lcvebucky

[lcvebucky]

pov THOSE winter soldier edits follow me on tt @therapyelena

[lcvebucky]

the fact that super soldier x black widow duo always eats, i see my new favorite co-leaders

[lcvebucky]

i think they were shame rooms but also when bucky came into bob’s scene u could see the hydra torture chamber behind him

I don’t think the void rooms were trauma rooms; they were shame rooms. Bc if they were trauma rooms, there’s like a bunch of other things that John Walker would have instead of just being a shit dad. He was in the army! And Yelena’s was traumatizing for her, but it’s more of her regrets: she regrets doing that to Anya and she regrets being better than most of the other girls bc they got hurt as an outcome. Bucky has a lot of trauma, and if it were about trauma, we might’ve seen some of his rooms, but bc it’s about shame and he had his whole Wakanda era where he kind of healed, and he’s seeing a therapist, it makes no sense for him to have one because he’s healed; he’s healing and moving on with his life.

[lcvebucky]

sebastian stan thinking the dishwasher scene is unfunny is so 110 year old man of him

[lcvebucky]

sebastian stan thunderbolts behind the scenes

[lcvebucky]

if i respond right away it’s because my ocd makes me check my notifications every 5 seconds actually

[lcvebucky]

my application to be your mutual

[lcvebucky]

notice the common factor

[lcvebucky]

sometimes I doubt my sexuality and then I watch thunderbolts and I sit there foaming at the mouth barking for yelena and bucky equally. like yeah, there was no question really

[lcvebucky]

hiii do u guys have tiktok!! i just made one @therapyelena let’s be mutuals!

[lcvebucky]

i did this wanda fanart before i even liked marvel and just found it

[lcvebucky]

thunderbolts group chat msgs

[lcvebucky]

yue ୨୧

@lcvebucky ୨୧ they/she

18 中文 / eng

current favs: bucky, yelena, natasha, wanda, loki, bob

looking for mutuals ^__^

𓊆ྀི fic masterlist𓊇ྀི

ao3 @mikoilu

i miss my lover, man steve x bucky

chapter one chapter two chapter three

black out days bucky x female oc

chapter one

[lcvebucky]

hi i’m rlly scared to post this bc it’s very raw and talks a lot about my own struggles + the people who i’ve met in treatment. i hope u guys can support me <3 here is an actually accurate depiction of mental illness. thunderbolts will eventually join just in a while

black out days // bucky x fem oc

pairing: bucky barnes x female original character

一 chapter one. “i fell in love with a war”

summary:

Most of the others moved on quickly. But Bucky was left behind. His days as the Winter Soldier plagued his nightmares, which didn’t end even when he was awake. Whereas the Avengers that were left moved on, his therapist had clicked her tongue and said, “I think you need more support.”

His heart drops. “W-what do you mean? Like— a hospital?”

Shrink shakes her head. “No, like group therapy.”

That’s where he meets her. Mei. A mystery, a ghost girl, someone who thaws the ice in his heart. When he’s with her, he can almost forget the way it felt when the electricity ran through his every nerve and dancing through the muscle down to the bone, ripping a scream from his chest; the unbridled fear that tugged at his chest and exploded. Almost. To her, he’s just James Smith, a normal guy who has problems and sometimes can’t breathe because it feels like Thor’s hammer is sitting on his chest and he can’t fucking move, can’t help but watch as memories flash across his eyes, stained with blood that seeps into the corners and into every somewhat happy moment.

Well. He’s not the only one that’s hiding secrets.

word count: 20.1k (ongoing)

trigger warnings: this entire work will contain triggering topics such as self harm, suicide, sexual trauma (rape) but not by the main leads, gore, violence, ocd, and more. please read at your own discretion and take care of urself :)

follow me on ao3 @mikoilu https://archiveofourown.org/works/65193385?view_full_work=true

author’s note: hi everyone :) i just got out of the psych ward and started fixating on marvel again in residential. i was reading angst and was like, wow, this is not accurate at all, and it pissed me off so i wrote my own.

i drew a lot of inspiration from my own stories + the stories i’ve heard while in treatment. i also wanted more asian american representation bc i never see that so i created meili zhang “mei”. the characters of her name, “张��� meaning to draw a bow, “美丽” meaning beautiful.

here is my heart in your hands.

✮⋆˙ bucky pov

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ mei pov

☆ third person pov

chapter summary: the world moved on but left him behind

“it’s just that i fell in love with a war /

nobody told me it ended”

✮⋆˙

Bucky thinks it’s all bullshit, quite frankly.

After half the universe blinked out of existence one day, the government mandated many of them to therapy. When he came back five years later, he was not exempt to this. He came back and found out that Steve had moved on and left him behind. He should be happy for him, really. He is. Except he can’t help but feel a little bit betrayed.

Most of the others moved on quickly. But Bucky was left behind. His days as the Winter Soldier plagued his nightmares, which didn’t end even when he was awake. Whereas the Avengers that were left moved on, his therapist had clicked her tongue and said, “I think you need more support.”

His heart drops. “W-what do you mean? Like— a hospital?”

“A hospital, where you’d likely run away from every other day? No, like group therapy,” Shrink says, shaking her head.

Bucky scoffs. “I don’t need group therapy.”

She levels a seriously, Bucky? look at him that she’s perfected. “You have no friends, Bucky.”

Ouch. “I have Sam. And Steve,” he responds indignantly.

“Sam, whom you message once a month because he’s busy doing real shit? And Steve, who is an old man and doesn’t remember you half the time? Bucky, you need someone real. Besides, it could be a good thing for you. Get to know other people like you,” Shrink refutes in her sharp, always-right voice.

Other people like you. Fucked up, she means.

She writes an address on a sticky-note, ignoring his horrified face, and sticks it on his chest after he doesn’t take it. “There. I’ll see you at the usual time, I want to hear how this goes. And don’t even bother skipping and lying to me, it’s government mandated.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like this is ridiculous.

He could lie about it. But he’s pretty sure Shrink can read his mind. She somehow always finds out. Those goddamn therapists.

So he ends up in front of a run-down building labeled McLane Adult Outpatient Psychiatric Services. Bucky scoffs. It sure looks like it.

He tries to peek in the windows to see what he’s getting himself into, but they’re covered. Fuck. No going back now. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

A pretty blonde woman in glasses types at a desk, looking up at him when the doorbell rings. Her badge reads Lily, under a picture that was obviously a few years old. “Hi,” she says cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, um…” He fumbles with the sticky note crumpled in his pocket. “I’m here for the… group psychotherapy.” As the words leave his mouth, he can feel his heartbeat picking up. He doesn’t really like people, and they don’t like him either.

Murderer, a voice whispers in his mind. You could bash her face into the desk until she’s mangled. You could slit her throat with the knife you always keep on you because you’re paranoid. Watch the blood splatter against your face. Everyone will scream and know the real you. The monster.

Bucky clenches his metal fist, carefully concealed behind a leather glove. He’s familiar with this voice.

The Winter Soldier. What a fucking cunt.

Lily smiles at him, not noticing his inner turmoil. “What’s your name, honey?” She’s just being polite, but the words make him flinch.

He hesitates. “James. James Smith.”

Fury helped him create this identity, actually. Only his therapist and his former coworkers know who he really is. He couldn’t have picked a better name than Smith?

Lily types on her computer, the clack-clack of her acrylic nails hitting the keyboard sounding in the waiting room. She looks up and gives him an artificial smile. “Down in the basement, on the right. The elevator is broken, so take the stairs. Maintenance will fix it this weekend.”

Bucky manages a gruff thank you before making his way through the door to the stairs. It swishes open softly, closing behind him with a squealing noise.

He glances at the stairs.

The asset is running, chasing after his mission, who is infuriatingly slippery. The mission scrambles down the stairs, a beat ahead of him, but the asset swings his legs over the railing and tackles him.

The target elbows him in the jaw and pulls a knife from his sleeve. The blade sh-shings in the air, swiping wildly. The Soldier twists, grabbing him by the collar and bashing his face in the wall, three times, until blood sprays from his nose and stains the yellow wallpaper.

The target groans, rolling around and executing a sloppy kip-up. He’s afraid. People do stupid things when they’re afraid. He launches a flurry of punches, uppercuts, and jabs that go nowhere. The Soldier sees the opportunity, and before the target realizes it, he’s dead. Shot in the face three times. Blood splatters onto the Soldier’s masked face and onto the worn-down walls.

“миссия завершена. <Mission complete>” he growls into the intercom.

Bucky blinks. The blood on the walls fades away. He can feel his chest rising faster and faster, the sweat lining his forehead. When he enters the group room, it’s nearly empty. It’s a small room with old grey carpet stained with god knows what. In it stands several mahogany tables, lined in a circle like a conference room. The normal chairs are replaced with big plastic blue chairs without any armrests. He scoots one out— heavier than a normal chair— and sits down.

The room is dead silent. There’s only three others in the room. A young woman dressed head to toe in black, wearing a studded choker, thick black eyeliner, and various facial piercing types on her phone. She’s chewing bubblegum, and when he glances at her, she scowls and types faster. The other is a middle-aged man, rocking back and forth and muttering under his breath. Tough crowd.

He glances over. The third person is another woman. She might’ve been pretty, sure— she’s got beautiful eyes and long black hair that falls to her waist. But she looks like a ghost. Pale skin, dark circles under the eyes, chapped lips, as if she hadn’t eaten or drank anything recently. Haunted eyes. Empty, lifeless. He’s seen those eyes before, in the mirror.

The ghost girl spares him a glance. It lingers for a moment, offering a brief acknowledgment.

She says nothing and looks away, hunching back in her oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants that look as if she’s worn them for a few days.

Not a very warm welcome.

A few more people shuffle in, all sorts of people. There’s a teenager who looks like an athlete, dressed in a college sports hoodie. There’s a woman who looks like somebody’s mother, who rushes in out of breath. There’s a man who smiles big and shakes Bucky’s hand when he sees him— “You’re new, aren’tcha?” And an old woman who carries her crochet project with her.

Awkward silence. The therapist is fifteen minutes late. Bucky taps his boot on the floor impatiently, trying to slow his breathing.

The door opens. A woman wearing a brown cardigan and dress pants burst in. “Hi, friends!” She beams. No one answers.

Bucky winces. Too happy.

“I brought doughnuts to welcome our new member,” she says cheerfully. “Everyone say hi to…” She trails off and looks at him expectantly.

“James,” he mutters. And, just in case, he adds, “Smith.”

“James! Welcome to group, and everyone help yourself to a donut. Let’s all go around and introduce ourselves, why don’t we? Name, where you’re from, and if you had any superpower, what would it be? Oh, and on that topic, your favorite Avenger,” Kennedy pipes.

Thank god no one recognized him.

“I’ll start. My name is Kennedy, and I’m from New Jersey. If I had a superpower, it would be a therapist,” She winks, laughing at her own joke. The emo girl rolls her eyes. “My favorite Avenger is Iron Man, bless his soul. You’re next, Richard.”

The smiling man introduces himself as Richard, as if Kennedy hadn’t already spoiled it. The emo girl, Lilith. The old woman, Sylvia. The teenager, Duke. The muttering man mumbles something incomprehensible, but Kennedy fills in and introduces him as Mark.

The ghost girl frowns when it’s her turn. “I’m Mei. I’m from Beijing,” She trails off, a blank look on her face that says what were the other questions?

“Your superpower and favorite Avenger,” Kennedy supplies.

Something flickers across her face. “I want the power to forget,” She says solemnly. Then she laughs. “Sorry, that was a joke.”

Yet she stares at her hands for a moment, lost in thought.

“Mei?” Kennedy nudges, not unkindly. “Favorite Avenger?”

“Oh,” Mei blinks. “I don’t know. I don’t really like them.”

Kennedy nods seriously as if Mei had just shared a deep dark secret. “Thank you for sharing, Mei. James, you’re next,”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Hi. I’m James. I’m from Brooklyn, and I…”

He knows the answer. If he had a superpower, he would go back in time. Back before HYDRA, the Avengers, the trauma and anxiety. Stop himself from going to the army and getting kidnapped. From becoming the Winter Soldier.

But he can’t say that. “I dunno, like, moving shit with your mind or something,” he adds lamely. Wanda would be proud. “My favorite Avenger is Captain America.” Before he left him, that is. But he can’t say that, either.

“Welcome, James! Now, who can recite the three exceptions of confidentiality?” Kennedy pipes, clasping her hands together and turning to the crowd.

Richard raises his hand. “Everything in this group stays confidential unless you have plans to hurt yourself, someone is hurting you, past or present, or if you want to hurt someone else. In that case, we are mandated reporters.”

Bucky scoffs to himself. He wasn’t planning on sharing anything anyway.

Kennedy launches into a speech about mindfulness skills and the importance of practicing self-care, something about a “please” skill or something like that. She asks meaningful questions, which the other members answer. Most people manage to say something. Even Mark lets out an appreciative grunt.

Bucky and Mei, however, remain silent. He can’t help but steal glances at her. She looks memorable, in a way. He has the sudden desire to look inside her brain and see the cogs that turn inside there. Bucky notices that she took a glazed donut, but didn’t touch it. Anorexic? he wonders to himself. She has a faraway look in her eyes. Not a dreamlike fantasizing. More of a haunted look, like she was living in her memories, trapped in her skin. It appears that she doesn’t know what’s going on, but the moment there’s a sudden noise, her eyes dart around.

He wonders what she’s here for.

He wonders even after it’s over.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65193385?view_full_work=true

[lcvebucky]

black out days // bucky x fem oc

pairing: bucky barnes x female original character

一 chapter one. “i fell in love with a war”

summary:

Most of the others moved on quickly. But Bucky was left behind. His days as the Winter Soldier plagued his nightmares, which didn’t end even when he was awake. Whereas the Avengers that were left moved on, his therapist had clicked her tongue and said, “I think you need more support.”

His heart drops. “W-what do you mean? Like— a hospital?”

Shrink shakes her head. “No, like group therapy.”

That’s where he meets her. Mei. A mystery, a ghost girl, someone who thaws the ice in his heart. When he’s with her, he can almost forget the way it felt when the electricity ran through his every nerve and dancing through the muscle down to the bone, ripping a scream from his chest; the unbridled fear that tugged at his chest and exploded. Almost. To her, he’s just James Smith, a normal guy who has problems and sometimes can’t breathe because it feels like Thor’s hammer is sitting on his chest and he can’t fucking move, can’t help but watch as memories flash across his eyes, stained with blood that seeps into the corners and into every somewhat happy moment.

Well. He’s not the only one that’s hiding secrets.

word count: 20.1k (ongoing)

trigger warnings: this entire work will contain triggering topics such as self harm, suicide, sexual trauma (rape) but not by the main leads, gore, violence, ocd, and more. please read at your own discretion and take care of urself :)

follow me on ao3 @mikoilu https://archiveofourown.org/works/65193385?view_full_work=true

author’s note: hi everyone :) i just got out of the psych ward and started fixating on marvel again in residential. i was reading angst and was like, wow, this is not accurate at all, and it pissed me off so i wrote my own.

i drew a lot of inspiration from my own stories + the stories i’ve heard while in treatment. i also wanted more asian american representation bc i never see that so i created meili zhang “mei”. the characters of her name, “张” meaning to draw a bow, “美丽” meaning beautiful.

here is my heart in your hands.

✮⋆˙ bucky pov

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ mei pov

☆ third person pov

chapter summary: the world moved on but left him behind

“it’s just that i fell in love with a war /

nobody told me it ended”

✮⋆˙

Bucky thinks it’s all bullshit, quite frankly.

After half the universe blinked out of existence one day, the government mandated many of them to therapy. When he came back five years later, he was not exempt to this. He came back and found out that Steve had moved on and left him behind. He should be happy for him, really. He is. Except he can’t help but feel a little bit betrayed.

Most of the others moved on quickly. But Bucky was left behind. His days as the Winter Soldier plagued his nightmares, which didn’t end even when he was awake. Whereas the Avengers that were left moved on, his therapist had clicked her tongue and said, “I think you need more support.”

His heart drops. “W-what do you mean? Like— a hospital?”

“A hospital, where you’d likely run away from every other day? No, like group therapy,” Shrink says, shaking her head.

Bucky scoffs. “I don’t need group therapy.”

She levels a seriously, Bucky? look at him that she’s perfected. “You have no friends, Bucky.”

Ouch. “I have Sam. And Steve,” he responds indignantly.

“Sam, whom you message once a month because he’s busy doing real shit? And Steve, who is an old man and doesn’t remember you half the time? Bucky, you need someone real. Besides, it could be a good thing for you. Get to know other people like you,” Shrink refutes in her sharp, always-right voice.

Other people like you. Fucked up, she means.

She writes an address on a sticky-note, ignoring his horrified face, and sticks it on his chest after he doesn’t take it. “There. I’ll see you at the usual time, I want to hear how this goes. And don’t even bother skipping and lying to me, it’s government mandated.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like this is ridiculous.

He could lie about it. But he’s pretty sure Shrink can read his mind. She somehow always finds out. Those goddamn therapists.

So he ends up in front of a run-down building labeled McLane Adult Outpatient Psychiatric Services. Bucky scoffs. It sure looks like it.

He tries to peek in the windows to see what he’s getting himself into, but they’re covered. Fuck. No going back now. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

A pretty blonde woman in glasses types at a desk, looking up at him when the doorbell rings. Her badge reads Lily, under a picture that was obviously a few years old. “Hi,” she says cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, um…” He fumbles with the sticky note crumpled in his pocket. “I’m here for the… group psychotherapy.” As the words leave his mouth, he can feel his heartbeat picking up. He doesn’t really like people, and they don’t like him either.

Murderer, a voice whispers in his mind. You could bash her face into the desk until she’s mangled. You could slit her throat with the knife you always keep on you because you’re paranoid. Watch the blood splatter against your face. Everyone will scream and know the real you. The monster.

Bucky clenches his metal fist, carefully concealed behind a leather glove. He’s familiar with this voice.

The Winter Soldier. What a fucking cunt.

Lily smiles at him, not noticing his inner turmoil. “What’s your name, honey?” She’s just being polite, but the words make him flinch.

He hesitates. “James. James Smith.”

Fury helped him create this identity, actually. Only his therapist and his former coworkers know who he really is. He couldn’t have picked a better name than Smith?

Lily types on her computer, the clack-clack of her acrylic nails hitting the keyboard sounding in the waiting room. She looks up and gives him an artificial smile. “Down in the basement, on the right. The elevator is broken, so take the stairs. Maintenance will fix it this weekend.”

Bucky manages a gruff thank you before making his way through the door to the stairs. It swishes open softly, closing behind him with a squealing noise.

He glances at the stairs.

The asset is running, chasing after his mission, who is infuriatingly slippery. The mission scrambles down the stairs, a beat ahead of him, but the asset swings his legs over the railing and tackles him.

The target elbows him in the jaw and pulls a knife from his sleeve. The blade sh-shings in the air, swiping wildly. The Soldier twists, grabbing him by the collar and bashing his face in the wall, three times, until blood sprays from his nose and stains the yellow wallpaper.

The target groans, rolling around and executing a sloppy kip-up. He’s afraid. People do stupid things when they’re afraid. He launches a flurry of punches, uppercuts, and jabs that go nowhere. The Soldier sees the opportunity, and before the target realizes it, he’s dead. Shot in the face three times. Blood splatters onto the Soldier’s masked face and onto the worn-down walls.

“миссия завершена. <Mission complete>” he growls into the intercom.

Bucky blinks. The blood on the walls fades away. He can feel his chest rising faster and faster, the sweat lining his forehead. When he enters the group room, it’s nearly empty. It’s a small room with old grey carpet stained with god knows what. In it stands several mahogany tables, lined in a circle like a conference room. The normal chairs are replaced with big plastic blue chairs without any armrests. He scoots one out— heavier than a normal chair— and sits down.

The room is dead silent. There’s only three others in the room. A young woman dressed head to toe in black, wearing a studded choker, thick black eyeliner, and various facial piercing types on her phone. She’s chewing bubblegum, and when he glances at her, she scowls and types faster. The other is a middle-aged man, rocking back and forth and muttering under his breath. Tough crowd.

He glances over. The third person is another woman. She might’ve been pretty, sure— she’s got beautiful eyes and long black hair that falls to her waist. But she looks like a ghost. Pale skin, dark circles under the eyes, chapped lips, as if she hadn’t eaten or drank anything recently. Haunted eyes. Empty, lifeless. He’s seen those eyes before, in the mirror.

The ghost girl spares him a glance. It lingers for a moment, offering a brief acknowledgment.

She says nothing and looks away, hunching back in her oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants that look as if she’s worn them for a few days.

Not a very warm welcome.

A few more people shuffle in, all sorts of people. There’s a teenager who looks like an athlete, dressed in a college sports hoodie. There’s a woman who looks like somebody’s mother, who rushes in out of breath. There’s a man who smiles big and shakes Bucky’s hand when he sees him— “You’re new, aren’tcha?” And an old woman who carries her crochet project with her.

Awkward silence. The therapist is fifteen minutes late. Bucky taps his boot on the floor impatiently, trying to slow his breathing.

The door opens. A woman wearing a brown cardigan and dress pants burst in. “Hi, friends!” She beams. No one answers.

Bucky winces. Too happy.

“I brought doughnuts to welcome our new member,” she says cheerfully. “Everyone say hi to…” She trails off and looks at him expectantly.

“James,” he mutters. And, just in case, he adds, “Smith.”

“James! Welcome to group, and everyone help yourself to a donut. Let’s all go around and introduce ourselves, why don’t we? Name, where you’re from, and if you had any superpower, what would it be? Oh, and on that topic, your favorite Avenger,” Kennedy pipes.

Thank god no one recognized him.

“I’ll start. My name is Kennedy, and I’m from New Jersey. If I had a superpower, it would be a therapist,” She winks, laughing at her own joke. The emo girl rolls her eyes. “My favorite Avenger is Iron Man, bless his soul. You’re next, Richard.”

The smiling man introduces himself as Richard, as if Kennedy hadn’t already spoiled it. The emo girl, Lilith. The old woman, Sylvia. The teenager, Duke. The muttering man mumbles something incomprehensible, but Kennedy fills in and introduces him as Mark.

The ghost girl frowns when it’s her turn. “I’m Mei. I’m from Beijing,” She trails off, a blank look on her face that says what were the other questions?

“Your superpower and favorite Avenger,” Kennedy supplies.

Something flickers across her face. “I want the power to forget,” She says solemnly. Then she laughs. “Sorry, that was a joke.”

Yet she stares at her hands for a moment, lost in thought.

“Mei?” Kennedy nudges, not unkindly. “Favorite Avenger?”

“Oh,” Mei blinks. “I don’t know. I don’t really like them.”

Kennedy nods seriously as if Mei had just shared a deep dark secret. “Thank you for sharing, Mei. James, you’re next,”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Hi. I’m James. I’m from Brooklyn, and I…”

He knows the answer. If he had a superpower, he would go back in time. Back before HYDRA, the Avengers, the trauma and anxiety. Stop himself from going to the army and getting kidnapped. From becoming the Winter Soldier.

But he can’t say that. “I dunno, like, moving shit with your mind or something,” he adds lamely. Wanda would be proud. “My favorite Avenger is Captain America.” Before he left him, that is. But he can’t say that, either.

“Welcome, James! Now, who can recite the three exceptions of confidentiality?” Kennedy pipes, clasping her hands together and turning to the crowd.

Richard raises his hand. “Everything in this group stays confidential unless you have plans to hurt yourself, someone is hurting you, past or present, or if you want to hurt someone else. In that case, we are mandated reporters.”

Bucky scoffs to himself. He wasn’t planning on sharing anything anyway.

Kennedy launches into a speech about mindfulness skills and the importance of practicing self-care, something about a “please” skill or something like that. She asks meaningful questions, which the other members answer. Most people manage to say something. Even Mark lets out an appreciative grunt.

Bucky and Mei, however, remain silent. He can’t help but steal glances at her. She looks memorable, in a way. He has the sudden desire to look inside her brain and see the cogs that turn inside there. Bucky notices that she took a glazed donut, but didn’t touch it. Anorexic? he wonders to himself. She has a faraway look in her eyes. Not a dreamlike fantasizing. More of a haunted look, like she was living in her memories, trapped in her skin. It appears that she doesn’t know what’s going on, but the moment there’s a sudden noise, her eyes dart around.

He wonders what she’s here for.

He wonders even after it’s over.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65193385?view_full_work=true

[lcvebucky]

thunderbolts alternative titles

marvel rlly said happy mental health awareness month