offer a smile. He wasn't sure he succeeded. "I'm okay. Just got lost in thought for a sec."

Rex nodded. He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push. Just pressed their shoulders together and nodded at the leg - Echo's leg - on the table in front of them. "You were saying?"

"Right, yeah, so-"

Echo managed to stay focused for the rest of it. Rex had asked for the basics so he could help if or when needed, and of course Echo had agreed. Which led them here, Rex listening attentively as Echo gave him the basics of how his prosthetics worked, how to do simple repairs, tuning, and the like.

"That's about it," Echo finished with a small sigh. "I know it sounds like a lot, but..."

"I'll get the hang of it," Rex nodded, voice still soft, but now carrying that stubborn determination Echo knew and loved. "Show me how to reattach it?"

"Yeah. Let me just..." Echo shifted in his chair to give Rex better access as Rex carefully picked up his prosthetic and crouched in front of him.

"Okay. Show me what to do."

"Here, just like this..." Echo leaned down to guide Rex's hands as best he could. They were warmer than Echo remembered, though that was likely because Echo ran cold these days.

"There." Echo took a second to make sure his leg was connected properly before trying to move it. He checked the knee joint first, then the ankle, then both at once. Everything seemed in working order.

"Good?" It was only because Echo knew Rex so well that he picked up on the anxious note in his voice. He nodded.

"Yeah, good. Thanks."

"'No debt." Rex pressed a lingering kiss right above the border where flesh met metal. His lips were even warmer than his hands, enough that Echo could swear he felt that warmth soaking in through that small point of contact and spreading through the rest of his body. What remained of it, at least.

"Rex?"

Rex hummed, regulation brown eyes flicking up to meet Echo's. "Was that okay?"

"Uh- yeah. Yes, yeah, that was okay."

"Okay. Good," Rex smiled and pressed another kiss to the same spot, this was briefer but no less warm. Echo shivered, only partly because of his Captain.

"It's just, uh- I need my pants, now. It's cold."

"Oh." Rex paused, then smiled, a bit sheepish. "Yeah, 'course. Sorry."

"'S fine," Echo hummed as Rex stood and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I'll grab 'em for you."

Echo huffed and pushed himself to his feet. "You don't need to."

"I know. But I want to help. Here." Rex handed them over. Echo took them with a grateful nod. "I gotta head to the cockpit to check on some stuff. Join me when you're ready?"

"Yeah," Echo smiled. "I'll be right there."

-

Genuinely I am so nervous about this one. Hope I did okay! Thank you for the ask <3

Kiss ask game

[lancercreates]

THE PSYCHOLOGY IN F1 [T.W. 3]

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Psychologist Reader.

Summary: Y/n (a young psychologist, religion teacher, an inspiring person Toto thought he could find only in utopia) working in Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team. What can possibly go wrong?

Warnings: none

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Classroom at the high school. The students are seated, the previous conversation still hanging in the air. Some already knew who Toto Wolff was, but others didn't, creating a curious atmosphere. You are standing in front of the blackboard, trying to get back into the swing of class, but your mind is still occupied with the decision you must make.

''Teacher, who was that man who came? He seemed so… important...''

''Well, that was Toto Wolff, the team principal of the Mercedes-AMG F1 team. In their world, yes, he's a significant name. He plays big role in Formula 1. But apart from that, he came to talk to me about a possible opportunity to work with them.''

''Formula 1?! Really? But, teacher, why would you leave here? What could you do there?''

''It's a great opportunity, guys. I'd be a psychologist for the team, working with the drivers and helping them stay calm and focused in high-pressure moments. It's a completely different challenge, but it's also a way to put into practice everything I teach you here. Sometimes life takes us down unexpected paths, but we always have to remember this: Everything happens for a reason, and the best is yet to come.''

''And you're not going to miss teaching all this stuff? Doesn't sound very car-related to be honest...''

''That's true! But teaching and faith go beyond books. In Formula 1, just like here, it's about people, understanding their emotions, their motivations. Even in something as technical as a racing car, you need to understand the human being driving it. That's the bridge I want to build.''

''Crazy... But, if you decide to go, I hope you can come again on holiday and tell us all your Formula 1 stories!''

You laugh, feeling a small knot in your stomach thinking about saying goodbye, although you still have time. ''Promised. And if you ever need some motivation to achieve your dreams, don't hesitate to text me, ok?''

.

.

Class ends. You walk out into the hallway and heads to Pablo's office. You're calm, but the decision has been made. Then, you call Toto as while walking through the school halls, with firm but still somewhat excited voice.

''Toto, I'm Y/n. After thinking it over carefully, I've made a decision. I agree to join the Mercedes-AMG F1 team. I'm ready to start this new chapter.''

His voice is immediately heard, full of enthusiasm and respect. ''Y/n, what incredible news! I'm so glad you made this decision. I was sure you could contribute something unique, and now it's official. We're all very excited that you're joining. Get ready for something amezing, because I'm sure you'll do even better than you imagine.''

You smile, feeling a sigh of relief and determination at the same time. ''Thank you, Toto. I'm ready for this challenge. It will be a big change, but I'm ready to immerse myself in this world. And I promise to give my best.''

''I know, Y/n. We're waiting for you with open arms. We'll see each other soon and get to work. Welcome to Mercedes-AMG F1.''

Y/n hangs up the phone, looking ahead with a smile. There's no turning back, but what comes next will be a challenge full of possibilities. The future awaits her with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

PART 4

[weenwrites]

Cooking A Meal: Part 2

Summary - You ask one of the cons to cook you a meal, but honestly it goes about as well as you'd expect. Characters - Megatron, Shockwave, Starscream, Soundwave, Dreadwing, Knockout, Breakdown, Airachnid, Predaking, Darksteel, Skylynx Content - Crack Category - Headcanons Trigger Warnings - None

✎ A/N: This is an un-revised shitpost, not something too serious.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Megatron

Don't even bother having him try to cook you something, he can't cook at all. More often than not he'll just send some vehicon off to fetch you a meal, but when he's actually put in a kitchen and told to cook a meal, he'll probably serve you a plate of charred... Stuff.

It reeks and honestly you can't even tell what it used to be. The most he knows about cooking is that humans always heat up their food. He doesn't know how cooked a piece of meat or a slice of bread has to be, and despite knowing how useful patience is, he can't bring himself to wait a couple minutes for a slice of bread to turn golden brown.

Even with some instructions he doesn't understand a single word on that page. What does "fold in the cheese" even mean?! All in all, the food tastes awful, the presentation is awful, and it's not even a nice experience, he somewhat cleans his mess, but still, it's an awful experience. Even your local fast food restaurant would serve something better than what he could make you.

Shockwave

He wouldn't be too bad at cooking... However the meal he's served you is most likely made from some artificial substitute... It's not bad, per say, and it has a higher nutritional value than everything in your kitchen combined, but... He didn't stand in a kitchen to make it, he stood in a lab and fabricated it. That aside, it's plain and has a bit of a weird taste, the presentation sucks, and it's not naturally made, it was fabricated in a laboratory. It counts as science. Not cooking. So nevermind, he'd be bad at cooking.

But if he were to cook, he'd get into the technicalities of all, and spout food science facts at you. He'd tell you all about how proteins in meat force out moisture through coagulation, and that's how meat cooks. Or how amino acids and simple sugars are rearranged to change the color of meat as it cooks. Unless you know about food science yourself, all it may sound like some scientific garble to you. Whether you implore him to continue or not is all up to you.

But just because he knows about the chemical composition of a cracker doesn't mean he knows how to make things taste good. He chooses things based on their nutritional value, not their taste. Everything from meal portions, to seasonings, to even the temperature it was cooked at is all carefully measured to ensure that you're getting your healthy fill of nutrients. He doesn't even allow you to season it afterwards, because any more seasoning would disturb the healthy balance.

Still, while it may be nutritious, it certainly isn't delicious, but at least it's 100% edible and extremely healthy.

Starscream

He didn't know humans cooked their food, he thought they just ate it as is. So you'll have to explain a lot of stuff to him before either of you actually get anywhere. But once he gets the basics down, he'll be off to a rough, yet good start!

He's very particular about the way things are organized in a kitchen, and he'll get real annoyed if you moved something like a spatula or a spoon he was using. He's sorta set up this organization system in the kitchen that works specifically for him and no one else. While it may look like a mess on the outside, it works really well for him.

He'd never touch raw meat, even if it were to cook for you. He just hates the feeling, so you'd basically have no luck at getting him to scrub a chicken down with salt and seasoning unless you gave him a pair of gloves or a brush. But even if he's a bit squeamish, he's very thorough with his work, and very patient too. But he does complain about how long it takes for things to prepare things and then cook.

Might be a bit burnt here, and a bit bland over there, but if you pick some parts out and sprinkle some salt, pepper, spice, or hot sauce on it, it makes for a solid-ish meal! Which is pretty impressive, given the fact he once knew nothing about cooking a few hours ago.

Soundwave

They're actually a really good chef, better than everyone else, that's for sure. Soundwave knows where and how to learn what he needs to know, so it wouldn't take long for him to research and grasp the bare bones of cooking. And after a couple of tries, they could definitely whip you up a 5 star meal that tastes like something the best chef in the world would make.

It's almost scary how fast he learns, but hey at least you're getting like one of the best meals in the world using cheap ingredients from your fridge. Like who knew ketchup could taste so good in place of fancy marinara sauce!

And because of the amazing meal he made, it's without a doubt that he is the undisputed best chef aboard the Nemesis and everybody else's skills immediately pale in comparison. If it were a competition, it would've been over the moment they joined.

Dreadwing

Like almost everyone on this list, he has no idea what to do, and he has no idea what humans eat, so it ends up being a bit of a lecture before he actually starts cooking. It might take him a bit, and he'll stumble here and there, but he's always quick to ask good questions to ensure he has a solid grasp on what he needs to do.

He's quick to pick up anything you teach him, like about cutting vegetables, or seasoning meals, temperature, et cetera. And in a while, he's able to follow a recipe rather well, only occasionally coming to you to ask a question about what "folding" or "basting" or "al dente" means.

He'd serve you a pretty solid meal all in all. But on the off-chance that what he made for you had caused you to get sick, he'd immediately and sincerely apologize to you, and most likely never make you a meal ever again.

Knockout

He has some knowledge around human cooking thanks to the internet, and it helps the slightest bit, but for the most part he'll be bugging you with all his questions about human cuisine and cooking.

And all the while he's cooking, he'll ask you to fetch him things like that kitchen knife over there, or that measuring cup—no, not that one. That one was used for wet ingredients, he needs the other one that was used for dry ingredients, now chop chop. The clock's ticking. Or he'll holler at you to come and help hold the bowl as he scrapes the mixture into another pan.

Surprisingly, the kitchen actually remains rather nice and orderly throughout it all. He fills your sink with water and just leaves the dirty dishes in there to soak, and cleans messes the instant they're made, which greatly helps with clean-up afterward! But he won't touch the dishes. He just hates the feeling of scrubbing grimy food off, so you're on your own unless you give him a pair of gloves.

But as for the food itself? It's... Semi-decent! He may have burned it a little, or messed up one of the steps, but it still tastes good and it's still edible. He even decorates it nicely! He'd chop any vegetables into cute little shapes, and he has a good eye for presentation. So it's pretty nice.

Breakdown

He doesn't know anything about human cooking. He does question where the heck human food comes from though, and the most he knows is that humans consume other organisms, which he finds really weird. So in the beginning, the whole cooking session might be more of an educational session than anything, but only so he understands what humans can eat and what he should be doing.

He technically doesn't do any cooking since he just makes you things like instant noodles or instant mac n' cheese. But he'll need a bit of supervising because with the noodles, he'll put the seasoning packet in the water while the noodles are cooking, and then drain the noodles because he thought that the noodles would absorb the flavor (same goes for the mac n' cheese), but it turns out that the cheese water just goes down the drain. So it technically isn't completely his fault that the food may taste off (because instant food doesn't always taste that good...) but he does mess some of the steps up which contributes to that.

But with a little guidance here, and a little trial and error there, he'll actually be able to whip up something pretty decent using the instant stuff as a base! He'll add things like chopped up vegetables or spice for some flavor in some instant ramen, or cook the macaroni in milk and add some mustard for mac n' cheese, or perhaps crack an egg and add some garlic into some insta-soup.

All in all, it's a pretty solid meal for his first time cooking. But does it really technically count as cooking if he used an already pre-made thing to make it?

Airachnid

If she didn't care about you as much as she does, she would've fed you something poisonous if she didn't ignore your request first. She's... A questionable cook... To say the least, but one thing's for sure, all the meat she uses in her cooking is fresh. And I mean fresh as in "she dragged that animal into the kitchen and slaughtered it on the spot" kind of fresh, which is ideal if you're eating something that requires super fresh meat like oysters.

She doesn't burn the food, but she most likely under-cooks it. As for seasoning, well, she doesn't add any, so whatever you're eating will need a whole lot of salt, pepper, and spices either to taste like something, or to distract from the horrible taste the food already has.

But while the food may taste weird, the presentation's interesting. It's something of an art, made from something you don't even think you can call "food" anymore, but it's interesting to look at.

All in all, the food tastes horrible, the presentation's neat, and you're 100% guaranteed to get food poisoning if you scarf the entire meal down (which you won't, the stench is bad enough to kill even flies).

Predaking

He can't cook at all—actually, he doesn't even know what humans eat, so you'll have to explain to him quite a lot. Even then, he'll probably just bring you a dead animal and assume that's enough. You'll actually have to lecture him on cooking meat, preparing ingredients, and whatnot. So this whole thing turns into a cooking lesson as opposed to doing actual cooking.

He soaks all that knowledge up like a sponge, and with his newfound knowledge of cooking he's able to make something relatively decent for you, if not leaning more towards mediocre! The meal is something simple, probably from a cookbook you have at your house (or on the internet...)

All in all, while it's below average, it's probably above-par by your standards, given the fact you just taught him how to cook a hot second ago. The presentation is simple, the food actually tastes good, so all in all it's a pretty average meal.

Darksteel

Surprise, surprise! He is the worst cook out of them all. And here you might have thought that Predaking or Airachnid would've been the worst, but nope. It's him. He'd most likely burn your kitchen down, if not trash everything you have, and waste everything you have in your fridge. The best he does is bring you a dead animal that he "cooked" by spewing fire at it. Then again it's most likely either overcooked or undercooked and would definitely give you trichinellosis, E. coli, BSE, salmonella, or whatever other horrible disease you risk contracting by eating what he's served you.

But what about vegetables? He doesn't even know what a vegetable is, and unless you give him a really thorough description of what counts as a vegetable or not, he'd most likely just uproot a tree or pluck a bush out from the ground and give it to you, mildly scorched, because he remembered that you have to cook it.

If you were to ask him about presentation, he'd probably pose the scorched cattle or chicken he got his claws on, set the crisp "vegetables" upright, and think that's good enough "presentation".

Bottom line? Do not eat anything he gives you, it'll absolutely destroy your stomach.

Skylynx

Yeah he doesn't want to. He'd hate cooking so much because everything takes so long to do! He's sensible enough to do some research and learn, or ask you questions for clarification, but waiting for water to boil just drives him crazy.

He tries to work diligently and be patient, but you might catch him cutting corners a little bit. How so? Well, he'd raise the temperature of the stove to get something to cook faster, or if he needs to carefully ground something into a poultice, he'll just smush it into paste. If you're having something simple like mashed potatoes, then he has absolutely no problem preparing that.

He doesn't pay much attention to how it looks, so while the food he serves looks unappetizing as he straight up slaps it onto your plate, it actually tastes pretty decent... Ish... Decent-ish. Sure your food may have come out a bit burnt, or you might find some weird chunks in it, but it's better than what Darksteel has to offer, that's for sure.

[batsbirdsandspeedstersohmy]

Some thoughts I have on cute story line/au

Wally and dick are dating took them forever to actually admit they got feeling for each other even if everyone else alrighty knew.

Wally is the flash berry is still alive and the flash. They kind of both are at the same time. No it's not confusing unless your arent from key stone or central city. If your from bludhaven you are to scared to ask due to seeing Nightwing and flash kissing. If your from anywhere else then you are probably confused.

Bruce gets lost in the time line

Dick unfortunately has to take up the mantle of Batman

Wally doesn't like that but support his boyfriend in any and everyway he can.

Dick moved back into the manner makes Damian Robin and works closely with him. Wally just about spends every night there even if he isn't living there technically. Since his name is on their old apartment and they don't fully want to lose it yet.

Dick and Damian become close. And thus Wally and Damian become close.

Damian starts seeing them as his parents. Calling them dad in different languages they don't know

Dick has an idea of what's Damian is doing. He knows his Damian even if they don't say it. Dick and wally refers to Damian as their kid.

Wally and Dick go to all meet the parents and Damian art shows and just every and anything they can. Damian will not say it but he is glad to have them there. He gets so upset if anything wrong happens cause he doesn't want them to think he not good enough anymore.

Wally and Dick get engaged Damian knew it was happening. He when with Dick to help pick out the rings. Well he when with Dick to help look at rings and get an idea of style. then waited as Wayne enterprises made something that would work for a speedster. He also inspected the ring very closely to make sure the people who made it didn't mess up.

Bruce comes back

Damian thinks he has to go back with Bruce and Wally and Dick won't want him anymore. Bruce of course thinks he is entitled to Damian. Wally and Dick are heart broken but think its best if Damian stays with Bruce.

Everyone but Bruce cry

Bruce is a bad parent and doesn't see Damian as anything but the killing machine he was trian to be and how he was right when he was dropping off at Bruce door step a few years ago.

Damian is the ring bearer for the wedding of course and hoes with them on wedding planning.

Alfred hates how Bruce is not showing love and how excited Damian is when Dick and wally come over. And how sad he gets as soon as they leave.

Alfred prints out adoption paperwork for what feels like the millionth time and instead of giving to Bruce puts in Dick pile of papers.

Wally and Dick almost cry when they find it and fill out what is their part. They take Damian out for ice cream. And ask Damian if he wants to be with them. Damian of course says yes and how their his dads and please don't leave him again.

They go back and start packing up stuff and go to the bat cave to get Bruce to sign the papers.

Bruce says no he will not and that they baby Damian and he needs to be watched carefully. Dick and Wally are going to get killed if they trust Damian so easily. And he will not let them take him.

Dick and wally are so upset dick gets mad. And yells at Bruce about how he been gone and Damian been hurt so much by him. Wally ends up being like Bruce you have 3 days otherwise we are taking this to court and taking our child back the hard way.

Damian doesnt understand why he can't go with them now. Wally unfortunately understands that it looks worse if they kidnap Damian by taking him now. They promised it only going to be a little bit and they get him very soon.

Damian spends the next three days packing up everything when he not busy. Alfred brings him boxes. Bruce tried to unpack things saying he not going anywhere. Alfred starts moving the boxes to a safe space that Bruce can't get to. But isn't Dick and Wally's place.

Bruce doesn't sign the papers

They go to court Dick and Wally get a lawyer for themselves and one for Damian. Bruce says it stupid for Damian to have his own one. And it's actually Dick and wally having two.

The judge ends up picking Damian a new lawyer and whoever wins have to pay for Damian's.

A lot of Damian's teachers are called in. Damian art teacher is one of the ones who help a lot. She brings up a project about their family tree and how Bruce and Talia are on there. But also Wally and Dick are on it. And Damian has put himself under them but arrows to Bruce and Talia with blood parents.

Talia ends up showing up. Which no one really knows how she knew what was happening. She says wants her son with Bruce that's why she drop him off at his place. (To train with the Batman)

I need to go to bed about 40 minute ago I'll come back and finish my thoughts

[astranite]

What would your oc’s carry in their bags/have on them in everyday life?

This is changed a bit from the original school bags to while adventuring/going through Plot, as this fits with being general enough to work with my mediaeval-ish fantasy setting and story, while still in the spirit of it. Heres the original: https://www.tumblr.com/rainydaywhump/751678125911490560/thanks-for-the-tag-tagging-if-you-havent-already

Thanks for the tag @rainydaywhump! I've put this in its own post since it got long and this was from a while ago.

I have recently become incredibly unhinged about my ocs, or as I like to call them limited edition little guys (gender neutral) from my brain, that I’ve never mentioned anywhere before. So here! @silverstarfics behold.

Edvin

A bound notebook journal for their notes on magic research, ideas and all their stray thoughts. It’s practically falling apart these days, with loose extra pages shoved in everywhere and a cover made from a scrap piece of leather the only thing holding it together and protecting it. Edvin’s writing in it is getting progressively tinier and more difficult to decipher (their handwriting started off as bad enough as is) because they are worried about running out of space. They use charcoal pencils to write with as a bottle of ink would be too likely to get smashed in their pack.

Their cloak. Though they are near constantly wearing it, so mostly its technically not in their bag: 

Edvin has this cloak that they take with them everywhere and wear near constantly. its deep blue-purple of a night sky with stars on it. it started off as very obviously a mages cloak, a sign of authority and with a bit of mystique that strengthens that impression, clean and bright as it was fairly new and only worn by Edvin inside libraries, castles and the magic university district of the city. it was just a pretty normal, everyday thing for Edvin as a mage, but over time and adventures and hardship it becomes more and more of a comfort item. 

It’s confidence, when Edvin wears it to look more imposing and properly mage like and because the familiarity of it helps them stand up tall as they pretend they still know what they are doing. its comfort when they are ever so far from home and from the life they used to have and the person they were that they cant ever return to. As all gets further and further away the cloak is still with them.

Over the years, it becomes more and more worn, the fabric fading, holes and tears patched and sewn together and stains that wont come out such as from when Edvin bled all over it. they've put it together again, needle and thread in hand and clinging to it, because its the only thing holding Edvin together too.

At one point they took all the still conspicuous silver white stars off of the outside and resewed them on the inside, back into constellations, because it was too obvious and dangerous and a plain drab blueish cloak is easier to hide, but they couldn't bring themself to give them up.

It’s safety and it keeps off the cold when they are sickest from magic overuse, ever so lonely and feeling awful, lying curled up until they are hidden by it. with the hood pulled up, no one can see whether edvin is shivering or trembling from tears.

They do their best to keep high calorie and easy to eat food on them because using magic burns through energy like nothing else and it’s hard to eat when they are exhausted and have no appetite. It’s often something sweet if they can get it, carefully wrapped up like its precious, plus salty stuff because they need that and it keeps well.

Edvin keeps fairly light on with armour and weaponry as their magic is their most used defence but they have some. 

When they were a mage and a scholar before everything happened, they were definitely the person to carry around half of the giant library’s books in a bag that was straining at the seams. They had piles of research notes and ready access to paper and ink and never had to worry about it. Edvin had their cloak, but it was a largely unremarkable every day object to them. They loved the stars but they didn't really think about it much. It was near new with only a few tiny ink stains.

Val

Sewing and repairs kit, versatile enough to be applied to the tack for the horses, armour and weapons, clothing or what ever else is falling apart on the road this time. He made the extra leather cover for Edvin’s notebook for them.

Heavier duty armour and weapons as they still have it from when they were in training to become a knight and were allowed to keep it even when due to injuries that didn’t pan out. Val fights best from horseback so that is kept in mind. Despite being generally brash, loud and angry at the world, he takes patient, careful care of his gear because he knows how important it is to fighting well and surviving.

The rest of what he carries is mostly soldiers kit as that’s where he ended up for years as that was really the only place he could put his skills to use, fighting for whatever cause he was ordered to no matter that what he cares about most is defending and helping those who cannot fight themselves. He also has most of the gear needed to take care of the horses.

Matilda

She would definitely be the type to go out with whatever is in her pockets and nothing else if she could get away with it. She totally would wear her keys on a carabiner in a modern au.

Her weapons and armour are important to her as they are what allow her to fight, to walk into battle and be a powerful force in her own right. But she regularly gets frustrated by the upkeep needed to keep things in good condition and to prevent problems becoming serious before its unavoidable. While Edvin mentors her in magic, Val is most often the one who sits down at the end of the day with her to get across that you can’t run and fight without stopping all the time because the slower parts have just as much bearing on the battle as being right in the thick of it.

She doesn’t want to be weighed down by objects of her past, so doesn’t tend to hang onto things. She tells herself she doesn't need that comfort and only who she is now matters. When she left to join the fight, she left anything she didn’t strictly need in the moment behind to try to cut anything that tied her to that ordinary life and forge a path ahead as her own person.

Otherwise, all of them have packs, camping gear and general stuff needed out on campaign.

*Addendum because of course I have more to say. They all have some medical/first aid supplies, though Val has the most kit prepared, for people and the horses both. Matilda's healing magic skills are rough and ready but she might pull you back together through sheer stubbornness. Edvin's are far better technique-wise but that doesn't help if they are needing it because they've burnt out their energy reserves from magic.

All of them tend to pick up and carry around things to fidget with, from beaded bracelets made for it, a smooth stone found on the road or a small item to toss from hand to hand. Yes there is definite neurodivergency!

Tagging @idontknowreallywhy and @squiddokiddo as I know you have ocs plus anyone else who wants to talk about their limited edition little guys, I'd love to hear about them!

[bees-mobs-mailbox]

(Bee slides the last few things in place. Its new research lab was finished, but at what cost? Its whole place... The thing it worked so hard for, everything they knew, gone. Even its old paintings that it made a good few decades ago were destroyed. It couldn't believe it, that weird amethyst really was that powerful, and Bees old sinkhole had become its home. That sinkhole was completely filled with the stuff, the amethyst's once squishy feeling was now rock solid, with eyes littering every inch of the black and purple rock, staring into Bee like it knew what past sins it had done. Bee shudders at the thought of it.)

(Adding a break here because it's SO LONG LMAO I just don't want to take up too much space on people's feed. But this is important to Bee's lore, so enjoy)

(Bee looks at its pawns, the two sitting in their new recharge stations. It couldn't help but notice the rabbit one looked a bit different, but Bee has allowed it to upgrade itself if needed, so it wasn't too surprised- it was the deep green of a Ender eye resting in it's chest that made Bee question for a few minutes- but the pawn was functioning, so it didn't worry too much. The other pawn, on the other hand, was tightening a loose screw on its cheek, its muted red paint coat chipping at the sides, and a few cracks it just won't let Bee fix no matter what. Those two had worked their asses off the past few weeks, and Bee grins. Even if they were technically a soulless AI, Bee has tried to give them a player life, and it would say it was pretty successful!)

(Bee looks around. Damn, they really did work their asses off. The lab was nicely furnished with a fully functioning kitchen- a novelty Bee didn't have in their old sinkhole- and sweet, fresh, new tables and chairs! Despite their old cluttered lifestyle, Bee enjoyed the organized feel. All the shelves and drawers each with their own labels, crystals from different servers neatly organized in each by size and color. Bee didn't have to worry about anything glitching out from that certain bag anymore since it has its own containment drawer, and the weird amethyst was all left behind at the sinkhole.)

(That damned amethyst! Bee tries to shake the thought of the amethyst out of its head, not wanting to look back on foolish choices. They really were dumb decisions, bringing in a borderline sentient corruption into their sinkhole, and deciding to treat it like shit. Now, it's out for it, seemingly hunting for it as Bee ran off a few days ago. It shakes its head trying to get those foul memories out of its head again, and turns its attention to the new decoder.)

(Dear gods above, the decoder. The screen covered the wall it rested on perfectly, 4K, and almost no latency. The wires were neat and orderly, going inside the wall instead of being scattered around like loose trash after a bad wind storm. The keyboard even fits its ever changing forms, and the mouse too! There was nothing bad about this decoder, unlike the last one, which was a clunky piece of garbage with far too little storage to properly look into code except for little snippets and in command formats.)

(Bee hummed as it realized it never booted up the new mailbox! It rushed outside with oddly soft thumps and a clumsy trot, bumping into a few things. Bee was still trying to get used to their surroundings, but they couldn't see quite well despite their many eyes. 'The curse to hear the evil not see the evil,' that's what Bee called it. It reached the outdoors, taking in a deep breath of crisp, actually warm air. It had stayed in that tundra where the sinkhole resided for so long, it's forgotten what spring air feels and hears like. The soft breeze ruffles its feathers, and the smell of freshly bloomed blossoms filled the air. It turned its head to the side, laying eyes on the new, sleek mailbox contraption. It was shocking it even managed to replicate it, let alone find the right rifts in server code to actually transport the letters. It carefully pressed the green button, and the machine started to whir. Ehhh, it's fine, Bee thought to itself as it walked inside clumsily missing a step and nearly falling to the ground with a slight squeak. Bee looked around for a few more seconds before walking to their new room.)

(Most importantly, this place felt like a home. Not some hole in the ground with an abandoned, broken down temple it decided to make into a shoddy cabin, but an actual home. Bee originally found it hard to comprehend what a "home" was to players, but from what it learned from hearing that was a place to set your spawn, nothing more. Now, after 4 decades of sitting in that place, trying to fill it with what players thought were meaningful and getting that mailbox randomly, Bee finally understood what it meant as it sits down on its new soft nest in a room filled with things it actually enjoyed.)

(Home is a place you can feel truly safe in.)

(And that is what Bee and their pawns finally achieved for once in their strange lives.)

[drawloverlala]

July status update and new commission opening date!

Hello! hope you had a great June! As per usual here’s a monthly update about my commission status and stuff! 

🌸I’ll be opening Illustration and comic page commissions next Saturday 15th of July!

As usual I’ll be updating my commission info pages for each thing in Caard with my email being available! 

Illustration commissions info page / Comic page commissions info page

🌸 As a reminder, pricing was updated last month so read the info and what the new prices are about carefully!

here are the prices + extras in detail anyways! 👇

The * in this, is that I need to explain XD,  I’m currently working on projects  where I take these kind of commissions, so they are not technically closed, but I’m not currently accepting them outside of these projects, so they aren’t really open either.

And yeah, this time I’m opening comic commissions! which is exiting but at the same time I’m a bit nervous lol although I get nervous every time I open commissions anyways, I just hope everything goes swiftly that day XD

🌸 Brotherhood Twist comic progress:

Well not much from last time, except that 4 finished pages have now their dialogue and there are now 4 pages left to ink! 

I’m trying my best to finish inking them soon, so that I can start adding colors to all of these! ^_^

🌸 Miscellaneous commentary:

I’ve been trying out new themes recently, for a little while I installed one called Glazed; a theme by Pale, is really pretty if you want to check it out,

but at the moment that theme can’t zoom-in single photo-posts and posts that have 1 picture on them looked pretty small. so I came back to the old one because even if it’s an oldie, it allows pictures to look big, and also zooms-in a lot. (although with the new post editor that feature seems to be gone lol, now zooms in like in a regular way).

still this small odyssey finding the theme that suits what I want, has made me realize that I should try to learn some HTML for once, not only because I actually enjoy shaping my blog in a pretty way, but because when I try to do so, there’s a lot I don’t understand about it 😅, so I want to try learning some of that coding language. 

Also I would like to start playing around with my Neocities site lol  maybe I can turn it into a proper main art gallery? dunno yet.

well but that’s all for now, other thoughts I’ll just ramble about when I feel like so lol

But well, see you! and I hope you have a great new week!

[forabeatofadrum]

Ljubili se (4/21)

Notes: Guess who's back, back again? It's me! And I come bringing a title!

Okay, two things: First, it's taking longer than I expected to write this story for several reasons. If you follow this blog, you might've read about them. I am still very excited to write this story, though. So I definitely plan on finishing it... one day. Second, I have a title! I decided to just look up the lyrics from the one Slovene song I know with English translation, but I wasn't sure if Ljubili se meant "We love each other" or "We made love with each other" and turns out it can be both. I'm going with the "We love each other" approach here. Although it technically means "We loved each other" and "We will love each other" at the same time as well. Slovene grammar is wack. But hey, it's about the love and it fits nicely next to Ljubim te. Thanks safranina on Discord for the Slovene help.

AO3 | S&C

-

PRESENTATION

“Am I gay?”

Kurt’s taken aback by this sudden question. He just wanted to chat with his boyfriend before he’d meet his parents in the city, but Blaine has other ideas.

“Good morning to you too, Blaine,” he says, “Are you?”

“I was asking you!”

“Uh, only you know the answer to that.”

“I think I am.”

“Well, good.”

“Alright.”

Kurt waits for a follow up, but it remains silent on the other side of the line, so he carefully asks what had led to this question.

“Quinn doesn’t know whether she’s a lesbian.”

“Okay.”

Another beat of silence.

“Well. That’s it.”

“Oh.”

“Or, well, actually… it made me think, because how does all of this work? How do I know I’m gay, cause I told Quinn she doesn’t have to know, but then why do I?”

“Well-”

“And I know you’re right and it’s all up to me and I even said something similar to Quinn and I agree with it, but this is also all so confusing and weird cause the two of us genuinely thought we were totally straight half a year ago so how is it possible that I do know these things and she doesn’t, so do I even know anything or am I rushing into this, or maybe not, because Quinn said that all that matters to her is that she loves Denise and I get that because at the end of the day I know for sure I am madly in love with you, so there is no doubt that I am not straight, but then what gives that I also don’t have doubt that I am gay but she apparently has and should I even care because in the end I am happy with myself, but she seemed upset when I assumed she’s a lesbian, so I feel really bad about everything and now I have the feeling I have done something wrong in my journey because shouldn’t I be more confused like Quinn, because this all came out of nowhere for me as well.” 

Kurt needs a moment to process this and Blaine also sounds a bit out of breath.

“Good morning to you,” Kurt says again, “Did you mull over this all night?”

Blaine makes an affirming hum.

“Quinn just left for work, since she needs to give an important presentation, so I now can talk to you. We were planning on figuring stuff out with the apartment and then I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin it, I’m certain of it,” Kurt says back.

“I miss Ljubljana. Everything made sense there,” Blaine exclaims.

Kurt understands what Blaine means. Back then, he didn’t feel to need to think about these things. Kurt didn’t either. They were so caught up in just being together and the future could wait.

“… I just wish you were here right now,” Blaine eventually says and the feeling is mutual.

“You’ll be here soon,” Kurt reassures him.

“Only for a week,” Blaine laments and Kurt sighs.

It doesn’t have to be this way, he knows that. The downside of coming back to New York in August is that there’s a short time of his free period left. In September, it’s time to study again, but it will also mean that his advisors will be on the campus and then Kurt can discuss his plans about LA.

Now that Blaine sounds so upset that they’re apart, Kurt almost wants to admit what he’s planning, but he also doesn’t want to get Blaine’s hopes up.

--

Kurt walks out of his room and he’s greeted by the sight of his roommates. He hasn’t had the time to catch up with them, even though they’re relatively close, but everyone’s been busy. Kurt’s also on his way out now, since his dad and Carole are already at Time’s Square.

“Out again?” Rachel asks.

“Yup, sorry.”

“No worries,” Rachel says, “If my dads would be in town, I’d also spent all my time with them.”

“Although yesterday you said you needed to call someone?” Santana says with a smirk, “Who is he?”

“Har, har, I wish it was a someone,” Kurt says, aiming for a joking tone. No one knows he’s dating anyone. He and Blaine should discuss what to tell Kurt’s roommates, since he’ll be staying with Kurt for his visit, but Blaine has other things on his mind.

“Don’t tease, Santana,” Rachel scorns, “Maybe he also needs to work on his future!”

Santana rolls her eyes in an exaggerated way.

“Future?” Kurt prompts.

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Kurt!” Rachel gushes, “While you were gone, I got an agent! I’ve been auditioning left and right and I might’ve gotten something.”

“Congrats!” Kurt says, genuinely impressed. He had no idea, but well, he and Rachel were both busy with their lives.

Rachel nods proudly.

“That’s why I also haven’t been home a lot. At least I have a better excuse than Santana.”

“Pardon me?” Santana raises an eyebrow, “I don’t prioritise my career over my love life.”

“Right,” Kurt cuts in, because he can see that Rachel wants to say something. He has the feeling the two of them have had a similar conversation in the past few weeks. “How’s Brittany?”

An uncomfortable silence follows. What is it with uncomfortable silences this day?

“Kurt, Brittany and I broke up,” Santana says quietly and Kurt’s eyes widen, “And I got a new girlfriend.”

“… Woah.” ‘Woah’ is an understatement. This is something Kurt did not see coming. Brittany and Santana are (were?) heads over heels into each other. “What happened?”

“So, the person who subleased your room?” Santana starts and Kurt nods.

“Dani?”

He’s met her briefly before he moved to Ljubljana.

“Yeah, she’s my new girlfriend.”

Kurt wants to say more, but then his dad calls, probably asking where he is. His phone call with Blaine took longer than expected, then this happened, so of course he’s late.

Santana sees that Kurt’s phone’s screen is lighting up.

“Sorry.”

Santana shrugs.

“It’s fine, but I’ll be at Dani’s tonight.”

--

By the time Kurt arrives at Time’s Square, he already feels like most of the day passed, but it’s not true.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, kid,” his dad says. He holds out a cup of coffee and Kurt’s forever grateful.

“I feel weird,” Kurt says.

“Oh, dear, are you not well?” Carole asks, sounding concerned.

Kurt shakes his head.

“No. Just weird. I’ve only been back for a short period of time, and on one hand, nothing’s changed,” he sighs. It’s true. It’s almost weird how easily he’s fallen back into this life here in New York, as if all those months in Slovenia just happened like it was nothing. “But my life is mostly the same. For others, things have changed and I notice.”

Kurt quickly explains how Rachel’s advanced in her career and how Santana has a new girlfriend. And these are only two people. There are many more people who he needs to catch up with. He’s just prioritising his family now, which is understandable, but that means he has many more people to see later.

“Look, you were on the other side of the world, Kurt,” his dad puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Of course, things continue on this side as well. But the people here saw these changes gradually, for you it’s gone from zero to nothing.”

But maybe Kurt should’ve kept more in touch with the people here. He was so caught up in just being away from everything and experiencing something new, that he forgot about his life here.

It’s what Blaine said on the phone. Ljubljana feels like an alternative world, but now they’re brought back to reality.

[alteregozowie]

It’s been a while since he gave Alastor a sticker, hasn’t it? Michael hadn’t even noticed. Between his birthday and the constant kidnapping attempts of his stuff, Michael was neglecting in his sticker collection for Alastor. The thought occurred to him when he was working in one of his notebooks and peeling his own stickers, just a brief wonder on his Alastor’s own collection was going, something he was fueling technically. Though Alastor could make his own, as was evident by the few Michael had given to him by the Radio Demon himself.

He had to remedy this.

While the demon in question was out doing whatever he did for work, Michael carefully got to work crafting the sticker he thought Alastor would like. Could perhaps even market if he was that sort of person. As far as he knew, Alastor didn’t actually have merchandise for his radio show. Maybe he wasn’t that type? Oh well, a question for another day. He worked carefully on what he wanted to make.

The little form finally started to perfect itself and Michael carefully cut it out, adding the adhesive and glossy top. The paper was stuck to the back of it, making an actual sticker. He picked it up, turned it over a few times and smiled happily and what came out. Turning to his little radio beside it he tapped the dial and tilted his head. “Hey, where are you?”

Turns out, he doesn’t need to worry about that. When he looks for Alastor, the demon comes to him. Michael slipped from his chair at his work table when the demon popped up into his room and quickly made his way over toward him. Reaching his hand out he took Alastor’s own gently and turned his palm over, placing the sticker in his hand.

“For you! I hope you like this one.”

Alastor was having a rough go at Facility Manager today- it seemed like everything that could go wrong, did. The unhappy patrons weren't making his job any easier, with their stupid questions and utter nonsense. Out of respect for Charlie, he only silently hoped they never got redeemed, even stopping himself from eating one.

When he got back to his radio tower, he slammed his head on his desk, exhausted, annoyed, hungry....

That is until he heard Micheal's voice filter through his microphone cane. His ears perking up, he had his shadow take him, manifesting right to him. Turned his big attitude mostly around by the time Alastor got there.

Stickers!

"Oh I looooooove this one! Oh look it has- ohhhhh!"

He was so enthusiastic about it, he held on to Michael's sleeve to tug excitedly as if the Archangel didn't just give him the sticker himself.

"This one has to be my favorite! Well done! Splendid! I can't decide where to put it, but it has to go somewhere special-"

But for now, his favorite sticker was going to hang on his desk, in a spot where he can see it while he does his broadcasts. It was followed by Alastor wrapping his arms around the Archangel to give him a good hug. He had needed this boost today.

[sometimes-she-becomes-it]

do u have any Uucest fix recs? i cant find any good ones idk why

Ohhhhh boy. Oooohhhhh do *I*. *Do I*.

Yes. Yes I do.

Most of these are on ao3, btw!

First I have to start with my Absolute Favorite Uucest Fic Of All Time. This fic is so good folks! Like so very very good. It is awesome!!!! This fic is what made me actually *like* Uucest, what led to me being as obsessed with it as I am and not just being "eh I guess it's fine". This entire blog? Is because of this fic. All the drabbles I've written, the stuff I've reblogged to keep in my personal archive. All of it. Everything Just because of this one fic. But gog is a hell of a fic!

Onto the stuff I like about it! It has a more work less healthy Uucest dynamic. Like, they're on even grounds, instead of it being purely submissive Callie/Dominant Caliborn as I usually find it. This fic shaped what I would consider a healthy Uucest dynamic to be. But it doesn't *just* have Uucest! It also has Hal+Callie interactions which I think are very much worthwhile! It involves Callie and Cal playing Sburb together. I won't spoil too much, but it is very very good. Although the ship starts out seemingly unrequited on calliope's side, there still seems to be a glimmer of hope by the ending.

Seriously, this fic is so good guys. Also check out the author's fanfictions too. Even if that fic isn't to your liking, they have other pics about other characters which I absolutely adore and might be worth checking out.

Now, in no particular order!

Next is Alternate, a fic about Alternate Caliborn after his death at the hands of Alt!Calliope. I like this one bc it goes a bit into the ideas of cherub culture and such? Which I think is very very interesting I love exploring cherub culture way more people should do it. It also has some dirkuu in it? But it's mostly cherub stuff for now. It does have gore and... Well, the general stuff one would come to expect from a Caliborn centered fic. I still think it is very good tho.

GIVE ME A HAND (NOT LIKE THAT YOu DEGENERATE) is also one of my favorite fics. It's not *directly* Uucest, but it involves caliborn """asking""" (ordering) dirk to do sexual roleplay as calliope so caliborn can jack off to it. So I think it counts? I come back to reread it every once win a while. It is very good. Also has an exploration of how caliborn perceives his and his sister's hatefulness dynamic to be? It's just a few lines but still. Good.

calthisisUs.PNG by mouserato. Basically the two siblings playing a game where caliborn asks Callie questions about her ermmmm redder fantasies. And then he jacks off to the answers. Told through pesterlogs but you can still feel the sheer tension between these two. The comments also have some insights on the author's writing thought process in case that is something you might be interested in!

Actually just read everything by Mouserato. Their fics are very very good!!! Here, lightning round on their fics and why I like them

Acceptance I have read this fic like 5 times already. show no signs of stopping. It involves caliborn in his session struggling to progress, and slowly dealing with his grief over what he did to calliope. I like focus where caliborn needs Callie as much as she needs him, so I enjoy this one quite a lot.

June 28, 1998 technically a flashback fic for another work but it works well enough on its own without context from the other fic. It deal with caliborn's slow rising attraction for calliope as he deals with puberty. I do not want to give off spoilers though, but I would recommend you read the tags very carefully, alright? Thank you.

The Task hadn't been updated in a while, but I like the way Callie acts in this fic. Just two chapters tho which is unfortunate. Seems discontinued.

There are other pics they have but those are Emy favorites!

Onto other authors-

A Different Kind of Game is a strip chess fic and ummm. The tension here??? Like, I'm asexual as the day is long but this is sooo well written!! At least in my opinion.

Red is just. A very good fic. I like how Callie behaves in this one. It is a bit short though, so not much to say.

I am a bit tired rn so I might reblogs this later with more additions, but those are the ones I can think of at the current moment.

[sprintingfox]

Who, of your Mikaelson sisters/relatives, would you say is the best fighter? Additionally, is the most dangerous and are they one in the same or two different ones?

Hands down, Vivalda. I cannot in good faith say anyone else lmao.

Fighter: ok, while Eisa and Hilda were mostly with Esther learning magic (which I guess there is some fighting aspect to, but not enough in the sense they were learning it), Vivalda was working HARDDD to impress Mikael. This girl from the age of 5 had such a temper and such energy and such interest in weapons that she could kill people already. The others would've felt a degree of remorse but Vivalda cared about being strong. If all these girls (including Amaris and Ingrid I guess ish) existed in the same universe, Mikael would still be proudest of Vivalda's skill. There is no competition whatsoever fighting wise with Amaris and Ingrid— they are dead. Hilda can fight but she never sired anyone and to Vivalda that inherently makes her weak. Hilda also didn't really train people or practice much, she was more interested in magic and following Kol around the world (arguably, Vivalda did that a lot too) but in a real fight to the death, Vivalda is way more experienced, way more intuitive, way more mentally stable, and Hilda is not going to last very long. Vivalda would find more difficulty with Eisa since Eisa did create and train the Strix alongside Elijah, but even then, Vivalda spent years pruning her sireline and assessing them at every step (teaching them more carefully than any of her siblings, including Eisa), preventing threats to the family, and learning to design and build weapons. If Vivalda was bored, she went to kill people for no reason. I mean, Vivalda went to try and hunt Mikael down. Eisa might've trained the Strix often but she was also on the side busy with Aya and she never would have attempted to go after Mikael cause honestly one slur from Mikael and Eisa isn't really seeing clearly anymore and will make a mistake in battle. Vivalda doesn't falter. Vivalda doesn't show mercy to anyone. Eisa and Hilda each were softened by people and Vivalda thinks that's dumb. Yes, technically Eisa removed both Papa Tunde's blade and the dagger because of her mental strength but the dagger I made more of a circumstantial lucky-ness thing. Vivalda took Tunde's blade out a lot faster than anyone, except for maybe Mikael (and that's only because I never really quantified how long it took her, but that was quick) and in general has been letting herself be beaten to get used to everything life throws at her. She went absolutely insane on training while her sisters were trying to find love. Weapons wise, not a competition either. They all know how to sword fight and stuff but that's Vivalda's genuine thing, that's like part of her brand name. Vivalda carried one sword always for the longest time and then two for a fat minute after that. She's designed stuff that's gone on to impact the world in ways not even Eisa managed when running the Strix. Vivalda covers her bases and is not going to leave herself open to an attack. The only ones who could beat Vivalda in a fight would be like Mikael and Klaus, Mikael 'cause well he's Mikael, he's beat almost everyone and Vivalda still sort of has her daddy issues alive and well, but Klaus also 'cause he's a hybrid and has a degree of greater strength with his bite that Vivalda can't compete with for long.

Dangerous: I feel like I also wanna say Vivalda for this but lemme think it out as I write. Eisa does technically have a lot of the Strix pretty devoted to her and she also got the Strix Coven on speed dial. Hilda knows witches everywhere in a similar manner but woopies— Hilda has no sireline to defend her if anything. She has no real associates to call upon, while Eisa has a horde of lieutenants looking to gain favor with her not only cause of her being a literal vampire s3x symbol but also in general she's so deeply admired for her personality that it's hard to compete with that. Ingrid, if given a chance, obviously can kill all of them by like subduing them then using white oak if she has it, but her own mind is her enemy and that won't do her well. Vivalda technically has the Strix + Klaus's sireline behind her along with her own sireline (if we consider such a situation arising after she's with Lucien and Tristan, if that even happens in this universe cause again Hilda might still be with Tristan) and she has her own (Antonella + a shitton of others that are all insanely good at what they do). Ok, so maybe Eisa has more 'followers' and/or more members of her sireline alive, but Vivalda is sooooo careful about who she keeps in her sireline. She only lets the strongest survive into vampire adulthood, and she assesses them constantly. And again, she put a lot more care into molding them into the people they are. She saw potential in Antonella, a random young orphan girl in Tuscany, and from that built an entire lineage of vampires with strong minds, creativity, passion, drive, ideas for the future, and overall a drive to fight and succeed that her sister didn't really manage. Like, even if Eisa's sireline has like, ten thousand vampires and Vivalda's has a thousand, those thousand of hers are almost all on the older side + they are ridiculously good fighters that she hand-molded then encouraged to keep learning about their limits. Vivalda is a rule-breaker and limit-tester and her sirelings are the same sort of people. Their influence is widespread because they are also so involved in society and are not permitted to survive as sociopaths the way Eisa would allow hers to do. Also, Eisa's sirelings are allowed to be driven by lust whereas Vivalda teaches hers to know like, time and place, and never have their emotions used against them. She makes her sirelings better versions of themselves through careful crafting while Eisa more or less just expects people to make something of themselves. She does kill people from her sireline but not to the extent Vivalda does. And again, Eisa is just kinda doing her own thing most times whereas Vivalda is actively hunting down anyone who so much as breathes one shit-talking phrase against the Mikaelsons. Vivalda is the danger and stops any problems from coming their way while Eisa was probably lounging around cause she was bored. Eisa may be the one with the formal list but Vivalda is the one that's sure to come for you if you do something she doesn't like. Eisa will add someone to the list if they do more extreme things but Vivalda will kill you if you say you hate Klaus playfully at a bar on a Tuesday night.

This was so fun to think about lol I liked this prompt so much! Vivalda is my little ball of craziness and efficiency.

[spicyavenger]

Next door

Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary- Bucky Barnes is a biker with a bad reputation, he’s intrigued by his neighbour and hates her boyfriend.

Triggers- domestic violence, non-con, victim blaming, swearing, anxiety, panic attacks.

⛔️PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AND LET ME KNOW IF IVE MISSED ANYTHING⛔️

—————————————————

“The house next door has finally sold.” Steve informed his friend as he helped himself to a beer from the fridge.

“I know.” Bucky said absentmindedly “looks like it’s a young couple, they were moving some stuff in today.”

“You should go introduce yourself.” Steve suggested.

“No way.” Bucky snorted “i give it a week before they’ve heard all the stupid fucking rumours and hate my guts.”

“Positive as always buck.” Steve chuckled.

“Shut up.” Bucky shoved him by his shoulder “let’s head into work.”

——————————

You hummed a tune absentmindedly as you ran the paintbrush along the wall. Your boyfriend lounged on the sofa with a beer, fixated on his phone as usual.

“Could you give me a hand Jack?” You asked “I can’t reach this spot up here.”

“Not right now baby.” He said softly “I’m tired from bringing all the furniture in.”

You let out a quiet sigh at his refusal to help. He’d helped you bring in the heaviest furniture, before leaving you to sort everything else on your own.

“Okay.” You smiled in his direction “the rest of the furniture is arriving tomorrow so I suppose it’s better for you to get some rest in before then.”

“You don’t give me a minute do you sweetheart?” He teased.

“I just want everything to look nice.” You laughed as you stood on your tiptoes to reach the spot that required painting “it’s our first home together.”

“I know baby.” He grinned “it’s a good job we got the money from my family, yours never would have been able to afford it.”

“I’m lucky to have you Jack.” You agreed.

“Too right you are.” He laughed “grab me a beer when you get a sec would you babe?”

“Of course.” You placed your paintbrush carefully on the tray before making your way to the fridge to retrieve him a beer.

——————————

Jack continued to drink throughout the night; eventually passing out on the couch. When you woke him to help you with the furniture he simply mumbled and turned over.

You sighed before making your way outside to where the truck had left your new bedroom furniture. You bent down to attempt to lift up the bedside table, but it’s weight made you stumble slightly; this really was a two person job.

……………

Bucky downed the remainder of his coffee before grabbing the keys to his motorcycle and making his way outside. As soon as he stepped into the sunlight his eyes were drawn to you struggling to lift a piece of furniture.

“Hey!” He called over “can I give you a hand?”

“Oh…erm don’t worry…I…I can do it.” You mumbled “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Don’t worry about that doll.” Bucky smiled as he walked over to you “don’t want you hurting your back.”

“Thank you…” you responded, a shy smile making its way to your lips.

“I’m Bucky by the way.” He introduced himself “your neighbour.”

“I’m Y/N.” You responded “my boyfriend Jack and I have just moved in.”

“And he’s not helping you with all this?” Bucky gestured to the row of furniture on the sidewalk.

“He’s not feeling very well.” Technically it wasn’t a lie, Jack was hungover…he definitely wasn’t feeling well “he’s just resting.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky shrugged as he easily lifted the item on his own “just let me know where you want it.”

You led him through the front door and into your bedroom.

“Here would be great.” You gestured to the space you’d made.

He helped you with the rest of the furniture, brushing off your repeated thanks

“I should get going to work.” Bucky said as he made his way out of your house “Let me know if you need anything Y/N.”

“Thank you Bucky.” You smiled softly at him “I appreciate it.”

—————————

“Who was that?” Jack asked once you came back into the house.

“Our neighbour.” You explained “he offered to help with the furniture.”

“You we’re flirting with him.” Jack scoffed.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You defended yourself “I’d never do that to you babe.”

“C’mere then.” Jack opened his arms “show me that you love me and not him.”

You let out a soft sigh before curling up on the sofa beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He reached up to cup your breast, planting kisses down your neck as he squeezed the flesh firmly.

“Im not really in the mood.” You shuffled away from him slightly, before his other arm clamped around your waist to keep you in place.

“Shh, it’s okay baby.” He whispered in your ear “I’ll convince you.”

“I honestly don’t want to Jack.” You said firmly.

He ignored you and pushed your leggings down your legs, cupping your heat with a firm hand.

“Just relax hun.” He said softly “I’ll do all the work.”

You thought about telling him no, insisting that you didn’t want it. But you couldn’t bare the thought of an argument so allowed him to take control. Faking your orgasm so it would be over as quickly as possible.

—————————

After Jack had finished you rushed into the bathroom to take a shower, you felt dirty.

Maybe if you’d told him no more firmly he wouldn’t have done it? You didn’t try to push him off, you didn’t tell him he was hurting you. It was your fault really, maybe he just misunderstood.

But you knew deep down he shouldn’t have done it, you’d told him you didn’t want to; and he didn’t listen.

A quiet sob fell from your lips as the hot water flowed against your skin. You’d talk to him, you’d tell him it wasn’t acceptable and you’d move on. That was the sensible thing to do.

——————————

When you’d finished your shower you threw on some clothes before padding into the kitchen. Jack was humming to himself happily as he chopped vegetables, a small smile on his face.

“Jack?” Your voice was quiet.

“Hey baby.” He smiled at you “just making us dinner, thought you deserved a break.”

“I…erm I need to talk to you.” You did your best to sound strong.”

“Sure, what’s up?” He turned around so he was facing you, a smile still on his face.

“Well…what just happened…when we…I said no Jack. I said no and you did it anyway.” Your words were jumbled and your head was spinning as you spoke.

“What?” He looked shocked “are you saying I fucking raped you?”

“No…no of course not.” You rushed out.

“It sounds like you are.” The smile on his face had completely vanished, replaced with a look of pure rage “you can’t accuse me of shit like that.”

“But you didn’t listen Jack, you still did it!” You argued.

“How fucking dare you!” He shouted “you didn’t seem to mind when you came all over my dick did you sweetheart?”

“I…I…I didn’t.” You stammered out.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He stormed over to you, his voice quiet “are you saying you faked it?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t form any words, too overtaken by fear.

Your head snapped to the side, it took you a few seconds to realise you’d been slapped.

“Don’t ever fucking lie to me like that.” He gripped your chin harshly “you’re a little whore and you loved every fucking second.”

He pushed you away from him, a look of disgust on his face.

“Make your own fucking dinner.�� He swiped his arm across the counter, causing the contents to smash on the floor “and clean up this fucking mess.”

—————————

You’d been with Jack for 4 years and he’d never raised a hand to you before. Sure, he got angry. He shouted a lot…but he’d never hit you.

You could hear him crying in the living room, knowing he most likely felt incredibly guilty for what he’d done. It was your fault, you shouldn’t have made an issue out of something that didn’t matter.

Once you’d cleaned up the mess in the kitchen you cautiously made your way into the living room, finding him sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.

“Jack…” you said softly as you sat beside him.

“I’m so fucking sorry babe.” He looked up at you with tear stained eyes “I swear I’ll never hurt you again…but you accused me of that and I saw red…I’d never do that to you. You know that don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” You felt a surge of guilt rush through you knowing you’d upset him like this “it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I forgive you.” He smiled through his tears “C’mere babe, give me a hug.”

You obediently snuggled closer to him so he could wrap his arms around you. It made you feel safe and secure, the stinging on your cheek long forgotten.

—————————

Jack had gone to work so you busied yourself trying to tame the overgrown weeds at the front of your house. After around an hour you noticed Bucky leaving his house.

“Hi Bucky.” You waved, a smile immediately appearing on your face.

“Hey Y/N.” He grinned as he leant over the fence to greet you “looks like you’re keeping yourself busy today?”

“Just trying to make it look presentable out here.” You laughed, and Bucky swore it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Hey…are you okay?” He frowned slightly as he took in your appearance “your face looks a little bruised.”

“Oh…I’m fine.” You said, there was no point telling him what happened. It was no big deal “I managed to open a kitchen cupboard right onto my face.”

“Ouch.” Bucky smiled softly “make sure you ice it.”

“I will.” You nodded.

“I was actually wondering if you and Jack are free tomorrow night?” Bucky asked boldly, surprising even himself “I’m hosting a little get together, you’re more than welcome to come.”

“Really?” You said excitedly “that would be great! Thank you so much!”

“It’d be great to have you there.” He smiled again “I’ll see you both at 8pm?”

“We’ll be there.” You agreed happily, excited to spend some time with your neighbour and his friends.

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Authors note- sorry for any spelling mistakes and grammar errors, this is my first fanfic! I find writing helps me work through my own trauma and found this very therapeutic to write, there will be multiple parts to this story :)